Fallout: Equestria - Waking the Dead

Chapters

Chapter One - The Stallion in the Pod
Chapter Two - Homecoming
Chapter Three - Manehatten at Night
Chapter Four - A Devil in Craterside
Chapter Five - An Expected Journey
Chapter Six - Clean Sweep's Four
Chapter Seven - Worth
Chapter Nine - The Hardest Path
Chapter Ten - Rag and Bone!
Chapter Eleven - Behind the Scenes
Chapter Twelve - Breakout!
Chapter Eight - A Hero's Return

Chapter One - The Stallion in the Pod

Chapter One – The Stallion in the Pod

The world’s a stage, and all mares and colts are merely players…

I like stories.

No, I love stories. I love the daring knights who rescue the prince, I love the dragon slaying pegasi, I love the endless adventure. I love reading about places that only exist in my wildest dreams. I love watching children act out their favourite scenes from Daring Do or Sword Mare. I love telling stories too, tales I’ve gained from the years in the wasteland and those from my days long before.

All stories begin with a grand event. The big moment when everything changes. Where somepony is thrust into a terrible situation, and struggles before triumphantly succeeding. Twists and turns, friendships and rivalries, love and hate. Everything coming together in the perfect happy ending we want. In a way, my story begins with something like that.

It started with a bad coffee.

Coffee is a wonderful invention, second only to the comic book. It is liquid awareness, it is the flavour of awake, it is glorious. I first discovered coffee while interning at The Sun, a rather lowbrow newspaper from Canterlot. Not the greatest paper in Equestria, but one that was happy to take on a newly minted investigative journalist. Pulling all-nighters was standard there, but it was all in the name of entertainment and news. The same applied to my second job, one which involved a more intensive kind of investigation.

And significantly more birthday parties.

After a decent night at Hoofbeats, involving a great deal of pegasus made whiskey, I managed to roll out of bed at the impressive time of seven AM. Not bad for three hours sleep. Quick tab of Mint-als and some caffeine would set me straight, it always had before. I stumbled into the morning light, hunting for a source of black salvation.

Most of the local coffee shops in Manehatten had closed a few months before, the owners being lucky enough to get a Stable ticket. Of all the decisions Stable-Tech made, taking away the one source of morning joy for Manehatten was the strangest. Still, whatever their reasons were, I was far more focused on finding that sweet caffeinated goodness. Yes, sugar belongs in coffee. Sue me.

It eventually came in the form of yesterday’s pot heated up, after I arrived at the office. You’d think that ponies working for one of the Ministries would be smart enough to ditch the dregs at the of the day. I thanked the passing techie for helping me out, and grimaced at the horror in a cup.

“Things we do for Equestria,” I grumbled. It was a short walk to Team Frosting’s office, especially if you took a shortcut through the bakery. The mares there made sugar taste like salt, all bright smiles and songs. I gave them a gallant wave, coffee carefully held in a special cup holder harness. ‘Specially designed for the pony on the go’, one of the few things Starbucked actually got right. Well, that and the Steamed Coffee ad. I managed to swipe a spare box of donuts, grinning at the half-disappointed looks from the bakers.

Chaos had spent the night at the office. Goliath had dosed off at his desk again, the mountain of pony sat with his head against a terminal. Notes and forms had covered the floor like winter had come early. I sighed at the sight, shrugging off the coffee holder and taking a sip. Bitter and lukewarm, just the way I hate it. The flavour was improved with a raspberry jam donut.

Carefully stepping over the more important files, I reached the biggest desk in the office. A mess of golden mane and a soft yellow coat splayed on the desk, snoring peacefully. I gave Golden Days a prod before the drool could pool any further. In a flurry of hooves, she whipped around in a pose I’m certain was from a film. Something about zebra martial arts.

“What, who, now, when?!”

“And a fine morning to you too,” I offered a donut from my back. Perks of an earth pony, perfect balance.

I felt the box’s weight leave my back, “You’re late, Hard.”

“Well, it took me a good while to find this rare delicacy. Thought it would prove vital to my work production.” I slammed the window shut after sending lukewarm coffee out for a short flight. “Of course, we wouldn’t have this problem if somepony hadn’t stopped the deal with Donut Joe’s chain.”

Golden coughed as she choked on donut crumbs, thumping her chest, “Still, you’re expected on duty today.”

“Who’s birthday?” I rolled my neck, sorting out a crick. I settled down behind my terminal, watching the balloon animation slowly fill, burst, and repeat. My head poked out when the reply took longer than normal.

“It’s a party.” Golden looked up, serious mode engaged.

“Huh. Who’re the guests?” I tapped open my mail, nothing new to report today.

“Yourself and Hope, Gadget on Sprites. Plus every other hit team,” she gave a sombre look. “This is the big one, I mean the big one.”

There was a lump in my throat. I swallowed hard, but it did nothing to alleviate the feeling. I left my desk, moving back to Golden’s.

“How big?”

“A dozen Rangers.”

“Seven circles! Who are we hitting?” I knew the answer, how could I not? Part of me hoped it wasn’t the case.

She didn’t need to answer, not verbally. An eye flicked to our investigation map, a spider’s web of strings, pins, and photos. It was the project we didn’t want to continue, the one we hoped and prayed it wasn’t the case. Smuggling contraband was one thing, most ponies got a stern talking to and a confiscation of all zebra goods. Zebra sympathisers were investigated, but most of the time it was a job for the Ministry of Peace. This group was rotten to the core, and the worst part was we didn’t know what they were planning.

How deep did it go? We had hundreds, if not thousands, of suspects and collaborators. All of them tied to one company and one family in particular. Memory extractions had helped a great deal with pointing hooves, but the physical evidence was near impossible to trace. We could make low level ponies disappear, sure, but something on this scale couldn’t be done without the whole of Equestria knowing.

Golden set the donut down, moving with precision and poise. Completely unlike my boss. I knew that it was big. For her to lose the smile, the mirth, the joy that kept the team together, this was the big one indeed. A yellow hoof reached my side, becoming an affectionate pet.

“You’re expected for a debrief in hanger two. You’ve got ten minutes or so. Sober up, Hard Copy. Good luck.”

Golden left me to my cold coffee, which I forced down. Of all the days to drink myself to a stupor, today was possibly the worst. A few slaps to the face, and I felt a little more alive. Guess it was time to get the game face on.

“I just renewed a month’s pass as well.”

The first shot winged me, the second hit my side. My suit’s armour held fast and turned a kill-shot into a whopping bruise. The third punched a neat hole in the chair I was hiding behind, thankfully missing me. Quick check for any bleeding, and I exhaled a sigh of relief. I could kiss the mare who weaved my Ministry suit. If it were a stallion, then a firm hoofshake would have to do.

Intel was way off; these guys were equipped far better than they should’ve been. They should only have civilian grade pistols, pea shooters at best. Then one of those bastards pulled a freaking combat shotgun from beneath the desk. I poked my head over, only to lose a few hairs and years from my life. If the bullets didn’t get me, the stress on my poor heart would. Today was a really bad day to not be a unicorn.

Salvation came from the click-whir-brrt of a minigun opening up. Standing as solid as a mountain, Corporal Dandy sprayed hot lead in slow, methodical movements across the desk. A decent spray of blood shot up, coating the smug president’s portrait. What I assumed to be wooden desk began to spark as bullets pinged off, harmlessly.

“Armour. They were expecting us,” the Steel Ranger muttered, his voice carried to the team via earbuds. His armour had shrugged over the initial small arms fire from our dynamic entrance, Hope and I used him as mobile armour as we sped to our places.

“As if the weaponry and less than stellar welcome wasn’t a dead giveaway!” I shot back, hefting a stun grenade over the barricade.

There was a sharp “OH FUCK!”

It was followed by a loud bang.

A mare screamed as she stood up from behind cover, staggering around in a daze. Looked like she had drunk one too many. She pawed at her eyes, a small trickle of blood from a ruptured eardrum staining a gorgeous office dress. She managed a yelp as she was tackled to the ground, her protesting groans followed by the clack of hoof-cuffs.

Hope flashed a smile as she stood up, dragging the traitor to her hooves. She passed the unfortunate captive to another agent, part of Cupcake Team. The stallion guided the blinded and dazed mare out of the building. Ministry of Peace agents would be waiting to bring her to an interrogatable state.

I took the opportunity to swig a little from a healing potion, feeling my eardrums pop back into perfect health. After the exchange, the room was unnervingly silent. The entrance hall didn’t put up a great deal of resistance, four guards with two more office workers hiding behind the desk. I felt a wave of relief wash over me as the turrets, which were supposed to activate upon the press of panic button, had been disabled. As the bodies were carried out, I pointed at our glorious entry vehicles.

“Did she have to go with hot-air balloons?” I groaned, not for the first time today.

“Could’ve been worse, remember the schematics job? Effective use of the party cannon, but I had confetti in my feathers for weeks after that,” Hope settled down next to me, carefully reloading her pistol.

She took a moment to straighten out her standard issue blazer and shirt combo, green tie to pair with her mint coloured coat. A quick flick of her toothpaste streaked mane, followed with a smile dentists would kill for. The kind that outshone the sun.

“Hey, you had the choice to get in that thing. Some of us didn’t get an option,” I snorted, checking for any further damage. Flanks were still bright orange, and proudly displaying the greatest cutie mark in Equestria: a magnifying glass and a quill, forming a neat ‘X’.

My suit matched Hope’s, white undershirt with a red tie to pair with my mane, only with the added bonus of a waistcoat. Specially crafted ballistic armour, hoof weaved into the fabric. I always dress to impress. After checking the bruise, I moved on to double check any other spots I may been hit. The investigation led me from my leg on to Hopes, moving up to her face. I earned a bop on the nose for my trouble. She earned a grin.

“Later. We’re a team, ponies of a feather fly together. Besides, what’s the point to working with the party pony if you can’t have a laugh?” And there was that look, could melt my heart in seconds. The warmest gaze in Equestria, with eyes like nothing else. Not all the streamers or parties in Equestria could make me happier.

There was a polite, if somewhat robotic, cough. The patter of four wings chopped into the moment, holding an orb the size of a pony’s head aloft. The spritebot bobbed, the grills staring at us intently. It hadn’t twigged that we had been sat and staring into each other’s eyes for a little too long.

“If ye tois ur finished, we hae wark tae dae,” Gadget drawled, the speakers popping as she fought over the airways, “Ah dornt hink these bastards ur keen oan lettin' ye cosy up in th' middle ay their lobby.”

The bot popped back into inspirational music, accompanied by our boss’ recording, “All civilians please clear the area! My friends and I are after the bad ponies, and I really, really, really don’t want you to get hurt!”

“Better that than March of the Damned Parasprites again,” Dandy grumbled, kicking a reload in, “Are you ready, Agent?”

I gave a nod, setting my gun back in my mouth, “Af file effabee.”

We took off towards the next objective. One of the board of directors was in this building, and had two Rangers on her tail. If the entrance was the prelude, then we needed every bit of help we could get. The two ahead would have the lion’s share of the battle, acting as a distraction while we worked through the back as clean up and arrest.

The stairwell was free of any traps, but Dandy took the lead in preparation for any other nasty surprises. His armour left great cracks in the concrete stairs, a testament to the sheer weight and power the Ranger commanded. Gadget, commanding another spritebot, floated behind as a mobile lookout.

The next office held some resistance. Two sympathisers were hiding behind a set of filing cabinets and let loose a wall of lead as we kicked the door down. Hope and I skidded into cover as Dandy took a chest-full of shot. I knew his armour would hold, though I heard the hard exhale as the shock hit him.

On the other hoof, they had opened fire first. That gave Dandy all the permission he needed to send uncountable shots in return. I waited for his burst fire to end before peeking from cover. Two perforated pastel ponies in a pool of blood. I didn’t even hear the screams over the din of gunfire. What was Equestria coming to?

“You two ok?” Dandy asked, a slight edge to his voice.

Hope vaulted her cover, checking corners. “All fine here, Hard?”

“Peachy, time to press DANDY!” I saw the blood starting to leak from the gaps in the armour. The spell matrix began to knit the armour back together, but that didn’t mean much to what was going on inside.

“I’m fine. Nothing needs immediate attention. Continue with the mission,” his speech was slurring slightly, “Painkillers are kicking in, Buck to help with the healing. We need to be quick.”

Hope nodded, looking grim. A grunt escaped I stood up, now we were racing against two clocks. I wanted to know who gave them armour piercing rounds, or how they were stolen. This was more than foresight against agents, they knew Rangers would be on the way as well. Part of me knew the answer, but that could only be confirmed when we took down this whole building.

We sped through the floor, ignoring the masses of terminals. What I wanted to know was hidden away on one of those things, but it would all have to wait. Making the arrest and cutting off this infection in Equestria mattered far more. It looked like the big wigs called most of the staff away for the main event at Grand Central. Cowards hiding behind a mass of bodies, it fit the motives of the company. They dug themselves in deep to prevent anyone from smoking them out.

I wondered how the Dumpling and Tart teams were doing, even with the bulk of the Ranger support. They had the fun job over at Grand Central, taking on the meat of the traitor’s forces. We had heard nothing from them, which Gadget assured me was good news. The reports of the traitors’ vehicles moving something into the middle of city did trouble me somewhat, but the mission at hoof needed all my focus. I stayed hopeful, we had called in Shadowbolts to take care of clean-up. Only a disaster would call them away.

I pushed the thoughts to one side. We had our best on the job, there was no way these traitors would get away with their plans. Game face on, we raced towards the target.

Top floor. Only a few sporadic gunfights had taken place on the way up. We had three more prisoners, and six corpses. There were only so many times a Ranger can order you to put down your weapons before you return fire. I only lamented our lack of non-lethal options. There were unicorn teams with anaesthesia and stun spells, but they were reserved for the wounded. Additionally, it was clear that none of these ponies would be coming quietly. If we brought tazers, we wouldn’t have made it through the front door.

We only had to worry about Dandy’s wound at the time, the Ministry suits and better mobility keeping Hope and me out of harm’s way. Potions kept Dandy going, but it was hard to ignore the laboured breathing. Enough to drink to stop the bleeding, but not enough to heal over the shot. To that end, we were using Gadget’s Spritehopping to scout out corners. We could deal with one less Spritebot. We were needed in top condition.

Unfortunately, the same couldn’t be said for the other Rangers. We had found them outside the sixth floor office. One had taken a buckshot to the head, almost losing it in the process. The corpse had been kept upright from the weight of the armour. The other Ranger had been hit by armour piercing rounds. From the smell, the rounds were enchanted and had cooked her alive. I could see her from where I was sitting, her body lying one side like she had fallen asleep.

Another plink of sparks brought me to back to the world. Spacing out in the middle of a firefight, it takes a great deal of talent to manage that. I shook the smell of cooked meat out of my nose, snorting away the memory. Gazing over the desk, I ducked back as another shot snapped past my head. The terminal above me burst in a display of sparks, broken glass and important looking electronics scattered into the ground. Nice to know that despite everything, a bullet could still stop Stable-Tech’s designs.

“You know, that could have had evidence to lessen your sentence!” I shouted back, angry that I was pinned down again. “You’re making this very difficult to arrest you!”

Dandy had been forced into cover. One of our targets used a strange rifle, firing in consistent three-shot bursts. The shots went through metal like it was paper, bringing my concern level from “Gadget has found gin” to “Goliath has found out that Gadget has gin”. The wall offered no protection beyond disguising where he was, but we had lucked out that spray-and-pray wasn’t a tactic. Either the bullets were in short supply, or somepony really messed up with the design of the rifle.

Regular shots, on the other hoof, were bit a dozen. A few more shots pinged off the desk, the reinforcement letting me live without a fancy new hole. I poked my head over and fired twice, trying to stem the oncoming storm. Help came in the form of a stun grenade, flying in a wonderful arc over the office cubicles. Hope threw a second as a chaser, before she dived back into cover. The grenade let loose a fury of light and sound, sending several shots loose. The second sent the directed fire into a curtain of random lead.

A few managed to find my desk, two shots going through the wooden panelling. The third hit something on the way through, sending a strange smell into the air. I blinked, wrinkling my nose in disgust. I knew this smell, the same strange haze that burns the tastebuds off your tongue.

“DASH!” I sneezed, my body trying to force the cloud away. It was too late.

Time slowed to a crawl, my hyper-aware mind letting me take in all the insanity of the battle. A Gadget controlled Spritebot became a small fireball, the metal shrinking around the explosion. A new hole appeared in the wall behind me, the bullet too fast to see but slow enough to predict. I took a long breath to calm my nerves, but it was likely no bigger than any other I’d take before. I never wanted to be in this state again, experiencing the world at a maddening pace that floated all my worries away.

It just added to the list of crimes on their record. Evidence of drug smuggling, for shame.

The screams from the other side gave me the all clear, and I vaulted my cover. With my mind racing at twice the speed it normally was, it gave me time to soak in the surroundings. The office was torn to shreds from the exchange of gunfire. Memos and motivational posters had scattered around the floor. By some strange fate, none of the clipboards seemed damaged. It’s strange what you notice in the midst of battle.

It’s stranger what you don’t notice. Like a grenade tucked in the hooves of a blinded prisoner.

I spotted the explosive as I rolled the unicorn over. Then the pin over to one side. There wasn’t time to get away, but enough to sandwich the grenade between myself and the zebra lover. Bless hyper reaction time. I could feel every micro second slowly tick by, and prayed it was just the drug that dragged this whole mess out. The steady beat of the stallion’s heart, the cold sweat as he embraced ideals over life. The hard, apple shaped lump of the grenade.

“GREN-”

There was a bang, followed by darkness. I was impressed at the lack of pain. I figured that the suit had absorbed most of the damage by some strange quirk of fate, my parents did say I was born under a lucky star. That or dying was far less painful than anypony else had made it out to be.

I came around some time later, unable to hear and barely able to see. Hope stood over me, shouting for something. All I saw was her perfect shape, wings flared in either eagerness or distress. She was doing that cute thing with her eyebrows too. Hope looked at me, stroking a cheek. It looked like she was saying that it was going to be ok. My gaze went down, to see that my suit had been completely torn open. As was most of my chest.

There’s a lot of blood in there, you know.

The world went black.

I felt a weird pop as my eardrums came back, my body completely numb. It felt like I was floating in treacle, or maybe custard. Somewhere between the two based on prior experiences. With care, I opened my eyes to the world. I lay inside a pod, Ministry of Peace designs all over it. A few tubes fed various potions into me, and a small screen to the side informed me that my suit was under repairs.

A life support capsule. I had only seen one once before, and that was during induction training years ago. If you were at your worst, this is where you go. At least it put my state into perspective. A pegasus looked at me, frowning a little before nodding. I couldn’t hear what he said, but when I felt the pod being hoisted up, it looked like it was time to go.

The pod was loaded into the back of a medical transport. Sky wagon design, plenty of space for others. We took off immediately, which just proved how bad a state I was in. My skin itched as it was weaved back together, most of the shrapnel now out of my chest. I didn’t remember having it removed, but enough time had passed for me to go under the knife in the field. As a side note, feeling muscles and bones repair themselves is something I can’t fully explain. It’s just weird and outright wrong.

I settled as best I could, waiting for the long haul. If there was a pegasus pulling me, and from the tilt and shift of the transport there was, I was heading somewhere far. Probably a Ministry of Peace centre with some damn good tech to patch me right up. It was uncomfortable, but better than bleeding out in some zebra-sympathiser’s office.

I imagined Dandy bursting in, catching the traitor in a hail of bullets. Hope would chase in after, throwing a stun grenade and then making the arrest of the year. We’d have to waste medical supplies on the asshole, but they deserved to suffer just a little before being passed on. I smiled, smug in the knowledge that this mission was won.

And then, a flash.

Like an infinite number of cameras going off at once. The mere notion of darkness was gone, like the word had been eaten out of every book in existence. I winced at the sight, feeling my eyes being instantly repaired afterwards.

“Hey! What the hay was-”

The world went black. There was a roaring, as if the earth itself had opened a mouth and exhaled all the sins it was home to. The carriage tumbled, spinning out of control as something lifted and threw it away. I pressed my hooves against the casing to steady myself, unable to feel any pain thanks to the copious amounts of drugs in my system.

I felt gravity vanish. It came back with a vengeance.

Braces were immediately deployed as I bashed around like a foal’s rattle, the pod’s securing coming loose inside the carriage adding to the confusion. I heard a bone or two snap from the violent movements, looking in spaced out terror as the pod recognised the new damage, pinned the limb in place and administered another healing potion.

I suppose it was someone’s grim humour that a message would appear now.

Please remain calm. There is a situation.

We slammed into something, hard enough to stop the spinning. The pod slid with enough speed to smack into the rear-view window, locking in place with the weight of the other pods inside.

The sight was more horrific than I could ever convey. Words do not do justice to what I saw.

Manehatten was gone.

Golden, Gadget, Gold, Gentle and an uncountable number of innocents.

Gone.

Buildings were flattened all around, though the MAS hub had fared a little better. Even then, Hoofbeats was bathed in a sickly fire. Empty night!

The Ministry Hub. The girls at the bakery. Pinkie Pie herself.

Hope.

Gone.

Time had slowed as I soaked all this in. Maybe it was just my mind screwing me over as it battled the drug cocktail in my system. Soon enough, reality overcame whatever state my head was in. The chariot continued its descent. The poor pegasus who was pulling it must have been shredded instantly. Gone in the first flash with any luck. I was significantly less lucky.

The pod rolled around the vehicle, bringing new bruises and cuts. The glass talisman pulsed with light, trying to keep the casing intact. Other talismans were in play, the screen informed me. The Ministry of Peace had gone all out for this pod. For what it was worth, it was working.

Another slam, a shriek of metal, and one last bang as the pod slid. We had stopped. I couldn’t see where, though it wasn’t like that would help me. The display informed me of the deadly radiation that coated the outside world. I’d be a dead colt walking if I left.

That is, if I could. Despite all the damage reduction matrixes, the latch had buckled from the journey. I couldn’t tell when it had broken, only that without outside help I was trapped. The only positive news was that I didn’t need to worry about nutrition, the pods had enough food substitute to last two or three weeks. I was safe, but I wasn’t going anywhere.

“… fuck.”

I tried to block out the screams I could faintly hear. It was just wind. That faint wail of an air raid siren? A test run, has to be. Those booms in the distance were… I couldn’t think of an excuse.

I cried. It was messy, horrible weeping. Complete with wracking heaves as I weakly pounded at the glass. I don’t know where I found the strength, but it took everything I had. Complete and utter despair, I had never been lower before in my life. I’ve been in hopeless situations before, but this time there was no light at the end of the tunnel. Even given the week or so I had, everything I held dear had just been bathed in magical flames.

And it only got worse.

After about twenty minutes of crying, the pod gave a small chime. I ignored it at first, feeling new fluids being pumped into me. It wasn’t until I heard the drrt of text appearing that I gave a weary eye to the information display.

Warning: The environmental seal on this pod has malfunctioned. The nearest Ministry of Peace medical team have been informed and are on route. Please do not panic.

I lost count of how many times I said no. I didn’t noticed when the whisper became a scream. I kicked and beat at the door, hoping that something could give. My voice became hoarse and rough with the desperation. My hooves started to crack and bleed, before being healed instantly.

It has been detected that you are under extreme stress. Administering relaxants. Please try to remain calm. Help is coming. Soothing music will be played shortly.

There was no comfort with the screams blocked. Just more terror. My movements became sluggish, slower. It took all my strength to just lean on the cover, looking up at the sky as clouds began cover and darken. A loud crack, followed by the rumble of a building collapsing on top of whatever hole I was snug in. A few bangs as bricks hit the pod, but nothing more.

I heard Sweetie Belle’s voice begin inside the pod.

“Hush now, quiet now,

It’s time to lay your sleepy head.”

Soon, keeping my eyes open was too much work.

“Hush now, quiet now,
It’s time to go to bed.”

I did everything I could to try to stay awake.

“Drifting off to sleep,
Leave the day behind you,”

Nothing worked, all I could hear was the slow rattle of my breathing as the drugs took over.

“Drifting off to sleep,
Let the joy of dreamland find you…”

Silence.

“Hush now, quiet…”

My ear twitched.

A jingle played, the familiar drrt-drrt of text appearing followed. I pried myself off the glass, looking over at where the information readout came. It was impossible to tell when the pod had shifted, I had been out for too long. The glass was filthy with grime and there still wasn’t any light.

It took a few attempts to blink away the film from my eyes. You know that feeling when you oversleep? You wake up still tired, but restless? It felt like I had slept for millennia. My vision slowly came into focus, my parched lips moving as I read.

General Distress Signal attempt 54,802 – Success! Ministry of Peace ID recognised. Stimulants have been applied. The application of stimulants can have adverse effects and may require further examination. Please await further medical attention.

I settled back, a smile breaking. I was saved! By the nine circles of Tartarus, I had survived and somepony was going to save me! I kicked the air in elation. By the shining sun of Celestia, I was going to make it out! I took another look at the readout, frowning and rereading the date.

“Wait, what in the name of-“

The pod shifted, loud shrieks of metal came as it scraped past something. It settled, none too gently, and the door was torn open. I took a gulp of air, feeling the cool breeze. On my coatless skin.

And then the cold feel of metal.

A shotgun hovered against my head, a green glow holding it in place. “Hold right there, ghoul.”

I swallowed, “Wh-what?”

I attempted a squeak. Instead, it came out somewhere between a rusty gate and a bear’s growl.

“It talked,” another voice, a mare, “It’s not feral, it doesn’t need that thing in its face.”

“Not feral don’t mean not dangerous. Who knows what it was doin’ in there,” the first, stallion. I put his age close to my own.

The two appeared, looking at me cautiously. The stallion was in control of the shotgun, keeping it pressed to my head. His coat a dark forest green, covered by a miss-matched shirt and leather armour top. The stock of another shotgun sat over one side. His mane gave the impression of grass: close cut and the same kind of vibrant summer green.

The mare was an ocean blue, blackened by dirt around the hooves. A soft, ice like blue mane hung almost luxuriously, almost vanishing against the dirtied white of a doctor’s lab coat. She looked disappointed, like someone who had just lost all the riches of the world.

“I’m sorry, Clean. The rumour was…”

“Yep, I heard the rumours. Let’s see, he got anythin’ valuable on him?” I attempted to protest at this, only to have the shotgun pressed harder against me, “Just try it, friend. I’m in all kinds of bad mood now.”

I felt the storage containers shift around a little, opening slightly to let the magic work. My gun and earpiece floated out, settling on the ground. I was pretty desperate for one of those things right now.

“Wait, what’s this?” the mare had found my stack of business cards. Why did I bring them to the assault? Must have forgotten they were in my pocket. After examining the stylised Morale insignia, she took one out from the pack.

“Hard Copy. Jokewriter and Investigator. Ministry of Morale,” she read off.

The confetti and party horns were a bit flat, but still caused a stir as a streamer landed on Clean’s face. The deadpan look from the unicorn was improved as the earth pony mare giggled slightly.

I gave my best cheesy smile, “Every third one, hehe…”

The mood had lightened. The mare looked from me to her companion, then back to me. Her eyes went wide as Clean began to smile, the shotgun lifting away. Any lightness had become perverse.

“Clean, no, it’s too risky! Nopony even knows if there is any-”

“Ministry of Morale, that’s sure somethin’,” He talked over her, before whispering, “We could pull it off, we already have one part. Now an actual agent, still alive? This is perfect Domino!”

His smile had become a grin.

“By the stars, no! Who knows what could happen? What if we get caught?” her voice dropped to match. Clean shook his head.

“Don’t sweat the small stuff. ‘Sides, this is best step anypony’s had in years,” He fixed me with a look, somewhere between a mischievous twinkle and a killer’s stare, “Your Ministry… used to make ponies happy, righ’?”

I nodded.

“Well, we’re in dire need of cheerin’ up. And I think somepony of your… profession, may do just that.”

“H-how can I help?” I offered the cheesy smile again. It didn’t fit the gravelly voice.

“Depends on your next answer,” the shotgun made it back to its holster.

“What do you know about the Magic of Friendship?”

Level up!

New Trait – Ghoul: Through genetics, medicine, or sheer dumb luck, you’ve survived a balefire holocaust and the magical radiation within. You no longer need to sleep, eat or drink as often, and can heal with radiation. However, the stench can drive some away and you’ll look like a corpse for the rest of your days. Good luck with not going feral!

New Perk – Friend of Luna: Thanks to mutation, your eyes will adapt to low light conditions faster.

Author's Note

If you'd like to get a little look at the making of this chapter, check out this blog which also has a cool playlist to listen along as you're reading it.

Chapter Two - Homecoming

Chapter Two – Homecoming

Tap those shoes together, and think “there’s no place like home”

There’s a series of old expressions that mean roughly the same thing. Out of the frying pan, into the fire. Up the creek without a paddle. If you want to be crass, flank deep in the shit. Understand the general theme?

So, here I was, out of the frying pan and into shit creek without a paddle. Or a floaty.

“Friendship, Magic of. Ring any bells, zombie?” the unicorn snarled, a glow of magic reforming over one of his weapons.

“Clean! Back off for two seconds! Give it some space!” the earth pony pushed him back, gently. Clean did as he was told, and gave a sidelong look to his partner. She then turned towards my quivering self with a smile as sweet as sugar.

“Hey, are you ok?”

“That’s what he needs? TLC? Fuck me sideways,” Clean growled, stomping out of sight.

Domino shook her head, before helping me out of the life support pod, “I’m sorry about this. We’ve been searching for this… thing for months now, he’s just annoyed that it’s not what we expected. Take your time.”

I staggered out, collapsing on the ground. It took a while to work out how to stand up again, though I remained unsteady. The air felt wrong, but not uncomfortable. I murmured thanks, taking in where the pod had landed. We had smashed through the lower levels of a department store, with the top half of the building folding on itself. The remains of the wagon had pierced through to the floor below, just the broken and buckled rear sticking out.

The entire floor was covered in a layer of greasy mould, the air thick with a haze. Just old brick dust, not the ashes of the dead, no sir. Over in the corner, clearly a left-over Nightmare Night decoration. Not a real skeleton. Please.

“I’m Domino, and the grumpy unicorn is Clean Sweep. What’s your name? What were you doing inside that thing?” Domino passed me my suit, frowning at the pristine condition it was in. I was thankful for a distraction.

“Hard Copy… it was on the business cards.”

Domino held the furrowed brow, “You mean, Ministry Agents didn’t use code names? It feels like that ruins a lot of the fun.”

“Nah, that’s what we had false moustaches for,” I started to put the suit on before seeing my forelegs. “SEND ME TO THE MOON!”

“What now?!” Clean stormed back, wearing an expression like a father who had just heard a crash in the kitchen.

“What’s wrong with my leg?!” I half screamed, waving the offending limb.

Clean stared at me, before replying mostly to himself, “I ain’t believin’ this. Nope, screw it. You need me, I’ll be food huntin’.”

I wanted to fire a snarky remark about the café probably being closed given the state of the building, but my attention was taken by a full body mirror. I raced towards it, wiping away as much of the grime as I could. I let the sight steal my breath away.

In the reflection, there stood my corpse.

My mane was no more, my tail had vanished. A concerning amount of skin had fallen off inside the pod, what remained looked cracked and flaky. The muscle beneath looked dry, but still twitched with life as I moved around. Though the icing on the cake were my eyes. Once vibrant, they appeared both dull and strangely luminescent, like glow in the dark balls.

I looked to Domino, who returned it with a piteous smile. It took me a while to form the question.

“What? How?”

She sat beside me, patting a shoulder with a hidden look of repulsion, “Sometimes, ponies don’t die because of the magical radiation. They… end up like you. We call them ghouls.”

I sat in stunned silence, trying to make sense of it all, when she continued, “Did you not realise what was happening?”

I shook my head, “Last thing I remember was the pod telling me there was a seal fault. I was trapped inside that thing, and it hit me with some kind of sedative. I woke up when it said that the Ministry of Peace were nearby.”

Domino turned a shade red, gesturing to her labcoat, “Guess the ID card we picked up earlier did that. Scavengers found pods like this scattered around a while back. We had heard rumours about one being buried in this store, but nopony was willing to risk climbing inside to find out after the top floors collapsed.”

“What about the emergency message? Surely somepony heard it?”

“Oh yes, it’s where the rumour came from. A recording asking for a doctor, there are lots like it out there. Some called it the Sparking Ghost, after the store. It was only walking back where the message changed that we thought to check it out,” She smiled, at odds to the lacklustre rescue story. “Why were you in there?”

She nodded to the pod, though the term coffin seemed to fit better now.

“I was injured, took a grenade to the chest in a raid. They put me in there, next thing I knew I was in the sky being flown to a hospital. Something exploded and…” I gestured to the ensuing chaos from the crash.

Domino nodded calmly, before walking away to let me get dressed. The suit, though comforting, felt heavy. Like it was punishing me for surviving while the fates of my companions were unknown. Their faces flitted around in my memory for just a moment. I had barely survived after being inside a life support machine for the past 150 years. There was no hope that anyone else was alive after all this time. That’s when it really hit me. Agent of Laughter, the last one. I was alone.

No. I pushed those thoughts down. I had survived against all the odds, there was the chance that at least one other did as well. I did have help from the pod, but in the end, it was myself that kept me going. Somepony could have survived. Somepony must have. Domino had said that I was a ghoul, so there were others like me. I kept the mantra up as I pulled the rest of the suit on, returning to the pod to my waiting saviours.

“Righ’, now I have a real problem here.” Clean began, cracking the pod’s supply chamber open, “Y’see, I’ve just been denied somethin’ that promised to be somethin’ special. Instead of some grand prize, I got a gloomy ghoul. And that ain’t makin’ me a happy filly.”

“So what do you want? What is this Magic of Friendship you mentioned?” I replied, putting my gear in place. Earpiece, now dead, rested in an inside pocket next to the business card holder.

“No clue,” Clean grunted, pulling out several empty bottles from the machine, before taking the few drugs that remained and tucking them away. “But it’s big. Each of the Ministries had a part in it, somethin’ from the war. I know it’s here in Manehatten, where and what I need I haven’t a damn clue. Ah damn, no food left in this one.”

He gave that same grin, sending a shiver through me, “That’s where you come in. See, most folk have the good sense to not go pokin’ in Ministry Hubs. Those who don’t tend to come back. So, with a bona fide Ministry worker around to help out, I’m sure we’ll crack that first nut.”

“You want me to raid my own Ministry?”

Clean shrugged, “Have a look-see, more like. I ain’t one for pilferin’ all there is, just the big stuff. Plus, I figure you’d want a look. Last respects and all that.”

It was an opportunity to see what had become of Hoofbeats, and at least begin the search for my friends. Hell, it would be cathartic to go and look at the remains of my world before I even tried my hoof at this one. A small doubt began to creep into my head, but I swiftly stomped it out and replaced it with curiosity.

“You’re chasing something you don’t know, and want to go poking around Ministries to find it? That’s a big risk, why?”

“Ain’t your business to the whys, ghoul, only that you’re gonna do this for me,” Clean snorted. “Plus, I’ll make it worth your while. Teach you ‘bout livin’ in these here wastes, and ‘bout how to come to terms with your… predicament. Hell, I’ll even throw in some loot too. Better than me stuffin’ yur sorry ass back in there for somethin’ far nastier than me to find.”

He had a point. The odd couple did save me from my prison, and it gave me a leg up on surviving. I didn’t think much of Clean, but Domino seemed pleasant enough for the time being. Even then, I felt a sense of gloom come over me.

“You said wastes, plural.”

Domino nodded, “There isn’t much an Equestria left, I’m afraid. If it isn’t radiation, it’s taint. And it it’s neither, then you’re in Canterlot. That’s far worse.”

I grimaced, questions would have to be asked later, “Alright, I’ll show you Hoofbeats.”

Manehatten was just a name.

Sure, the streets were laid out the same, and there were plenty of stores I used to spend my lunchbreaks in, but there was no life left. No vibrancy that made the Ever-Wake city awake. We passed a corner where I used to get my morning paper, my mind showing me the newsmare waving from her small shack.

“Morning Mr Copy! Loved your piece in yesterday’s Times! I heard you co-wrote next week’s Jack & Jill, always love that comic!”

I frowned, trying to recall more than a voice and a vague suggestion of what she looked like. I only really registered the cap and apron she wore, grilling hay burgers as a breakfast alternative. It dawned on me that I never learned her name.

With so many buildings collapsed, and a lack of transport, it was going to take us the better part of a day to get to Hoofbeats. Didn’t help that I was moving like a newborn foal on top of that. Clean vocalised his disappointment greatly, but was still patient with my trips and tumbles. He and Domino were gracious to fill me in on the more important events of the last one-hundred and fifty years. Most ponies who were around today had descended from the initial survivors, carving out a living in the less irradiated parts of Equestria. Anywhere far enough from the major population centres. Around seventy years before I woke up, some of the Stables had opened to the wastes, bringing a new wave of confused survivors to the fray.

“So the Arcane Science Hub survived here?”

“It’s now called Tenpony Tower, it’s where Clean was born,” Domino sat, waiting for me to drag myself up a decent pile of rubble.

“Ain’t where I belong though, too up themselves for my likin’”, the unicorn grumbled, looking out over the area, “Damn unpleasant sort.”

I reached the top of the rubble, holding a hoof to my eyes to dim the light as a spot of unfiltered sunlight winked through. Clouds blanketed the sky, as if all the pegasi had closed up shop until further notice. When I brought it up with my two saviours, they said that they had never met a pegasus in their lives. Neither had their parents, nor grandparents. Now that was worrying. I had heard rumours about some pegasi looking to secede from Equestria after heavy losses and demands of weather control. Had they gone ahead?

“Most likely,” Clean grumbled when I asked, “If’n they were plannin’ on it, I ain’t one to assume the better nature of the folk of the past. Ya’ll were too busy blowing up one ‘nother to notice a lot of things.”

“Like what?” I mean, investigating matters at home was my job. Hindsight is a useful tool.

The unicorn motioned to the ruins we over looked, “There’s a lot, an’ I mean a lot of real fucked up stuff from the war. Secrets from the Ministries an’ so on. Secrets the Ministries kept from one another. Ain’t surprised those who could run, did.”

I frowned, studying the stallion carefully, “What sort of secrets?”

He caught my eye, and gave an evil smile, “Oh, ya gonna find out soon enough.”

We continued our journey in strained silence, stopping in the remains of a café for the night. I made myself useful, clearing a space in the floor for our group to sleep. Domino spent time picking through the cupboards and the pantry, no-longer locked shut after a bit of shotgun work from Clean. It was a practiced motion from the two, he blasted the lock free while she kicked the door open. Anything lurking inside would have two barrels of steel and a fine array of knives in them before they could let out a squeak.

“How long have you two been travelling together?” I asked as Domino watched a can of creamed corn on a small fire. I couldn’t tell what song she half-sung to herself.

“About six months now, but we’ve known each other longer,” she carefully moved the can from the heat, wiping her hooves on the lab coat, “Why do you ask?”

“Reminds me of work. That kind of practiced movement.”

Domino looked up, away from the piping hot food, “Work? You must have been in a few fights then.”

I shrugged, “Not as many as you think. Most collaborators didn’t put up a fight when we came knocking. If we needed grunts, we’d take on soldiers who weren’t on an active tour. It takes more than just fancy hoofwork and a gun to be an Agent. You need to show folks a good time to be part of the Party Ponies.”

“Be mighty concerned if ya offered to show me a good time,” Clean grumbled, taking a seat next to Domino by the fire. He tenderly poked at it with a stick, waving the heat away from his hoof as he threw it on the pile.

My nose wrinkled, “I’ll have you know I stopped that service after the pie incident.”

Domino let the tiniest of giggles slip before catching herself. She looked to me first, then to Clean before continuing with a clean and wonderous laugh. The unicorn slipped into a smile as well, adding a chuckle. A hip flask floated out of his clothes, opening and pouring a swig into his mouth.

“Pie?!” Domino shook her head, shaking the laughter away.

“What? Never had a bad run in with pie before?” I grinned, only a little conscious of how toothy it would be now.

“Can’t rightly say I have,” Clean mused, a frown forming. “Ain’t too sure I’ve had pie in a long time, now.”

Domino waved a hoof in the air, trying to clear away her laughter. “Ok, what happened?”

I settled, moving so I had my forehooves ready, “It’s a long one, so get ready.

“It was my second year at Manehatten, and we were chasing a rumour about a group called the Honeytraps. They would lurk in bars and danceclubs, lure in military folks and try to extort secrets through blackmail. Wasn’t doing wonders for the local entertainment districts, ponies were worried about going out and having a good time. It was up to me and Team Frosting to take them out.”

I began to weave the tale, finding the flow of words after a short while. My voice, though sounding like a rusty motor chugging unhealthily, had become less of a shock to me. It felt like I was back in the office, simply telling the other teams about my day and this wasteland was just a nightmare. I was going to wake up soon inside a hospital with doctors telling me that it was touch and go, but mission complete.

Of course, what I fantasised and what is real are two very different things.

“… so then, I hold the empty dish across my nethers and say, ‘I’ve heard of a sticky situation, but thi-’ oh, hello,” I paused, looking at the three figures stood in the doorway. The light of the fire blocked out any discernible features, but I felt a nagging tingle in my spine that they were bad news.

Clean immediately rolled away from Domino, springing up with shotguns at the ready. He reacted a little too slowly, and yelped as he took a shot across the foreleg. Two of the newcomers raced towards Domino, trying to pin her to the ground. I didn’t see the rifle held at the back at first, but I spotted the other two were armed and ready.

The two racing forward were sat at odds with my idea of a pony. While still in perfect pastel tones, one a lovely sunshine yellow, and the other a sky blue, there was a sickness to the coats. They were dirtied, turning the yellow a more bile-like colour and the blue into a darker and menacing hue. This was little compared to the random assortment of metal strapped to themselves as makeshift armour, rusted in places and flecked with what I hoped was brown paint.

The bile coated mare earned a knife to the throat for her efforts, Domino slipping another out and ramming it up into the soft underside of her attacker’s jaw. The second grabbed Domino by the hind legs and began to pull, a pistol stuck to her head. Domino shifted, trying to kick at him but couldn’t find the right angle for any damage. The pistol pressed harder against her.

The unicorn gave an evil grin. Not cold, like Clean’s, but full of wicked mirth, “You’re gonna make for real good ruttin’ with an extra hole in your head!”

My weapon found its way into my mouth, and barked twice as I fired at Clean’s attacker. The first shot sparked off the poorly made rifle in his teeth, the second finding his skull cleanly and punching a hole through. There was a brief look of surprise, like he had just registered that I existed at all at that moment. His body dropped and another shot fired off, his tongue having just enough twitch to fire it away.

I readied myself for the unicorn, who hesitated between shooting myself and the struggling Domino. He didn’t see the shotgun come up behind him. Brain matter exploded into the floor. Domino gave a shriek as she pulled her legs up, checking them for damage.

“Dom, you ok?” Clean groaned, pulling himself up. He gave me a death glare before limping over to the mare. She nodded, looking him over.

“You’re hit, let me see.” she began to dig through her saddlebags, pulling out bandages and wrapping them around his leg. “Just a scratch, we’ll have to take a look at it in the morning.”

“Thanks,” Clean turned his attention to me, glaring, “Mind explainin’ what the hold-up was?”

I opened my mouth a few times, with no sound escaping. Adrenaline still had a good hold on me. Clean grunted as he put weight on the leg, testing it.

“We nearly got got! See someone, don’t start chattin’, start shootin’,” Clean snorted before turning away, digging through the items of our attackers. Domino carefully stood up, wiping off the gore before looking over. She gave me a quizzical look, to which I nodded.

“I’m ok. Just nerves. What the hell was that about? Who does that?!”

“Raiders, probably.”

“Raiders?”

There was a thump as a corpse was thrown next to me. Clean gestured to the flank and the raider’s cutie mark. A skull with a single eyeball falling from the socket. What did this pony do to get that? What is the talent associated with it?

I looked back to Clean, his face a blend of rage and smugness, like he had just proven himself right. It dawned on me that there was a lot of anger inside this unicorn. Right now, that anger was pointed my way.

“What kinda ponies were around in your day, to end up with folk like this in mine? Ya’ll fucked up. Royally.”

Morning broke, though the sickly light made it hard to tell.

I had found it difficult to sleep. Not due to bad dreams, I just couldn’t close my eyes for anything restful. Guess I had slept enough over the last century and half. I spent the night keeping an eye out on the street instead, letting Clean and Domino sleep in the pantry.

The night had been suitably quiet, like a graveyard should be. A few distant pops of gunfire went off in the far distance, but I knew that they wouldn’t be an issue. The raiders’ corpses had been strewn outside the café as a clear warning to anypony investigating. I felt queasy at the work, but Clean made it look like something he’d done a thousand times before.

What had happened to my beautiful home?

Clean outright refused to talk to me, unless it was confirming directions. Domino was also quiet, but a more reflective silence rather than anything malicious. I had the feeling that the two were replaying the events of the previous night, and that this was first time in a long while they had dropped their guard. It was a grim reminder. There wasn’t going to be a safe bed for a long time ahead, even in my own city.

A short while later, we came across a familiar sight. Though the windows were long gone, I could still feel the thump-thump of the bass deep in my chest. The cheers of the crowd as the DJs spun both the soft and melancholic rhythms of Sweetie Belle, and the pulse pounding, nosebleed tracks of seedier clubs.

“It’s just like me,” I smiled, looking at the old skyscraper.

“Rotting, old and a husk?” Clean replied, looking over the area with a weather eye. He looked to me and my no-doubt charming smile.

“Yeah, but still alive deep down.”

We approached Hoofbeats carefully, hooves crunching on long broken glass. The heartbeat of Manehatten was stilled. No mess of colour moving in delight. No scent of alcopops and cider, blended with the more illicit substances snuck in. The DJ platform still hung from the ceiling, nopony to use the tables again. No noise.

It felt so wrong. This was the home of joy, of laughter, of life. I hunted for the source, the one thing that made Hoofbeats a home instead of a building. The spark had to be hidden away, waiting to come out once again.

I remember my first time in Hoofbeats, as a visitor rather than on my way to work that is. DJ PON3, the on-air character of Vinyl Scratch, remixing live, with Pinkie herself directing the party procession. A sea of colour moving in unison, feeling so very alive. Alcohol on constant flow, mares and stallions intertwined in both couples and friends. Tables of conversation and food, the occasional sweet being launched across the room in the name of humour, chased by the ecstasy of laughter as it found its mark.

Gentle Giant and Gadget both carrying me home, all three of us drunk as skunks. I proclaimed there and then that I would be the first stallion to host a party at Hoofbeats, something that had never occurred before. Though it was laughed off at the time, and somepony else beat me to the punch, I still dreamed that one day I would be the headliner. Lack of musical talent be damned.

It wasn’t meant to be. Not then, and not when the crowd is the skeletons of ponies caught in the firestorm. They had been cooked alive, begging to be set free as the world died around them. My mind came back to the room, Clean holding me back in his magic grasp.

In a dazed, desperate, and angry attempt to find that old life once again, I had turfed several broken tables over. I gazed at the new destruction of my home, feeling a deep shame bubbling inside. I had acted the fool here once again, this time so much worse than before. My body slumped to the floor, Domino giving my hoof an affectionate pet.

Clean seethed with anger, “Are you gonna be like this the whole way though? ‘cause I ain’t keen on pullin’ yur sorry flank back to reality every ten minutes.”

I shook my head, while Domino shot a look. There was a brief moment of tension, as if the two were having a silent fight for control over the situation. To my surprise Clean sighed, giving a look that almost seemed understanding.

“Alrigh’. Lead on zombie. Anythin’ that’ll help.”

I wiped the congealing tears from my eyes. “First stop, my Team’s floor. I want to pay respects.”

I could have walked this path with my eyes closed. The mould and rot washed away, the walls coming back to life with bright and cheerful wallpaper. Pinkie’s smiling face appeared, reminding that everyone deserves to smile in these dark days. If only she knew.

We continued a short way, the way impeded thanks to the remains of a giant scooter carving a decent chunk into the building. Thankfully my team’s office was on the other side of the building, but it made getting upstairs harder. We took several detours, slowly picking our way through the offices.

I was beginning to see why these places were considered off limits to most ponies. Twice we encountered the defence systems, which had been kept offline while there were security ponies to stand guard. Those owls are terrifying when activated. Great metal animals screeching ‘WHO’ as they race towards you is not something I’d seek out most days. The situation only became stranger, when it realised that I still worked there and gave a verbal slap on the hoof.

“You’re late, WHO! Miss Pie will be very upset, WHO!” he taunted, fluttering as he kept up. The owl had followed us since the second floor, eyes glaring but remaining a friendlier yellow. I glanced at my companions, both of them standing a considerable distance from us both.

“Think I’ll be fired for this?” I rolled my eyes, head bobbing to our escort.

Clean smirked, “That’ll be wishful thinkin’.”

A few precarious moments where the floor had rotted to the one below, and we had made it. Team Frosting remained on the door, now coated in a thick layer of dust. I gave it a wipe, trying to show pride again, before opening the door.

It felt like my first day all over again. The sense of trepidation as the door swung inwards. The low murmur of terminals. The scream I gave over the sound of party horns as I was covered in confetti, and had a hat attached.

“Welcome, welcome, welcome
A fine welcome to you…”

The whole team sang as I descended from the doorframe, all with deliriously happy smiles. The door was decorated with streamers and photos from my days of training, including one concerning photo of me playing volleyball in sunglasses. A huge banner stretched across the back of the room, Welcome to Our Team, Hard Copy!

“… Team Frosting to-daaaaaaay!” the mass of white (which turned out to be an earth pony) finished with a beautiful bass note, complete with a moss green unicorn firing off sparks.

“You must be Hard Copy! Welcome to Team Frosting!” a pegasus mare shook my hoof energetically, “I’m the party planner, Hope! You already know the mare by the punch, Golden Days. She’s our boss, and the best one ever. The massive stallion by her is Goliath, but we just call him Gol. He’s our contraband and supplies officer.”

The two nodded in turn, raising their cups as my two dearest friends began their introductions. A unicorn mare, with a set of goggles resting just on top of her horn, flashed me a smile. She grabbed my hoof with her two, shaking hard enough to take me off the ground.

“Aam Gadgit, an' thes is Gentle Giant. We're th' technical side ay th' team, if ye need somethin' fixed, bloon up, ur some fireworks, we're yer ponies,” she gestured to the muscled mass of white who simply nodded, a polite smile on his face. “Lookin' forward tae workin' wi' ye, an' I'll shaw ye aroond th' city. When th' striped bastards gie us a chance!”

“Group photo!” Hope sang, pulling the four of us together before the flash of a camera.

The illusion melted away, and I stood looking at the remains of the office. A few terminals remained, two with the flicker of life. A single, massive skeleton sat in a chair, head set to one side. The skeleton faced the doorway, watching the owl fly off into the empty offices.

The chair creaked in the wind, glass had blown inwards from the shockwave and ensuing firestorm. Knowing him, he’d sat there sending what messages he could to make sure we were all safe. I only hoped that the charring of the bones came after he died, the damage coming clear as I approached. Even in death, he still towered over me.

“S-sorry I’m late, Gen… traffic was awful, and the doc said I needed bed rest. Guess I took it a little too literally.”

The bones felt cold, and unbearably heavy until Domino came to my side. She silently helped me move them, lying them down into a rag that Clean provided. I looked to the cantankerous unicorn, trying to read his thought process. He stiffened, looking around for an escape before sighing.

“I need you, ghoul. Consider this somethin’ of an upfront payment. I’m a hard ass, I’ll be expectin’ a lot and I will run you into the ground. But I ain’t a monster. Do what you need to here, then we get to it.”

I nodded and finished laying the bones down. It felt strange, not having a word to say when now was the time to talk. A proper funeral would come later. I took a moment of silence to collect myself, then moved to my old station. Just like training, there was a time for switching it all off.

The motivational cat pictures and old Sparkle-Cola poster were mid-way into rot, the magic mixed into the ink still holding the images long after they should’ve burnt away. It’s weird what survives and what doesn’t. Silly poster telling me to “hang in there” survives magical hell, but a stallion of unrivalled talent and ability gets cooked just four feet away.

My terminal still hummed with life. A few taps and I was logged in. The clock-in screen came complete with an angry Pinkie Pie, telling me I had missed a lot of work. Out of habit, I went straight to mail service.

Two new messages, one automatically sent when I was injured. It was mostly the policies and details of what would happen if I died, as well as a notification for Golden to be aware I was off duty for a long period. Wonder how the insurance teams would react with me in this state.

I sent it to the bin and opened up the second, smiling. I had no way of listening to it now, so I moved on to archived mail. Hundreds of now ancient conversations flicked up on screen, each vying for my attention. Goliath’s surprise birthday party, Gadget’s weekly grumble about not doing correct maintenance of our gear, Golden’s monthly party review. It felt good to be reread all these old stories, just to pretend everything was normal once again.

“Hard? Clean’s found something.”

I looked up, Domino gesturing to follow. I put it off, those messages could wait. We trotted over to Golden’s desk, Clean frowning at the screen. He looked up at me.

“Was left unlocked, doubt that a Ministry Agent wouldn’t have a password on. What’s a DC-pad?”

Looked like Golden managed to get some sort of forewarning before the bombs hit. She never left her terminal unlocked even when just standing up to stretch, “No clue, why?”

He pointed to the on-screen message.

As requested by the Ministry, Stable-Tech have finished the development of the prototype DC-pads. Each team will be issued one for further testing to check that it meets standards. This is an excellent opportunity for further investigation techniques, saving a great deal of individual cracking time. Please respond to this message with your choice of agent to carry the item, and the automated system will update accordingly.

The DC-pads are held in storage cell B.

“Sounds like somethin’ useful. Let’s go get it.”

I shook my head, “If the owls are active, then so is the rest of security. Unless you want to take on a vault full of roboponies, I need to put a formal request through.”

“Will anypony be on the other end to receive it?” Domino rested her hooves on the desk.

“All automated.”

“Mind doin’ the honours?” Clean stood up, taking a look around the room as he did.

I took his place, tapping in my name and ID number. I added a few other details, mostly out of habit, while Domino looked on.

“I don’t understand him.”

Domino blinked, “What do you mean?”

“I know I haven’t made things easy, but he goes from rage to kindness on the spin of a bit. Is he always like this?” I looked away from the green screen.

Domino shook her head, “No. He has a lot to be angry about, I don’t blame him. But he also sees himself in you, in a way. New to this world, confused. You’re doing things he grew out of years ago.”

Warmth moved to her eyes, “But you’ve made him smile. That’s something impressive in itself.”

I paused for a moment, smiling a little. I had a lot to process, and not a lot of time to do it. Yet, Clean had saved me and gave me the benefit of the doubt. Even if he needed reminding from Domino to do so.

I typed a second request and hit send. Shortly after, a message came back with a code for unlocking the storage box. With any luck, there was something still down there to collect. It was also a testament to Stable-tech’s durability, even the servers were still ticking to this day.

“Okay, let’s see what’s inside the mystery box.”

The descent was uneventful. A few more security bots approached, each reprimanding me for my tardiness, but nothing came of the encounters. A quick reminder of who I was, and a lie that my guests were waiting for passes, we could walk unimpeded. Eventually, we came to the secure vaults, where I turned to the others.

“Okay, this is where I need to leave you. If the security system is still working down there and we trip it,” I took a sharp breath, moving my hoof across my neck. Domino and Clean nodded, the stallion not hiding his reluctance. With any luck, the vaults downstairs were still untouched.

I carried on alone, rehearsing the code numbers needed to get by security. It was a recent change from living ponies to the new Robronco robots back during the war, and they creeped me out in the full light of Equestria. Tartarus knows what they’d look like in the hazy gloom of post-apocalypse Manehatten.

Glowing green eyes watched my descent, as the vaguely pony shaped bodies rolled around on wheels. Obscenely leathal weapons swivelled, tracking my movements with terrifying precision. Two of the robo-ponies turned to look at me. If somepony had added eye shutters or something! Just to pretend that they were alive. Not this uncanny valley weirdness!

I stood separated from the two, one locked into place as part of a security gate. It spoke in the harsh groan of synthesised voice.

“Identify.”

“Operative, Team Frosting. Hard Copy. Here to collected package 4223/b, authorisation code 7669,” I swallowed hard, waiting for the verdict. The silence was unbearable. Though, not as unbearable as being atomised I imagine.

“Confirmed. Procced to row 5, then row 2.”

I let out a breath as the gate rumbled open, the metal catching and squeaking at points. I hurried through to the vault, moving over to row 5. The housing was massive, at one point containing an obscene amount of confiscation contraband and zebra drugs. most ended up missing under pretence of being tested for medical applications, but it was just the nature of the job. Some ponies loved to party, others knew that bribery of prohibited goods could make lips considerably looser.

Row 5 consisted of more safes, with a few loose items here and there. It took some time to find the safe mentioned in the mail, but with a few clicks it was open. Inside was a small black device. It was not unlike the pipbucks Stable-Tech were advertising. Though this one was considerably thinner and had no way of attaching to my leg.

I poked at the device, wincing at the green light that flashed up. The Stable-Tech logo flashed up, followed by a balloon slowly filling up. The balloon expanded until it burst, changing the screen. Text scrolled along, giving a selection of modes.

Welcome to the Ministy of Morale DeCrypt-Pad. Please Select

>Decrypt

>Storage

>Map

I felt the smile coming, this would be very useful. I tucked it inside my suit pocket before moving over to my second prize. Soon after, I was trotting back to the concerned pair sat at the top of the stairs. Clean gave me an impatient look.

“Finished?” I nodded in response, showing him the pad, “That’s it? Righ’, we’ll see what it can do. Where’d y’think we should- are you wearin’ socks?”

I looked at my hindlegs, which were now covered in a fine pair of black socks. A few small wires connecting something on the sole of the hoof to a small gem on the insides.

“Yes. They’re MAS experimental kinetic storage weapons,” I replied, soaking up the blank looks. “Also known as Datplacers by the test group.”

“Datplacers?” Domino asked, frowning.

I walked over to a nearby table, “Yes, Datplacers. It takes something from dis-place…”

I bucked the table with all my might, feeling the metal connectors hit the wood perfectly. There was a slight “womph” as my hooves hit. The table soared down the corridor, smashing at a far wall.

“… and moves it to Datplace.”

I took pride in the looks from my companions, shuffling to ease an itch, “They’re not the most comfortable of things, and it’ll take a while for them to recharge again. I also grabbed more ammo for myself, plus a few smaller goodies for the road.”

Clean nodded, “Righ’. Now, the Magic of Friendship. Let’s git to it.”

I led them back upstairs and into the records storage. If there was anything regarding the Magic of Friendship, there would be a paper trail somewhere. I left Domino and Clean to their work in the main office, explaining the bizarre method of organisation that Pinkie once subscribed to. While they busied themselves with a physical search, I made my way to one of the few working terminals and got to work.

The DC-pad connected to the terminal easily, a short cable attaching the two. The small balloon icon appeared on the pad’s screen, slowly filling and letting air out on repeat. After ten minutes, the balloon expanded and popped in a shower of confetti. A scroll of text informed me I now had access. A decent amount of mail came up, and I had no clue whether any of it would be useful. Same muck, new century.

I let my mind wander as I scrolled through heaps of useless information, slowly checking each and every line for hidden messages and double meanings. If we had something like this back during the war, it could’ve changed our information gathering drastically. Just plug in and unload all those secrets, proving innocence without the messy investigations and accusations. It was too good to be true.

I sighed after checking off a message about new subscription to Hooficures Monthly. This felt almost wrong. It always felt off when in an investigation, peeking into the private home lives of ponies. Yet it was an unfortunate necessity. Only the really strange enjoyed this side of the work. I would much prefer writing articles for the local papers and the raids themselves. One side was calming and gentle, the other bringing that combat rush I had missed from the front lines.

Then there were the parties. The look of undeniable joy on a filly’s face when Pinkie came to visit, or the carefree smile of an elderly couple as we celebrated their anniversary. Worth every bullet, every awkward conversation. Every scream.

Something flicked into my glazed vision, bringing my attention back.

Subject: Memory Orb Storage Updates

Miss Pie would like to remind archive staff that orbs of importance are to be taken offsite for further storage. This is a simple precaution to prevent several high security projects from being leaked in the unfortunate, and unlikely, event of orbs being lost. As such, the following orbs are set for immediate transfer with associated materials:

Inquiry 54226/a – Four (4) orbs. Accompanying materials: One (1) letter, One (1) audio confession. Location: Shattered Hoof Re-Education Facility.

Project 132/b – One (1) orb. Accompanying materials: One (1) audio file, One (1) blueprint docket. Location: Ministry of Morale Canterlot Hub.

Project 103 (Codename Magic of Friendship) – Six (6) orbs. Accompanying materials: One (1) case containing personal affects. Location: Grand Gallop Casino.

Progress.

“Clean, Domino. I have something.”

The pair moved over to me, both looking considerably dustier. I pointed to the screen and let Clean read through. His muzzle moved slightly as he read through, turning up in a smile before back to a frown.

“A start, means that it ain’t just an ol’ pony tale,” he nodded, standing up.

Domino sighed, “We’re doing this then?”

“Damn straight. Ain’t no way I’m stoppin’ now.”

I massaged my temples, “That’s assuming that the Golden Gallop still exists.”

“It does.”

I turned as both of my companions answered in unison. Both wore bitter expressions, like the conversation had dragged up bad memories.

I hesitated, gingerly touching the hornet’s nest, “Take it you know the place?”

“Yeah… ain’t where I want to go, but needs must.”

Domino nodded, “Clean isn’t exactly welcome, but we can manage.”

“Ok. Did you find anything?” I gestured to the archives. I blinked in surprise when Clean nodded, taking out a stained binder. He flicked through the pages quickly, tapping at a letter.

“To removal personnel, blah blah blah… Miss Pie has requested that all workers taking part in the Magic of Friendship project agree to sworn secrecy. This is of utmost importance as Princess Celestia is providing the funds to the Ministry of Morale to see the project to completion. Any information about this could blah, blah, blah...” I sped read the rest of the letter, skimming over the intricate details of Pinkie’s demands. Mostly numbers relating to confetti and cake mix.

“Princess Celestia?” Domino whispered, Clean nodding.

“This is big. Still doubtin’ me, Dom?”

“It won’t be a weapon,” I pointed at Clean. “Princess Celestia detested the idea of experimental weapon development, stepped down before the really interesting things were made.”

Clean dismissed it with a snort, “Ain’t carin’ ‘bout what it is, only that it’s there and I can carry it out.”

“Alright,” this threw an interesting spin on things. It was clear that Clean wanted something to bargain with, rather than use. “So, what’s your plan for getting to the Golden Gallop? It’s a long trot to Fillydelphia.”

“Ain’t too bad, done it before. We’re gonna need help gettin’ in, and luckily enough, I got a favour to call in.” Clean made his way out of the room. “Dress up nice Dom, we got a King to visit.”

The earbud connected to the DC-Pad easily, a small antenna poking out. I sat in my old office, downloading the years of mail into my new toy. Clean and Domino busied themselves with a little bit of scavenging, trying to hunt down what they could find inside the other offices. I had asked them to restrict it to ammo and food, I didn’t like the thought of disturbing the dead by taking personal items.

I scrolled through the options on the DC-Pad, selecting the last message received by my terminal. Gentle Giant’s last words. It began with a pause, the office sounding strangely quiet. Faintly, I could hear life outside in Manehatten. My eyes closed as Gen spoke for the final time.

“Hey Hard, not sure if you’ll get this… or if anypony will, but I thought I’d say it anyway. Golden and Goliath have already left, as have most of the other teams. Just me here, waiting for Gadget to get back. We heard about you, and Hope. I know you’ll both pull through, she’s been taken to one of the cloud cities, not sure which one.

“Yeah, we knew. Everypony did, just turned a blind eye. I want to grumble, tell you off. Never mix work and pleasure, and all that, but I’d be a damn hypocrite if I told you that. You know me and Gadget got married two months back? Drunken act at Las Pegasus, but we didn’t have it in us to call it off. Figured we’d give it a shot after the big mission. Now here we are…

“Aah boy, I’m going to die. Think just talking, pretending somepony is here is helping. I don’t want to, but there’s nowhere safe to go. We found out what it was they were moving… yeah, it’s that. Pinkie gave us the head’s up, let us scramble to try to stop it. Bless that mare, I think she’s still in the building somewhere, waiting for something. Probably staying with the others to keep them calm, no sense panicking them.

Think at the end of the day, she deserves to survive all this. We all do, but after all she’s been through, all she’s done to herself in the name of laughter and smiles… I’m not angry. We’ve done some bad things, Hard. Real bad. Hurt a lot of ponies, I just hope that most realise it wasn’t easy. Never was.

“Guess that’s it, that’s all I have to say. Thought my last message would be cooler, huh? Listen, Hard. If you make it out of this, if you live through it, keep going. Keep walking with your head held high. Stand proud, do better. Find the others, make sure they’re safe. I’ll do what I can from here, but for now goodbye.

“And good luck.”

Level Up

Author's Note

Making of, and playlist suggestions, can be found here!

Chapter Three - Manehatten at Night

Chapter 3 – Manehatten at Night

Giggle at the ghostly

“So, royalty, huh?”

The dirt crunched under our hooves, I tried not to visibly wince at the thought of it being pony dust we were walking in. It had been well over a century, so I was sure that not all of it was Manehatten citizens. It’s what I told myself at least.

“He’s not actually royalty, it’s just a stage name,” Domino replied, her voice somewhat weary.

“Stage name? You guys find time to put performances on?”

“Well, not performances like you had. We have the radio to listen to, and I heard about some ghouls that travel around telling stories.”

“The radio? Of all the things to survive, the radio has?”

Domino nodded, “DJ Pon-3, bringing the news and blues to the wastes since the Last Day.”

I froze, “That can’t be right, the DJ Pon-3? I thought she was placed inside a Stable several weeks before the megaspells fell. She’s a ghoul?”

Clean barked a laugh, “That’d be some great irony!”

It was the first time he’d spoken since Gentle Giant’s funeral. It was a small affair, tearing down the husks of trees to use as a pyre. Clean produced a lighter, and the whole thing went up in seconds. It wasn’t the right end for my friend, nothing like the traditional burial he would have wanted. There wasn’t time for that though, the others were concerned about being in the open at night and we had spent too much time at Hoofbeats already. None of us wanted to have a night in there.

Clean smirked at my confused expression, “DJ Pon-3’s a resident of Tenpony Tower, though he’s surely different ponies throughout the years. Ain’t a ghoul, those fancy folk don’t take too kindly to zombies knocking on the front door.”

“Why not? Can’t speak for myself, but not all of them can be ex-agents.”

“’Cause some’re just worse. Ya’ll see soon enough, plenty of roamers around Manehatten.”

“Right, so who is this entertainer?”

“I’d say ol’ friend, but he ain’t a friend. Nor was it that long ago, come to think of it,” Clean tutted, moving forward quickly to check a corner. “Clear. He calls himself the King of Swing. Bit pretentious, though I can’t deny, he can carry a fine tune. Maybe not as fancy as ponies back in your day, but for us lot it’ll do just fine.”

“King of Swing?” I frowned at the preposterous claim. “That title goes to Flank Pack, thank you. Though, they’d be the Kings of Swing I suppose.”

“Who?” Domino chimed in, glancing behind us as the night began to settle in.

“The Flank Pack? Come on now, of all the things to survive they must have!” The blank looks told me otherwise. “Come Fly With Me? Ain’t That A Buck To The Head? Volare? Sway?! You know it! When the griffon rhythm starts to play, dance with me…”

I huffed at the shaking heads, “Don’t know what you’re missing, uncultured, both of you.”

“Righ’, must’ve skipped those lessons in the school of survivin’ the apocalypse,” Clean grumbled, his ears suddenly twitching. “Hold up, hearin’ somethin’.”

We scurried into cover, Domino readying a knife as Clean floated out his two shotguns. I shoved my pistol into my mouth, regretting the taste immediately. The passing years had not improved the flavour at all, even after swallowing to rid my mouth of it. We waited for five minutes, ten minutes, fifteen, for something to come around.

Clean kept insisting we keep our heads down for the time being, pointing at the way we came from. What was once the main shopping street of Manehatten, complete with the husks of trams, lay eerily silent. Old stores lay open, leaking rotted wares like open sores. I assumed that even scavengers would have picked the remains clean years ago. Animals have better sense than to wander Manehatten for food. Even considering the state of decay it was in, the silence was unnerving. Like a calm before the storm, or something far worse. I began to get a combat itch, the stress setting in, when I heard something. A song.

I carefully picked it out, smiling as I tapped a hoof along. Not my favourite, but it was a classic all the same. Sweetie Belle, singing her heart out for all to hear. Singing for better days long gone, and days we strove for again. Days at the park with a family, or at the pictures with friends. I hummed the tune, adding my own quiet trumpets and percussion where necessary.

“Clean, it’s music.” I smiled at the unicorn as he eyed me suspiciously.

“That ain’t what I heard, definitely talkin’ but no singin’,” he glanced around.

I scooted out from my cover, walking cautiously towards the source. I heard Clean’s hisses to come back, but waved a hoof down. At least the old hoof signals had survived the tests of time. Of course, given the weapons that had survived as well, I assumed there was some Equestrian military continuing the traditions.

I rounded a corner, hearing the music grow from inside a shell of a house. A quick dash across the street, and I skidded inside. The first floor was a carbon copy of every first floor in Manehatten. Some ponies were lucky to afford an actual house in the city, while I chose to stick to an apartment. Bed, kitchen, bathroom, done. I rarely had guests, but when I did they weren’t the ‘sit down for tea and a chat’ type.

After checking corners, I heard the music continue from somewhere upstairs. Maybe an old radio, but it was too good to hear something familiar once again. I practically danced my way upstairs, keeping the movements quiet. That was a talent that took months to perfect, but a useful one all the same. Make yourself look like a lost dancer from a distance, sneak your way into an office at the same time. Plus it gave you a brief moment of confusion when somepony found you and asked how you were doing that.

One room remained, the music leaking from under the door. I heard the murmur of speech as well, pressing myself against the wall. The door creaked a little as I pushed it open, the years had taken their toll on the hinges. I swung in, pistol ready, and blinked.

The room was a dilapidated mess, rot and mould had infected the walls. A stallion sat calmly in a seat, listening to a long destroyed radio intently. Sweetie continued singing, her voice ringing clear and true. A mare trotted across from him, talking away.

“And what happens if they attack tomorrow? Where do we go Summer? What do we do?!”

I holstered the weapon, moving inside. They seemed indifferent to my arrival, “Attack? Who’s attacking-”

“What if, what if, what if,” Summer threw his hooves in the air, sighing. “It’s all what ifs, darling. We’ve got the striped bastards on the run. Give it a few months, it’ll all be over. The Stables are a last resort, we’re safe.”

He stood up, giving his partner a hug and a kiss. I turned my head, the gears in my head spinning. The two looked as real as day, but there was something off about them. A slight haze to their appearance, like an out of focus projector. The mare sighed, patting his side, and moving to take a seat next to the radio. My attention returned to the pair.

“Still, I’m worried. I mean, what’s her name from the office managed to get a ticket, why haven’t we yet?”

“Who?”

“Something-horn, the one with the black coat, you know. You kept joking she was your shadow last Hearth’s Warming Party.”

“Oh, oh yes! Lovely girl,” Summer chuckled, taking a seat opposite his sweetheart. “Still, I’m sure we’ll be fine. I mean, it’s not like they’d forget about-“

The couple’s faces ran red with blood. I jumped back and shrieked, hopefully dodging whatever had eviscerated them. I looked around for the source, before returning my gaze at my ignorant hosts in horror. They had just managed a scream when the flesh began to burn off their bones. Their eyes boiled into liquid as they cooked where they sat, collapsing on the floor in silent agony. Soon, just two cooked sets of bones lay on the floor, the shadows of a couple in conversation attached to the opposing wall like a macabre photograph.

I looked around the room, glancing out the window less panes into the street below. Clean and Domino looked up at me, the mare tapping and pointing at me. Clean shook his head.

“Ghosts, was hearin’ ghosts. Happens sometimes, get so used to listenin’ out for trouble, start inventin’ it.” He motioned for me to come down, moving down the street with Domino.

I looked at the room again, now taking in the scene for what it was.

“Yeah, just imaginations running wild.”

The journey was gruelling, more for sanity’s sake than physical. We walked in near silence, ears pricked up for more ghosts or some tangible trouble. The only interruptions were location checks and pointing our weird shapes in the rain. I spent little time looking up to the clouds, a part of me wishing for a spot of sunlight to break through and let me bask in its glow for just one second.

Clean and Domino told me how Canterlot was a no-go zone, much like Splendid Valley. I thought about what the capital city must have been like during the fall of megaspells, and how Princess Celestia and Luna would have lasted. One part of me argued that they had lived for centuries, if not longer, and could survive such an attack. Another pointed out that the way this Equestria survived was totally against what the princesses stood for, even if Luna was more martially minded. Strangely, I didn’t feel as upset to consider them dead compared to the remains of Manehatten. Yes, they were our leaders, but they were so far removed. Celestia and Luna were so far above somepony like me, it didn’t have any impact knowing they were gone.

It wasn’t like them being alive would improve matters, anyway.

We stopped for a rest inside a café, Clean dropping down his loot from the sealed fridge. Most of the food had rotted away, but it was good to see some favourites. Apparently Fancy Buck Snack Cakes could survive balefire fallout and had a multi-century shelf life. I didn’t want to think how that worked, as I chewed on a second cake.

“What’s the plan from here?” I prodded at a loose nail on the floor, frowning as it tore what little skin away from me. I frowned, remember that even a little cut like that should hurt far more than it did.

Domino answered, as Clean finished chewing. It seems that common table manners were still taught in the wastes.

“Clean and I will go to Tenpony Tower and find Two Tone, convince him to join us on this. We can’t take you with us, I’m afraid.”

I sighed, “Judge a pony by their coat, I’m a nice guy once you get past the necrosis. Why do you need him anyway? What does he bring to the table? You two bring plenty of firepower, and I’m there to find the memory orbs.”

Clean gulped down his food, “He’s an entertainer. He’ll be our in for the Golden Gallop.”

“How so?”

“Last time I was there, they were looking for a new singer. Simple enough to have a ‘one night only’ deal with him as a test run, and maybe he’ll find work,” Clean snorted after, as if dismissing his own words.

“What happened to the old singer?”

“Slept with Devil Luck’s kid. Devil didn’t like that, so had him trussed up on stage. Shot him each time he went off key, his smile broke or he yelped in pain,” The unicorn sighed. “Dead after three songs.”

I looked to Domino, hoping for her to say it was all some twisted joke. Instead, she sadly nodded. It seemed that the wasteland brought out all kinds of cruelty in ponies. Not the kind stemmed from a hunger for vengeance, or a notion of twisted loyalty. The kind where someone is cruel for the sake of being cruel, for the sick joy of being in power compared to the powerless. It reminded me of the worst Morale case I had been on.

A mare had been denied the right to fight on medical grounds. She was angry, hurt. It was understandable, to a degree. Nopony wanted to be told that they couldn’t fight, that they couldn’t do their part for Equestria. Just look at the old posters we put up, demanding that you had to fight or do something for the cause. We noticed it when a few zebras had gone missing in the area. We were used to zebra vanishing, heeding the call of their ancestral homeland or skipping town when tensions ran high.

This time it was foals.

The town had an orphanage, taking in foals of all ages. The mare was a volunteer chef there, working away the hours in whatever way she could help. Seemed that during her free time, she liked to torture the innocent children to take out her anger. Not just the zebra foals, but the colts and fillies who had talked to them, played with them. Like it was an infection that needed to be cauterized. Nothing more demoralising than discovering one of the few ponies you should trust the most was a cold-blooded killer. The worst part is, she showed no remorse during her sentencing.

I sighed, “What do I do then?”

“Wait for us on the Luna line, we’ll be-“

My hoof shot up as the gears in my head clicked. “Actually, there’s something I want to do.”

Domino nodded, cutting Clean’s protest off. “What is it?”

“Visit my old apartment, if it’s still there. Bit more of closure, right? It’ll be a while until we’re back here, so I might as well get it out of the way. Saves you the walk later.”

Clean glanced at Domino, nodding slowly. “OK, where do we meet you?”

“Here? It’s as good a place as any.”

Clean grunted an approval, Domino adding, “We’ll be a day or so, given the weather. Think you’ll be ok for that time?”

A mock salute went with my best grin, “Yes mum, I’ll even tidy up the house when you’re gone.”

A smile, better than nothing, “Alright. We’ll see you soon Hard, take care.”

The pair stood up, Clean taking a broken table top for an improvised umbrella. The rain had intensified while we rested, turning from a hazy mist to near torrential downpour. Equestria was crying, mourning something that day. Within a few minutes, they had vanished into the downpour.

My hooves moved for the DC-Pad at first, but I hesitated. Putting the old messages on again wouldn’t help much. I listened to the rain for a while instead, closing my eyes and thinking of better days. The worst thing that could fall from the sky was a bolt of lightning, or maybe a grey mailmare. I had heard stories about her disasters from across Equestria, and felt a little worried about a legendary disaster. There was no need for concern in the end, an acquaintance of the Ministry Mares and she brought smiles to the faces of ponies all across the land. It was worth a weather vane or two. And the time with grand piano. And the other time with the grand piano.

I soon found that instead of my planned mope, I was busy chuckling to old memories. I winced a little at the groans and complaints of my body, grumbling a little. It was completely unfair, I had spent the majority of this unlife trapped in a box and lost out on growing old naturally. Well, as naturally as you could. I was owed a great deal of time without stiff joints, and being able to walk around freely.

It was still an emptying thought, how long was I going to keep living? Was this a permanent feature, or was I going to get better over time? Clean did know what I was on sight, so I assumed that this condition wasn’t rare. Plus, it gave me hope. There was bound to be a pony somewhere who could relate to me, even if it was just a laugh and reminisce over the old days.

I made my way to the door. I had a long time until Domino and Clean were due back, there was time to explore a little. Part of me did want to go back to my apartment, but another told me it was a bad idea. What I needed was to get my bearings in my own city once again. Maybe find something stronger to drink than water. I scribbled a quick note down in case I was delayed, and took off into the rain.

It took all of five seconds before I was soaked to the bone. That said, in some places it felt like my suit was the only layer before bone. It felt good to feel the rain on me again, washing away the stink of 150 years. I spent a while face up towards the endless clouds. This was an old ritual, though normally something I did in the shower. I imagined each drop wiped a little bit of sorrow away, pushing a small bit of doubt or worry into the drain.

A few minutes passed, and I shook droplets free. While buildings had collapsed under the weight of years, the streets had remained largely the same. It took me a while to collect my wits, work out which street I was on, and make a move towards the old market. As Manehatten had become more and more progressive, the old traditions had struggled to survive. By the time I had arrived, very few ponies clung to old bartering and relied on set costs. A crying shame, but a necessary sacrifice according to most.

I, however, loved walking up and down market street, talking to the crafters and bakers. Once upon a time, you’d find the Apple family selling their wares here. By the time I began my life in the fine city, they had long since stopped. Duty and death, seemed the only thing that family was known for. That and unshakable tenacity.

Despite my job, I never had the pleasure of meeting Applejack, but every Ministry agent knew who she and the other mares were. Many missions were joint tasks with one group or another, our team had strong connections with Awesome and Image for instance. One for the more interesting gadgets we employed, the other for keeping those smiling faces all over Equestria.

I gave a grim chuckle as I passed Pinkie’s grin, the top half of her face long torn away. Just a plastic smile with the helpful “FOREVER” underneath, reading like a threat than a promise. We were doing great in that department. That said, I was doing well for the second part of my job description. Domino seemed somewhat happier to have a new companion, while Clean Sweep looked like he hadn’t had a good laugh his whole life. Not a wholesome one, at least.

Wrapped up in my thoughts, it caught me off guard when I heard a distant noise. I froze, moving behind cover as rain thundered down over head. Thankfully, Datplacers were designed to survive nearly any climate and my pistol remained dry inside its holster. I peered out into the street, turning my head as I heard the noise once again.

A groan, like someone was giving their death rattle. I had heard enough of them to recognise the similarities. I cautiously moved towards the sound, stopping as it turned to a growl, then back to the groan. Whoever this pony was, they weren’t going down without a fight. That said, I wasn’t willing to throw myself into trouble. After the close call with the raiders the other night, Clean and Domino gave me a stern lecture about the nature of the waste’s nastier residents.

Moving along the edge of the street, I froze when I saw movement. Out of the rain, a pony limped out. I felt my face change from concern to a smile when I saw the pony’s condition was similar to mine. Half of its face had been chewed away by age, but still it walked.

Then came the groan.

I froze in place, feeling the chill of horror slide down my spine. The creature sniffed the air, continuing to limp towards me. My head split between running and shooting, leaving me locked in indecision. As the pony approached, it gurgled out a stream of ichor, blindly looking in my direction. It gave another groan, sniffing me with the same care a manticore does before eating a rabbit. Bulbous, dead eyes met mine before the creature walking onwards. Whatever it was looking for, I wasn’t it.

I waited until the shuffling steps turned away before moving again, blowing out a stream of held air. My poor heart thrashed inside my ribcage, as if it wanted to burst out of me and start running down the street. The beating slowed as I took longer, deeper breaths. I stuck out like a sore thumb in the middle of the street, waiting for the adrenaline and terror to pass with each breath.

Slowly, I looked around for the ghoul. Even if it was an abomination, part of me wanted to find it again. Work out what was wrong and find a way of making it right once again, like deep down it was right to walk alongside it. To fix the moods of ponies was essentially my job, only this would need more than a few party horns and cake.

The thought brought a grim smile. Every problem we had needed more than party horns and cake, but we made do with what we had back then. I remember so many parties held for fillies and colts of all kinds, especially the ones for the zebra foals. It was a strange feeling, knowing that these children were a true testament to what Equestria was capable of, that kind of wonderful acceptance and harmony. All the while, we agents were exactly the same. Scanning the neighbourhood for potential threats and ponies of interest. Wearing a smile for all around, secretly hoping the façade on both sides doesn’t crack at any point.

I forced my body to move, trotting slowly after the ghoul. My hooves were whisper silent on the ground, the rain masking what I couldn’t dampen. Even if I was approaching to help, there was no need to aggravate it any further. Just like Wartime Stress Disorder, you don’t know what those ponies could do if you gave them too much of an opening. Best case you were shouted at, worst case you ended up like Snowfall. Throat torn out by a mad stallion convinced we were all zebra spies.

Given what we dug up over the years, I don’t blame him for believing that.

After an hour of careful walking, my search proved pointless. I tried to second guess a few turns, and ended up in a part of Manehatten that I barely recognised. Most of the buildings were barely recognisable as buildings, more a collection of rubble waiting to be moved away. I took shelter in the remains of a mane dresser’s, shaking myself dry. The suit would take care of itself soon enough, thanks to the wonderful anti-dirt enchantment.

It was a top priority at the time.

Any decent reading material had long rotted away, leaving me with little to do beyond flick through an old issue of Designer Manes. Even when I had a mane, I’d think twice about flicking through a magazine like that. Again, strange what survived. I had grown worryingly accustomed to bones just lying around, especially after such a short time. One pony was halfway through drying off when the spells dropped, poor thing.

I paid closer attention to the rumours surrounding Photo Finish’s latest model, trying to blot out the cruel thoughts that came creeping in. I smiled at little, spotting where the ‘candid’ photos were carefully crafted shots. Image did a splendid job changing narratives, gently manoeuvring public opinion and discussion. It never malevolent, nor controlling in excessive amounts, but it was a wonderful way to keep Equestria in check.

The ethics were questionable, but this was a time where ethics needed to be shifted for the better. At least, it’s what we told ourselves at the time. If we changed the topics ponies discussed over their morning coffee, from their daughters being slaughtered in droves on the battlefield to the scandalous rumours of Twilight Sparkle’s mane dye, it was worth it. That’s two less ponies to keep an eye on, to protect from WSD, to arrest. Then those two talk to two more, and two more, and two more.

How I wished it worked.

Instead, paranoia was at an all time high. Hooves and horns were pointed in every direction for the sacrifices made, teeth bared at each other’s throats. I was thankful only a few decided to carry arms in public, the shootings we did have were tragedies in of themselves. Trying to keep ponies happy and distracted when their neighbour had just taken ten bullets was an impossible task.

The magazine gave an unsatisfying flop as it hit the floor, the trickle of rainwater running along rubble filled the silence. My face gave an uncomfortable squish as I rubbed it with my hooves, massaging thoughts away. A slow breath out, eyes snapped up to the street and I exited the shop. The rain hadn’t let up at all, sitting there would be no different to sitting back at the café waiting for Clean and Domino.

Part of me wanted to never return, the small rebellious voice inside. The same voice that backchatted my parents, and got caught in a fight with my brother. My tongue clicked, knowing that I may never find out what happened to my family. I had lost touch before I went to Canterlot, who knew where they had ended up all these years later? It felt strange that they crossed my mind now of all times, but it was easily pushed aside. Relearning how to live in Manehatten was a priority.

“Mr Copy! Mr Copy!”

I frowned, looking around for the source of the noise. I figured it was my mind playing some wonderfully cruel tricks until I saw a waving mare at the end of the street. Complete with cap and apron.

“My stars, Mr Copy! I haven’t seen you in years.” As she approached, my trouble sense went haywire. From the distance, she could easily be mistaken as being normal. At twenty meters, I could see that she was, for want of a better word, a ghost. Just like how the couple’s last moments had been stained into the house, it seemed that old newsmare had taken to wandering the streets.

I put out a hoof experimentally, turning my head away. All I felt was rain running over my limb. Carefully opening an eye, I found I was alone in the street. My stomach performed several impressive gymnastics, as I searched for sign that everything was ok. It felt like a bad high, a sense of trepidation and longing for something solid to anchor myself to. Water sloshed over my hooves as I tapped a rhythm on the ground, focusing on it.

Unfortunately, it felt too real to pin on hallucinations.

My hooves carried me to where the newspaper mare came from, curiosity overcoming the worried cat inside me. The chill of the rain gave way to a greater chill within. A chill that stank with the basest of fears, the kind that tells you that the little voice inside your head was so very right.

Ponies of all kinds walked from side to side, ducking into nonexistant doorways and greeting each other. All appearing in a slight haze, like my entire mind was out of focus. Or they were. None of them reacted to my shocked look, nor the rain that thundered overhead. I wandered in amongst them, trying to get their attention. It was more for my sake than anything else, a check on my own sanity rather than a longing for conversation. What would a ghost and I have in common anyway? Other than haunting our dead city.

Even though they ignored my attempts at communication, they all walked around me, as if I was part of the scenery. I tried to walking into them, touching them, any sort of non-verbal communication. Each time, the ghosts would blankly walk past, narrowly avoiding me. I thought I was turning mad. Maybe I was, even the images in my own mind were choosing to ignore me than torment me.

I stopped trying to be an obstacle, choosing instead to be the spy I was at heart. Cautiously, I walked behind a small group chatting away. A stallion stood at the head, bisected by the rubble in his doorway.

“Well, it’s not like the war can get much worse, right? I mean, the worst things the zebra have sent out are the tanks and they’ve been stomped by those new rifles.”

“Aren’t we forgetting about what kind of magic they can brew up? Luna’s school wasn’t a one-off,” a mare retorted, snorting. Her voice seemed strange, like it didn’t quite match the movements of her mouth. I frowned, and began to watch closely as they spoke.

“Blossom!” one of her companions cried, slapping a fading hoof against her. “You don’t know who could be listening.”

“Sorry, I still have a point though. If that stuff hits a battlefield, what happens then?”

“Who’s to say it hasn’t?” The stallion turned briefly, his head melting into the rubble. “We’ve sent worse things out there.”

“Like what?” the snorting mare asked, frowning as she tried to remember something.

“That battle, the one where they first tested the megaspells. Beautiful idea, terrible tragedy,” her companion replied. “My cousin’s co-worker, Starry Nights, she was there as part of the medical team. Her entire station returned to life like nothing had ever happened, only to be marched out to the frontline because the zebras were back on the attack! It never ends.”

I backed away, hearing the buzz of conversation coming from all over. It was like somepony had turned up the volume, where there was silence there was now life to the ghosts. I heard snippets of conversation as I walked through the crowd once again, feeling more and more terrified at the uncanny nature of it all.

Again, while they moved their mouths in speech and sound came, it was off slightly. Like the sound and picture not matching correctly in a film, the mouth movements coming a half-second early or late, or not even matching the sentences. The worst part of it all, it all sounded familiar. Every voice tickled in the back of my head, like I had heard it before.

“Darling?”

Then it got worse.

“Hard? Is that you?”

That voice.

It felt like the rain washed away a great weight, as I turned and saw her standing in the crowd. A smile that could pierce the darkest of nights, and eyes that glistened like stars. Hope fluttered her wings, landing in front of me. I babbled like a colt staring at his crush, trying to find the words. Even if this was something cooked up in my own head, it felt so real I didn’t give a damn.

Everything was perfect, too perfect. She didn’t have the same blurry appearance as the other ghosts, nearly glowing in the rain and haze of souls. Her toothpaste mane had lightly stuck to her face in places, coat slick and wet from the downpour. Wings flicked a smaller shower of droplets away, feathers resettling.

Hope reached out, gently patting my cheek, “Look at yourself, all banged up like this. It’s a wonder you’re still walking.”

“Hope…” The hoof moved to my lips and she shook her head.

“We can’t, not yet.”

“What is this?” My heart wavered, unsure to probe this any further. If it was a dream, I didn’t want to wake. At the same time, I wanted out of this nightmare immediately. To be teased and played with shook me down to the core.

“Come find me, Hard.” She laughed and flapped away, melting into the crowd of ghosts. I heard her sweet laughter mingle with the crowd’s, blurring into one continuous sound. Racing into the crowd, I scanned high and low for her, desperate to find her again. Sense had left me, even if I was to wake up screaming at the night I needed to hold her one more time. To pretend I hadn’t lost her. To lie.

The giggling echoed around me, coming from each and every direction. The laughter turned sour. Soon, every ghost had a smile on its face, like the corner of their mouths were being pulled up by hooks. It was a deranged, painful smile, as if they were grinning away all the sins of Equestria.

The crowd’s heads turned in perfect synchronisation, ever pair of eyes watching me. I cowered as they approached, still grinning as tears and drool dripped from their faces. None seemed to care as they advanced, letting me slip through the gaps in the crowd.

They moved slowly, taking their time with every step. Each time I looked behind, more would reappear in front of me. An endless gauntlet of perversely grinning faces and hoarse laughter. I ended up boxed in, unwilling to try to move through the ghosts. Animal panic gripped me, my withered heart bashing inside my chest.

The laughter stopped.

The crowd continued to maddeningly grin, staring at my shaking form. They began to shift, forming an opening leading back to the street beyond. Soon, I had a row of ghosts stuck in mid haze, all looking expectedly in their deformed faces.

In the silence, I heard bells jingling. At the end of the street, a pegasus, dressed in a multicoloured suit, cartwheeled into view. I slowly got to my hooves, and walked past the ghosts. They seemed to urge me on, nodding as I approached. I watched the acrobatics, the wings twitching slightly to regain balance. The pegasus seemed more solid than the others, bringing a want to touch them. Just to see if they were real.

The pegasus stopped before my outstretched hooves, slowly bending backwards to reveal a mask. One side comedy, the other tragedy. Bells on the ends of its coat gave a joyful ring as the mask stared at me.

“Ah ah ah, no touching Mr. Copy.” She giggled, flipping over to her front.

My name, Sweet Celestia it knew my name! “Who are you?”

“Me? I’m nopony important.” A decidedly male baritone replied, the mask staring back at me. The wings fluttered a little, exactly the same way Hope’s did.

“What are you?” I could not hold back the horror in my voice.

“Me? Nothing too exciting. That’s up to you to figure out, my little zombie.” Old mare this time, a hoof tapping me on the head. I could feel it.

“Poor Hard Copy, all alone in the world. It feels like old times, doesn’t it? But it’s better that way!”

I swung at the thing, crashing to the floor as it easily flipped away. A flash of light and the strange pegasus was gone. I rose to my hooves, and felt something appear behind me. I kicked out, only to lose my balance as I hit the air. Another flash and a unicorn teleported in front of me, head cocked to one side. Beyond the horn and lack of wings, it was the same pony, down to the chiming bells.

“Why do you struggle? Why do you live? What do you have to live for?” A filly’s voice, all squeak and joy. Terrifying from the body of a fully grown pony.

“They’re all dead you know, all your friends and family.” The unicorn leaned in, the unstaring painted eyes locking with mine. “Join them. It’s the least you could do.”

“The coward’s way out,” I glared back, shifting for another attack. “They wouldn’t want me to take it.”

“The sane pony’s,” the unicorn stood up, extending and balancing on one hoof. “After all, how sane can you be? You’re in denial, you’re pretending that you’ll find her. That she’s just like you.”

My heart froze. I hadn’t considered, at least on a conscious level, that Hope was alive. Maybe she caught the edge of the detonation, just like I had. The other ghoul, they must have come from Manehatten too. There could be more survivors.

A cold laugh rippled through the crowd of ghosts, the unicorn laughing loudest of all. “Look at you! Are those the thoughts of a sane pony?”

Its hooves wrapped around my neck, pulling me into an embrace. Hope’s voice came from the creature, “I’ve missed you so much after all these years, why did you leave me? Why are you hoping I was hit by the blast? Is that what you want?”

My voice caught in my throat. I was lucky to be unconscious and pumped full of every drug under the sun while my skin peeled off. Who knew how much that would hurt for another pony to go through? “No.”

“We all miss you, Hard.” Gentle Giant this time, slipping into Golden Days’ sing song. “Join us, please?”

“No…” I rallied my thoughts, only for them to be washed with the chaos of emotion. Worry, anger, fear, all of it coming together in a kaleidoscope. My body locked as it tried to fulfil every panicked command at once, fighting and fleeing battling each other.

“Come, Hard. Please? We can sleep forever?” The voices melded, each syllable taking a different approach to pronunciation. “Please? Die?”

“NOOO!”

I carefully opened my eyes after, only to see the same street as before, the manedressers’ still in sight. I panted for a while, feeling the stress on my throat. I looked for the ghosts, finding nothing around. Whatever that thing was, with any luck, it was all just in my head. A momentary madness. I had hallucinations before, while doped up on Dash. Small doses it was a perfect combat enhancer, but taken recreationally led to interesting effects. Once upon a time, I could barely register what was real and what was imaginary from the abuse.

The whole scene gave me something to think about. Suicide was never an option, not in a thousand years. If there was an afterlife, how could I approach my friends knowing that I had taken my own life? Beyond that, the whole experience was terrifying. Who was that thing? I had seen the outfit before, a circus had come to town once, the ringmaster dressed like that. Was it something inside me? Some kind of weird psychological impression? I sat, pondering over all of this in the road, lost in thought.

“Well, that was different.”

My heart leapt into my throat as I jumped, screaming at the well-dressed ghoul standing behind me. The mare smirked as my pulse slowed to a far more reasonable rate, no doubt evaluating my great first impression. My chest heaved, dragging in long calming breaths.

“Better?”

“Y-yeah. You’re real right? Not just a screw loose in my head?”

We shared the same croaking laugh, hers coming out a little higher than mine, “You’re an interesting one, but I’m as real as the next pony.”

“How do I know you’re not just a really convincing headache?” I felt a sharp rap on my forehead, followed by a poke the chest. Just from those two taps, I felt a great surge of joy. Somepony like me, real, not growling. She blinked as I wrapped her in a hug.

“Alrighty cuddler, while I can still breath thank you.” The mare smiled, pushing a battered hat up to get a better look at me. “That prove it? Or do I need to touch you more?”

Nickering, I got to my hooves, “No, thanks for the offer.”

“Wow, ouch,” her hooves went to her heart in mock shock. “Hug me out of the blue then reject me. Hit me right there, why don’t you?”

“Well, somepony willing to jump these bones the way I am, seems a bit too good to be true.”

“A lot of things are out here. Too good I mean,” she added hastily. “I don’t think I’ve seen you before, new in town?”

“Something like that,” I shrugged. The mare’s glance encouraged me to continue. “I mean, I’m local to Manehatten, just had a lie in.”

“How long?”

“Woke up two, three days ago.”

The rasping laugh came back, the mare wiping an imaginary tear away. “Wow, I’m impressed you still have all your marbles. Most of them, at least.”

“You and me both. Maybe somepony could trade them for a time machine. Go back and stop all of this from happening.”

A sad smile. “Well, that would be too good to be true. Still, you’re new to town in that way. Come with me.”

“Come with you, where?”

“A few of us marble-holding ghouls have a town. Nothing too fancy, but enough to get us by. Keeps us safe from prying eyes.” She beckoned for me to follow, and began to trot onwards.

“Safe sounds good right now.” I followed a little behind her, looking around. “I didn’t catch your name, I’m Hard Copy.”

A gentle, if somewhat grim, smile. “Blue Bobbin, a pleasure.”

We trotted in silence for a moment, my mind attaching threads. “Blue… not of Bobbin’s Tailoring?”

“Well, well, somepony knows his fashion,” the seamstress chuckled lightly, though it came out deep and rasping. “I’m glad someone recognises it all.”

“Recognise? I bought all my dinner jackets from your boutique! Possibly from you, yourself!” My own laughter joined the air, the dumbest of smiles on my face. “What are the chances?”

“You’d be surprised, most ghouls know one another. Though I doubt you bought that one from myself, my clothing was good but not post-apocalypse-surviving good.”

I blew the thought away with a snort, “Balefire has had odd choices for what dies and what doesn’t, I’m not going to question it much further.”

“Don’t we know it. But life struggles on, in whatever way we can fashion it. We make do, we mend, we try.” She spoke the words like a recital, trying to convince herself of the mantra more than anyone else. “We never give up though, no matter what the world tries to do.”

She beckoned, drawing attention to how slow we were walking, “Come on, shake a hoof, we’ve a long way to travel.”

“Yeah. What’s this place called?”

“To me, it’s home.”

We moved out of sight of the strange street, my eye catching the smallest of movements on a glass shard. A pony wearing a mask, half comedy half tragedy, juggled grenades on a unicycle. I shook my head and caught up to Blue Bobbin.

“Others call it Craterside.”

Hey Hard,

Hope you’re feeling well after your first night out with a real mare! Tell you what, you can walk the walk, I’ll get you signed up for Pinkie’s special dance classes. They’re ideal for the stallion on the dancefloor, and not too bad in a pinch when it comes to stealth ops either. My favourite move is the old Wonderbolt Shuffle, apparently that was made by the Ministry Mare of the Ministry of Awesome!

That’s a mouthful.

I’m sure you’ll get used to calling Pinkie by her first name, if she’s in a good mood then she won’t grumble about it. Just don’t get too carried away, she may have a few years in her but she’s one of Princess Luna’s chosen!

On that note, don’t worry. There’s nothing, and I mean nothing, between me and Gentle Giant. Fraternising with a co-worker isn’t looked on too well here, we’re all friends but we have a bloody important job to do. Sometimes, you’ll have to switch off that smile and those feelings. If you’ve fallen for somepony, then that’ll just complicate things.

Still though, we’ll hold you to it. I want to see your name in lights at Hoofbeats. Then you can finally get your round in, don’t think I didn’t notice! Forgive you this time, but only because I’m your senior.

Your number one techie

Gadget

PS: Found Mint-Als are a great hangover cure if you’re suffering, Party Time if you can get them! Learned that trick from a pegasus the other month.

New Trait: Wild Wasteland – You’re more likely to find the stranger goings on in the Equestrian Wastes. The question is, are they truly happening? Or is it your mind slipping? Figure that one out before you get a hunger for brains.

New Perk: Casual Reader – Long gone are the days of actual newspapers, instead you’re more likely to find the odd magazine here and there. Who knows, there might be some useful tips inside. You’ll retain the knowledge gained for longer.

Chapter Four - A Devil in Craterside

Chapter Four – A Devil in Craterside

The dead don’t shuffle, they run

The rain kept up as we dashed through the streets, dodging and ducking behind cover when the opportunity appeared. Blue explained that most ponies would rather pop a shot off at us without a thought, whether they were raiders or not. With the rain obscuring our vision, we weren’t taking any chances.

She explained how the residents of Craterside normally use the sewers to get around. A knowledge passed on for over a century kept the ghouls hidden from the world. Even then, with the current downpour, it would take one slip down there and you would be lost to the world.

That was the least of our worries: when the megaspells were falling some ponies hid inside the sewers to escape the radiation. Plenty of ghouls lived down there and many resurfaced during the storms to escape being swept away. Almost all of them woke up very angry.

“Most ghouls stayed conscious through the change,” Blue explained. “It kept our minds off what was happening. I remember trying to find any survivors in the mall, but most died from the radiation poisoning. It wasn’t until I found another like me I realised that I wasn’t going to recover.”

“Any idea why it happened? I mean, why we ended up like this instead of…” I let the question hang, unasked.

Blue shrugged, “Many ponies have tried to figure it all out. I personally believe it was dumb luck and distance. I remember hearing a rumour, once upon a time, of a ghoul trying to find a cure for this. I imagine she would have found out.”

“What happened to her?”

“No idea. She visited Craterside, but that was a long time ago,” Blue let out the melancholy in a sigh. “I hope she’s doing alright out there, but chances are she died.”

She shook herself, as if to throw away the thought, “Come along. Not much further now. Only the mad would come this close to the crater, so we’re home free.”

We weaved our way through the rusting beams of buildings long gone, a winding path through the skeletons of giants. I tried to gather my thoughts, unsure of how I would react. It felt like just yesterday the other teams were hurrying through these same buildings and paths, desperate to stop this whole mess.

What happened? How did they not succeed? Who survived? And if they did, how would I react? Happy to see another Ministry agent? Angry at their failure? Or would we just weep at the loss of everything we held dear?

Maybe this was just me. I reminded myself that ghouls have had many lifetimes to come to terms with the way Equestria is now, to adapt and carry on. Meanwhile, I was stuck in the horrific honeymoon. It was just dawning how much had changed, how different ponies were. How war changed us far more than any bomb did.

For all the myths and legends, Equestria was never truly harmonious. Not in an obvious way that is. Everypony argued and bickered, but it rarely came to blows. At the end of the day we were still neighbours and friends, even if those relationships were strained at times. Bridges broke all the time but they were rebuilt stronger. It wasn’t until the need for coal pushed us to the breaking point, torching bridges at both ends then screaming at one another for having a fire.

A tingle in my bones pulled my attention to the surroundings. I looked to the buildings and felt my stomach drop as I saw the warped and buckled metal. Only the densest of materials had survived this close, anything inside had been turned to dust when the megaspell went off. The tingle grew as we journeyed deeper into the remains, but it wasn’t unpleasant. It became a slow warmth, building from deep inside, like hot cocoa on Hearth’s Warming. I felt a little more alive, the creaking of joints easing a little. Blue Bobbin smiled as she caught my eye, giving me a once over.

“You’re looking a lot more chipper, I guess you haven’t been near any radiation for a while.”

I baulked, “Radiation?! That doesn’t sound healthy.”

Blue chuckled, easing my worries. “Don’t worry, it’s a part of who you are now. Ghouls need radiation like birds need a song, maybe you should rest in the crater for a while. It’s like a spa treatment. Only with more glowing rocks.”

She pointed at something, but my eyes were busy elsewhere. Below, hidden in the ribcages of skyscrapers, a small collection of tin shacks watched ponies wander to and fro. The buildings were rusted, precarious, and yet looked more real than any of the ruins around. Unicorns and earth ponies chatted to each other, exchanging a few items here and there. A few played card games, laughing and joking like there wasn’t a care in the world.

Every one of them was a ghoul.

I felt a shaky breath leave, Blue patted my shoulder tenderly. “Welcome home, Hard.”

The town was no better than a few shacks loosely banded together. Everything had been built from the remains of Manehatten, leading to interesting aesthetic choices. More importantly, the town looked ready to pack up and go in a moment’s notice, though nopony came across as being on edge. There was an electric buzz in the air, like the beginning of a thunderstorm, threatening to take over me.

Blue was quickly swamped by the other ghouls who weren’t busying themselves with work, smiling and giving a hug to some of them. I stood awkwardly to one side, watching the display, when I felt a tug on my suit. To my right sat a foal, on the cusp of the horrible growth spurts of puberty.

“Hey, newbie. Got any cigs?”

My mouth open and closed for a while, staring at the filly. “Um, no. Sorry.”

“’s alright. Can’t go out looking myself, so I ask all the newbies,” She snorted, spitting out a wad of phlegm. “Tarlung, pleased to meet you.”

I gingerly took the offered hoof, “Hard Copy. Did your parents name you that?”

“Heh, nah. Most of us took on new names over the years. Took mine on from a nickname some traders gave me,” another snort. “Bad habit, wrecks your health.”

“Well, safer than others,” I murmured, remember my first cigarette. Then everything else that followed. What would my mother think if she knew?

Tarlung grunted a laugh, the noise coming from years of experience that the body didn’t show. Her existence would have sent my mane on edge, the sheer wrongness of it all. I wanted to know how old she was when the bombs fell, if she ever grew at all, what changes were there? It raised the same questions in me.

I knew that I had changed. I mean, I had obviously changed with the distinct lack of skin, coat and mane, but the internal changes where something different. I thought that it was some kind of side effect from being in the pod that had stopped me from aging, but Tarlung had shown me the real horrors of radiation. My stomach growled, threatening to throw up what little food was in there. All I could think of were ancient stories of ponies wanting to look a certain way forever, eternally young.

Think the Princesses won on the immortality lotto.

Tarlung nudged me again, bringing out of the stupor. Blue Bobbin and several other ghouls approached, chatting quietly amongst themselves. I stood a little straighter to make a good impression.

“So guys, this is Hard Copy. I found him shouting at ghosts,” she winked, the group chuckling.

“You’re not the first, and certainly won’t be the last, son,” a unicorn chimed in, thoughtfully stroking a long-gone beard. “Though that’s a fine suit, go shopping recently?”

I felt the smile come up as the others laughed, “No, actually. It’s been a bit of a lean week, had to cut down on the sprees. That and the wait was awful, felt like a hundred years had passed after I left the store. Oh, and if there is an owner of a blue chariot, you left your lights on.”

More laughter, hoofs patting my side and leading me further into town. I tried to hold back a tear, sighing as the tension in my chest eased slowly. Home, an actual home. No insults, no guns pointed in my face.

I felt hooves wrapped around me, a one-eyed mare gave me a hug. She finished with an extra squeeze, smiling afterwards. I looked around at the group, all of them looking happier than I could think possible in this world.

“Welcome home, Hard.”

Around two hundred ghouls formed the community, most of them had lived in Manehatten before the spells fell. A few had wandered into the city in the following century, looking for a place safe from all the dangers of Equestria. Due to the scarcity of resources, as well as ghouls looking like something from the darkest of nightmares, very few could find a welcoming door anywhere in the wastes.

Clean Sweep and Domino had filled me in on the history of the wastes, at least what they knew of it. Now, the oldest ponies around were topping me up on the knowledge of the creatures that lurked around now. It felt a little backwards, but it helped with my understanding of it all in a way. Anypony could tell me “bombs fell, everyone died”. Technically, I was there when it happened.

It took a real piece of history to tell me how it changed from a poisoned world to poisoned folk. The townsponies talked about how those who were caught above ground simply banded together in anyway they could, small scraps for resources and security were done out of fear. As more permanent places were laid down, it got worse. Many areas were labelled as being far too dangerous, the previous capital Canterlot for one, as well as rumours that the Everfree Forest had ended up even deadlier than before.

I had never wanted to visit the home of so many deadly creatures before the war, let alone when I was armed. Now that the place was considered even worse, I dreaded to think what could be lurking within.

Eventually, the conversation took its course to the brighter side of things. There were always stories of heroics across the wastes, brought to the ears of the survivors by one DJ PON3. The ghouls all pointed out that there had been many, many DJs over the years, but everyone respected their tenacity to bring the news and keep everyone informed.

And, it was nice to hear the old songs every now and then. Even if there was only twenty or so that survived.

The conversation turned to the ghouls themselves, who they were and where they came from. The town was technically “New Craterside”, the first had run in to an unfortunate situation with the previous leader, a new one taking his place. While their leadership styles were radically different, both were founded on the same ideals however. A safe haven for ghouls from all trots of life, protected from all threats.

“No smoothcoats. Can’t be trusted,” Tarlung grumbled, rolling a glass of whiskey around idly.

“She means non-ghouls,” Pirouette explained, noticing my confused expression. The one-eyed mare frowned at the filly, placing a hoof down to stop the glass spinning.

“I guess old habits die hard,” I sipped at my own glass, not really feeling the burn of alcohol. The mood turned sour for a moment, all of us reflecting on how old prejudice had started whistling a new tune.

“So Hard,” Pirouette began, tapping her hooves to break the tension. “What did you do before?”

“Before…?”

“The spells,” Tarlung poured herself another glass, topping mine up afterwards.

I nodded my thanks, taking out my business cards. Who knew when I’d get the chance to use them again? Tarlung and Pirouette took one each, Blue sitting away and smiling to herself. I caught her eye, and she gave me a knowing look. I tried to calm my nerves with a throat clear, smoothing down an imaginary mane.

“Huh, how about that,” Pirouette smiled. “A jokewriter, a real entertainer. Could do with something like that around here.”

Blue scoffed, “You can say that again.”

“Why? What’s so important about entertainment?” I sat up, feeling a little more important than a few moments before.

“Well, it does us good to keep our minds occupied. Prevents us from, you know,” Pirouette waved a vague hoof, uncomfortable to say any more. Her expression flashed worry when I shrugged.

“From what?”

“You don’t know? Oh Sweet Celestia,” Her hooves moved to her mouth, looking to Blue and Tarlung. The filly was more interested in my business card, leaving Blue Bobbin to fill in the slack.

“Remember how I said we have all our marbles here? Yeah, I didn’t mean that as a joke,” She trotted over to a window, looking out over the town. “Some of us couldn’t take the stresses of the wastes, of being a ghoul. Some of us go mad, utterly insane. Can’t talk, can’t walk properly, and they either sleep for centuries or can’t sleep at all. The only thing that gets them moving is the chance of food. Normally something still walking and talking.”

I frowned, gears turning in my head, “Before I came here, I bumped into a ghoul. They didn’t seem, well, right. They were making this groaning noise, and had empty eyes. Shuffling like a zombie from a bad movie.”

“Forsaken, the poor thing,” Pirouette whispered, as if saying the word would call the ghoul back.

“Feral,” Tarlung spat, throwing the business card to the floor. Blue sent a warning glare at the filly, who knocked back another drink.

“Screw you Blue, you know what they’re like.”

“Of course I do, it’s my job.”

“Then why are you giving me that look? They’re monsters.”

“I’m not saying you’re wrong, but they were still ponies once upon a time.”

“Ponies don’t try to eat other ponies!”

“Daisy, I-“

“Don’t call me that!” The filly’s hooves crashed on the table. “They’re fucking feral, Blue. That’s all they are. After all this time, they’re not coming back!”

I watched the filly jump down to the floor of the common house, slamming the shack’s door shut after her. I let out a quiet breath, wishing I was elsewhere. Pirouette shook her head and stuck out a hoof, blocking Blue Bobbin as she moved towards the door.

“Let her go, Blue. She’ll come back.”

“What happened? Why did she just…” I waved at the door.

Blue Bobbin took a seat nearby, tapping her hooves together then steepling them. “Her name is Daisy Chain, she was one of the few I found in Manehatten. I met her about ten years after the spells fell, inside a restaurant near the mall. Most of the ponies I had rescued had either died or moved on, only a few remained in the mall, too scared to go out.

“I was on a food gathering mission, I never ate much so they trusted me with the food. This was before most ponies shot at you on sight. It was still a ‘everyone for themselves’ world, but not as bad as this. You could have a conversation with most first, at least talk them into sharing what was there.

“I heard noises coming from the kitchen, she had locked herself inside a walk-in freezer. I found her, crying in the corner with two decaying ponies. Both of their heads had been caved in by a hockey stick. Her parents.”

Blue took a sip of her drink, wincing a little as it worked down her throat. “They had hidden themselves in there to escape some more aggressive scavengers, locked themselves in by mistake. Her mother had suffered from wartime stress, and eventually snapped. The father held her back for as long as he could.

“Her own mother tried to eat them both. She took the only memento she had of home and saved herself. She told me once her cutie mark was a hockey stick as well, the star player for her home team. She’d been stuck in there for a little over three months, watching her parents rot with no hope of a rescue.”

I whistled, looking to the table. I couldn’t even begin to process what that little filly had gone through, especially considering how little time she had to process everything. Forever stuck inside a body too small for her maturity, losing everything and then removing what was left. I was surprised she hadn’t snapped as well, and remained as solid as she did.

Pirouette let the silence hang for a little while, breaking it while Blue poured another few drinks. “She’s never truly forgiven herself for that, always angry at the world. She hates the smoothcoats for chasing them in there, she hates her parents for putting her in that situation, she hates everypony that seems to have a brighter attitude than her.”

The one-eyed mare gave a sad smile, resting her head on a hoof. “She hates the words we use for the forsaken, says it’s like we forgive them for trying to kill us. I understand where she comes from, I really do, but I don’t want to pretend they were never normal ponies. I don’t want to forget them, because I don’t want to be forgotten. Just wish there was something we could do for her.”

I felt a hoof rest on my shoulder. My head turned, eyes meeting Blue Bobbin’s. I could see a mind far older than it should have been in those eyes, deep wells of sadness and pain, and a will to push on no matter what. They changed slightly, showing a growing warmth and hope twinkling away.

“Just as well we have a Pinkie Pie approved party pony here, isn’t it?” She chuckled at my look of confusion. “Didn’t have to read the business card to know that, the suit was the biggest give away.”

“What, am I wearing the one with ‘party patrol’ on it again?”

“No, but I’ve made enough to know,” Blue patted my head gently. “I did say that one wasn’t one of mine, I don’t make three-piece Ministry suits. Well, didn’t. Mine were two-piece, the waistcoat doesn’t add anything.”

“A shame, really. Think of all the sales you’ve missed.”

“Shush you. Still, we have an upset filly. Think you can work your magic?” Blue gave me a wink. Not just a wink, that kind of wink that would have the magical ting if this were a movie. Not all the powers in the universe could argue against a ting wink.

I frowned, pulling out the DC-Pad. A few clicks, and I brought up something from the storage, a plan forming in my head. “I can throw something together, but I need a few things. By the way, what was the name of that team?”

A few hours later, I made my way past all the shacks that made up Craterside. Each one had been made by hoof, designed by the ponies living in them. what few families there were had slightly larger ones, and those who had lived with the group for longer had expanded a little. Earth pony ingenuity, get in. I stopped outside one of the middle-sized shacks, frowning at the unusual art on the door.

I rapped a hoof on the door, pushing it open as it swung inside. Tarlung’s shack looked to be rather cut and paste with the others. One floor, a living room, toilet and a bedroom. All the things a growing ghoul needs. The living room was filled with various trophies and posters, advertising various grand games between different teams across Equestria. All of them hockey matches.

“It’s pretty rude to walk into somepony’s house,” Tarlung snorted as she brushed past me. “What do you want?”

“Are these all yours?” I examined the trophies carefully, reading off the awards. “Best newcomer. Under twelve Girl’s Champions. Vanhoover Champions, third year running.”

“The Vanhoover Vandals, that’s us,” I could hear the tinge of pride in the words. “Or, was us.”

“You’re from Vanhoover? Long way from home.”

Tarlung nodded, gesturing for us to take a seat. “We were down for a match against the Manehatten Manticores, mom and dad took me out for the day.”

The filly paused, letting a cold silence grow in the room. “I begged them to take to me to the park, just a few more minutes, and then another few. And another. We spent all day playing, that we missed the bus back to town. When the spell hit.

“Mom covered me while dad put up a shield. He was good at that, had some medals from the war. He was part of the Ministry of Peace, helping ponies get home after fighting. I think that’s how he knew what to do, when we started changing. He never let me see how scared he was, always kept me distracted and happy, even when my cutie mark fell off.”

I heard a sniffle from Tarlung, the noise strange with the rasping throat of a 150-year-old smoker. “He told me to be brave when mom started to act weird. She started to forget things now and then, lose focus and space out. She and dad had these horrible fights, screaming at each other when they thought I couldn’t hear. She said horrible things, like she wished we had all died back then. Sometimes I thought that too.

“But dad, he said no. He said that we survived for a reason, so we keep going. He was so brave and caring, always looking after us and anypony we came across. He treated me like an adult, while mom still acted like I was a kid. I was twenty years old when… he told me not to be scared, after I killed mom. She had broken free, started to eat him. I tried to stop her, then she tried to bite me. I panicked and hit her again, and again, and again. He was dying, but slowly. He asked me to… to…”

Unsure, I gently placed a leg around her in an uncomfortable hug, sighing in relief as she accepted and returned it. We sat for a while, letting her cry it out. A few shuddering breaths later, she shook herself free, wiping away the gunk from her face.

“I’m ok, I’m ok. Sorry, I don’t like it when ponies see me cry. Means I’m not tough.”

“Do you need to be tough?” I asked, looking over all the mementos.

Tarlung snorted indignantly, “Of course. You need to be tough out here. There’s no time to cry or laugh.”

I gave her head an affectionate rub, smiling as she looked up. “You know what I did most at my old job? Other than laugh and tell jokes?”

She shook her head, eyes questioning. “I cried. Lots and lots. At the start, almost every day. I was so scared of everything, how I was going to mess up, what if the others didn’t think I was funny… what if my friends were spies.”

“And did they happen?”

“Oh yeah, big time,” I grinned, bringing a small laugh from Tarlung. “I messed up lots, and some of my jokes fell flat. I even flooded the offices with infinite glitter after misreading instructions. I was sneezing sparkles for weeks afterwards. But that’s not the point, it’s ok to not be tough now and then. We need a big cry, else we’ll never laugh again. I know you think you have to be tough, but it’s ok to rely on others.

“You’ve been through a lot, more than anypony could believe. More than anypony should,” I easily lifted the filly onto my back, trotting outside. “I’m pretty new at being a ghoul, so I don’t know what we like. But I do know what ponies like.”

I heard a gasp come from the filly as she gazed at the town’s hard work. It was a far cry from the standards held at Morale back in the day, but for what we had to hoof, it was perfect. Rough-made punch stood in old, cracked cups. A vaguely pony shaped piñata sat in the middle of a pile of balloons, rescued from somepony’s old trunk, while the ghouls snacked on a few fancy buck cakes and other treats they had saved for a future emergency. The fact that they had been untouched since they were collected over fifty years ago spoke how rare an emergency was.

A radio blared music from a bygone era, courtesy of DJ PON3. It was just lucky that we had hit a time where he played endless music instead of service announcements. The heavens had aligned that day. I felt the weight leave my back as Tarlung slowly turned back to Daisy Chain, all wide eyes and smiles. The feeling grew as she spotted the decorations of old furniture beaten into mock hockey sticks.

With a cheer, the town greeted her, encouraging her to dance and let loose. I sighed, dusting my hooves as I admired my work. It wasn’t easy convincing the residents of Craterside to give up what meagre possessions they had, or to pitch in to help for the sake of one filly. After so many years of only looking after themselves and their own, it was a sudden change of pace to act selflessly for once. Even then, just one cake or just one stick from each of them made all the difference.

I won’t toot my own horn and claim it was all me. It took some buttering up for the more stubborn ghouls, but once they saw the eagerness of the others they could not help but lend a hoof. Soon, the entire town had started work under the guidance of myself and instruction of Blue Bobbin.

I moved up to the party, taking a spot next to the tailor. She wiped away the crumbs of cake, mumbling an apology as she swallowed.

“They’re doing well with you in charge, Blue,” I smiled to the mare, blinking as she giggled.

“Oh no, I’m not in charge. We have the Sherriff to look after us, he’s busy tracking down supplies now. We all chip in and do our part, but he does the most for all of us. Always looking for new and safer places for us ghouls,” She sighed, a forlorn look briefly appearing. “We’ve all lost so much, and we do what we can to keep us together.”

“But you’ve never done something like this?” I gestured as the ice melted, ponies moving with a little more joy in their eyes.

She shook her head, “We’ve never really thought about celebrating things beyond the occasional birthday. Certainly not a party for the sake of a party.”

She stood up, pulling at my hooves, “Come on, show an old mare how to dance.”

I grinned, following her lead. “I’m sure I can teach you a move or two.”

We joined the procession, laughing and joking away with the crowd. Catching the eyes that passed, I no longer saw any fear or worry. It felt like we had hopped back in time, all we needed were full coats and it could be inside Hoofbeats again. The town moved to the song and dance, laughing as the piñata met its doom and the treats inside were shared out.

Blue and I met in the middle of impromptu dancefloor, matching our movements to the rhythms of Sapphire Shores. Classic soul filled the air as we bounced, ducked, weaved and came together. Two steps to the right. Shimmy to the left. Right hoof up for the clap, left up for the second. Three steps back, move up to meet in the middle. Repeat.

On and on our dance went, smiles ten miles wide. I saw Tarlung leading the dance with another ghoul foal. She dragged the poor colt around like a ragdoll, both too delirious with sugar and joy to care about keeping in time. Blue pulled my attention back to her as the song merged into the next; big band swing. The dancing became even more daring, more energetic, more alive.

Five songs later, I settled to one side to catch my breath. Pirouette sat next to me, clapping in time to the music as the other ghouls danced away. They all moved with the life of foals, bouncing and bending in impossible ways. More so if you consider they all looked like they’re just taken a stroll out of their grave. The one-eyed mare smiled, grabbing my attention.

“You’ve done some good already, Mr. Party Pony. I’m impressed you manged this so quickly.”

“Vanhoover Vandals, party number ten thousand, four-hundred and fifty-two,” I rattled off, smiling at the shocked look. I casually took out the DC-pad, waving it. “To celebrate the team’s furthest game from home. It was supposed to be my team’s job that day, completely forgot until you mentioned hockey. Wouldn't even have thought about it if I hadn't picked this up from Hoofbeats. What are the odds it was for our little filly?”

“Almost like destiny, huh?” we shared a small laugh at the weird twists and turns of fate, watching as a unicorn thumped the dying radio. A cheer went up as the music returned. “What were you doing there?”

“We were looking for a lead on something, the Magic of Friendship,” I raised a non-existent eyebrow, but Pirouette shook her head. “Ah well, worth a try.”

“Who’s we?”

“Myself and my two saviours. Smoo- non-ghouls,” I caught myself in the slur, frowning at myself. We were all ponies deep down, no need to apply new labels because of skin differences. A lesson that should have been learned years ago. “I promised to meet them tomorrow, after they come back from Tenpony.”

“You’re not staying then?” There was an edge of disappointment in Pirouette’s voice, as well as reluctant acceptance. “Are you travelling far?”

“Fillydelphia.”

“Woo, road trip,” Pirouette waved her hooves in mock glee. “Be careful there, it’s not great. Anywhere particular in mind?”

“Thanks for the tip, and we’re looking for the old Golden Gallop Casino. It’s still alive, apparently,” I chuckled, shaking my head.

“Ah, I remember there. Went there for my wild twenty-first! A gorgeous cinema too,” She sighed wistfully, looking up at the sky in memory. “I remember when Hinny in the Hills finally had a film, must have watched that dozens of times. It’s a shame really, we found a projector a few years ago, but it doesn’t work.”

A smirk found a home on my face, “Why, Miss Pirouette, I didn’t take you for this kind of pony.”

She returned the smile, trying to look innocent, “I don’t know what you’re inferring, Mr. Copy.”

“That I might just stumble upon a working projector, and the spare parts. And maybe a film or two.”

“You just might.”

“And they may make their way back here?”

“They just might,” the innocent façade began to crack, a mischievous smile leaking through.

“Well, I wouldn’t be much of an entertainer if I didn’t bring entertainment, would I?”

“I suppose you wouldn’t,” she giggled, looking out over the crowd. “You don’t have to, though. We can get by without things like that.”

“There’s surviving, and there’s living,” I snorted. “I want to do the latter, and think it’s time you all do as well. Think it’s time the wastes did more than just survive.”

Pirouette nodded, “I think so too. I think we need to stop being walking corpses, to step up and stop wallowing.”

“That’s very forward thinking of you.”

“I also think it’s high time you had a bath.”

“That’s very forward of you,” I gave myself an experimental sniff. It seemed that necrosis catches up quickly after being exposed to the air. It was not a pleasant smell. Pirouette chuckled at my experimental sniffing, shaking her head.

“I mean in the crater, get some radiation in you. Blue said you weren’t feeling quite right, and a top up will do you good. Go on, I’ll get a bed ready,” she winked as I fired a questioning look. “Well, you have until tomorrow. May as well spend the night.”

Dawn broke over Craterside with little fanfare.

What was dark become gloomy, the hidden sun struggling to break through the cloud cover. I woke early, intending to watch the sunrise, or pretend to. Tarlung had burnt out a lot of energy by the time I returned from my time in the crater and was more than eager to be carried back to her shack for a well-earned rest. It felt strange tucking her in, somewhere between caring for a friend and a child. I didn’t dwell on the feeling long, going back to my bunk in the common house.

While ghouls do not need to sleep every day, there are times where we do need to recuperate after being on the go for a long period of time. It just so happens a party was an excellent way to work out all those kinks and have a good rest. Most of the town were fast asleep as I walked around the streets, taking in deep breaths.

I felt like a new stallion, filled to the brim with a lifeforce unlike any other. I had the energy of a school colt, with the body of an athlete. Well, a decomposing athlete, but still. I did a few short gallops and push-ups, feeling my body sing with joy as there was no pain. Seemed the folks at Sparkle Cola were onto something right when they made Rad, even if nopony ever got to drink it. Radiation does give you that little kick.

“Well you’re looking good this morning, sleep ok?” Pirouette trotted over, bouncing on her hooves lightly.

“Yeah, pretty good thanks. I would say best sleep in ages, but I think I hold some sort of record at one-hundred and fifty years,” I stretched myself out, finding the limits of my muscles.

“I’m sure a dragon or two could beat you,” Blue Bobbin called back, closing a door behind her. “Pretty sure they’re still out there, sleeping away.”

“That’s a grim thought. Morning Blue,” Pirouette joined me in the stretches, counting down the seconds as we held positions. “Think this young colt wants to go for a wander.”

I nickered at the suggestion, “Not too much see around here, but thank you for the offer.”

“Well, we could do with a patrol. Saw some bloodwings roosting on the way to the town, need them to move on,” Blue moved past us, gesturing to areas for Pirouette to look at. “Think you and the Party Pony can take care of it?”

Pirouette nodded, moving back towards her shack. “No worries, might even have some fun while we’re at it too.”

Blue moved up to me, returning a mock salute. I shook my head as a smile breached, “Sure you’re not in charge?”

“I’m just a little more cautious, bloodwings tend not to bother ghouls but it’s better to nip a problem in the bud. Don’t want them to suddenly start going for us because we were lazy,” she caught my expression, smiling as I waved an encouraging hoof. “Oh, sorry, big nasty bats. Like to suck all the blood out of pony.”

“Yeesh, is there anything around here that won’t kill me?”

“If you’re at a distance, a Balefire Phoenix. They’re pretty territorial.”

“Never cared much for birds,” I sniffed, watching Pirouette bounce out of her home with a battle saddle equipped, a hunting rifle locked into place on her right side. She grinned at my confused expression. “Think you have enough firepower?”

“Laugh it up, you’ll be thanking me when I save your sorry flank,” she bumped into me and began to walk out of the town, humming a happy tune to herself as she bounced. I watched for a while, enjoying the bizarre sight. Pirouette had said her talent lay in dancing, and her hoof work showed it off splendidly. It was a shame that the image was marred by the ancient saddle.

“Hey Blue, you said something yesterday, I forgot to ask you,” I tapped a hoof on the floor. “When we were talking about the other ghoul I saw, you said it was your job. Does that mean what I think it does?”

Blue paused for a moment, giving a single nod. “It’s not pleasant, especially when they could have been a friend or loved one back in the day. I think of it as being a release for them.”

“Sounds tough, seeing somepony you once knew and knowing they’ve ended up like that. even kill you. You’re doing something amazing, Blue,” I began to walk towards the waiting Pirouette, just catching Blue’s quiet reply.

“We both know that’s the wrong word, Hard.”

I let it hang in the air, putting distance between us. My time at Morale wasn’t always pleasant, for every party and birthday, we had our interrogations and sentencing. It’s why you learned how to have a switch, you can’t let the two sides interact. Serious mode, fun mode, the two could never become one and the same. You’d end up mad.

Or cramming yourself with enough substances ponies would get a second-hoof high off you.

The route was a simple circuit around the crater, keeping enough distance to hopefully throw any curious creatures off course from Craterside itself. Pirouette kept the song up, humming away as her eye flicked around, hunting for these strange creatures. Her song quietened when we spotted a few roosting on a rusted I-beam, carefully lining a shot up.

“The first shot will scare them, pick off the ones that get too close, ok?” her tone was unusually authoritative, giving me the impression of a police or military background. I found myself following the order before I could think, getting my pistol ready.

Her rifle barked once, turning one of the bloodwings into a sack of bloody leather. Its three companions screeched in surprise, one making a beeline for us as the others flapped around in confusion. My pistol, a polite cough compared to the rifle, punched two clean holes in the creature.

Pirouette’s rifle fired two more shots, one scoring another clean kill while the second clipped the wing of the final bloodwing. It mewled in pain as it tried to take flight again, the leathery skin tearing. With sickening crunch, Pirouette broke its neck. She shook her hoof, looking disgusted at the corpse-like appendage.

“Ew, ew, ew. It’s always the time you’re trying to look cool it explodes on you,” she grimaced, wiping the gunge off.

“Think you’ve got the cool points. Where did you learn to shoot like that?”

“I was part of the homeguard, the Fighting Fillies. Signed up a year before everything went to shit, drilled every day in case the worst happened. That and a century’s worth of practice has helped.”

“Can’t say I’ve heard of the Fighting Fillies before, a regiment?” we moved on from the scene, looking out for more bloodwings.

“Not quite, we were a civilian organisation. Lovely mare by the name of Battenberg set us up, ex-military,” Pirouette hummed a little, bouncing her head side to side as if to shake the memories loose. “Not sure what part of the army she was from, come to think of it, but she trained us well. Prepared for any eventuality.”

“Even this?” I motioned to the destruction around. To my surprise, Pirouette nodded.

“Almost every possible thing. I don’t know if anypony else survived the megaspells, we were pretty spread out already, and I doubt all of us had this makeover,” she snorted a half-laugh, frowning after. “Strange, I guess they thought the Stables would save far more than they did.”

“That doesn’t sound promising.”

“Turns out, when everything’s going to shit ponies panic. I’m certain some of those Stables closed far earlier than they should have, but who knows? Nopony around today to tell us any different. Most who didn’t make it inside ended up dying pretty soon, some made what they could of the situation.”

“By continuing to bicker and fight until there’s nothing left,” I grumbled.

Pirouette laughed lightly, “I don’t think you’ve been out here long enough to make that call. There’s a lot wrong with Equestria right now, but some of us still try to do better. For every bad pony, there are two good ones somewhere.”

“That’s rather optimistic of you,” I snorted, and relented. “But you’re right. Positive thinking can do more than you know. Smile and the world smiles with you, so smile big and proud for those who can’t.”

“Pinkie?”

“Golden Days, but probably something Pinkie said once,” I caught her look. “Oh, my team’s leader. Wonderful mare, was one of the first to sign up for the Ministry of Morale.”

Pirouette beamed, slipping back into her humming as our patrol continued. It seemed our initial skirmish had scared anything else away, until we came across the carcasses of another flock. Bloodwings aren’t a basket of roses, but the stench that came from the remains was something else. We both moved into to investigate, my stomach churning at the damage done to the creatures.

Despite their nasty nature, I hoped they had died before they were skinned. Wet strands of meat clung grimly to the skin, trying to pull it back on to the body. Each creature was locked in an expression of animalistic fear. I looked to Pirouette, who shook her head.

“I have no idea who would do this, or why for that matter,” Pirouette sighed. “This isn’t wildlife.”

“So somepony’s here?” I paced around, looking for some sort of clue or indication of other life.

“I don’t like it. This close as well,” the comment was punctuated with the click-clack of a reload. “We’d better deal with it now.”

We continued on the path, following breadcrumbs of more carnage. A bloodsplatter here, a piece of meat there, all of it bringing more and more unease. Any mirth and song had been tucked away. It felt like I was on an operation again; one small slip and that would be end. All I could hope was that whatever it was had moved along long before we found those corpses.

Our route opened up into the innards of an apartment, the contents having been blown into the streets around. The concrete had given up the fight against gravity years ago, the rubble narrowly missing the rusting carts around the building. Another pile of bloodwings lay in the middle. Blood stuck them to the floor as it dried.

Pirouette sucked a breath in, looking around with a steely eye. She nodded once, motioning to stay quiet. I could do little other than obey. We carefully searched the rubble for any source of life. The tension was doing no good to my frayed nerves and I could feel the same for Pirouette.

Perhaps that is why my attention slipped for a brief second. I didn’t hear what sent me sprawling, only felt the wind being sucked out of me as my hooves shot out. I felt my teeth chatter as I kissed concrete only to be flung a few meters to one side. My body bounced along the ground, coming to a stop as I felt a pressure on my throat.

The gentle tingle of magic came into the air. It mocked me with the horrible way it was being used. I tried to calm myself, unable to bring in enough air to prevent a frenzied twitching. My eyes flung around, only to land on Pirouette as she attempted the same. A small cut along her belly appeared where the battle saddle’s buckle had been torn away. The rifle lay to one side, too far to reach. Our eyes met for a brief moment and relayed all the panic we could summon.

Pirouette gave a raspy squeak as the magic held her in place, eyes darting for the source. A knife floated towards her, slowly turning around. Her hooves beat at her throat, trying to ease the pressure on her windpipe as the wicked blade reached her face. I struggled, trying to call out to her while fighting for breath, a strange choking noise coming out instead. It sounded like a death rattle, a horrendous war for life in a pony’s last moments.

The knife delicately examined Pirouette’s eye, matching her jerking head movements to get away. It hovered like an artist’s brush over a blank canvas. The point traced down her nose and lips, a small bead of blood chasing the tip. She gurgled a moan of pain, turning into sobs, stopping as the weapon came to rest against her throat. The magic holding her throat died, letting her drop on the blade.

I felt tears roll as the head fell a meter or two from the body. The blade casually flicking itself clean as I tried to roar through the pressure. As it wiped the gore off on Pirouette’s corpse, I heard the crunch of hoofsteps. The pressure on my throat eased a little, allowing me to draw in enough breath to cough. My body shook with convulsions as my lungs screamed for more air to breathe.

From the corner came a unicorn. He casually regarded Pirouette’s body, flipping it over with a hoof. A long coat covered most of his body, hiding the sickly green coat beneath. On his face remained obscured by a wartime gas mask with tinted lenses. Magic quickly rifled through my companion’s pockets, looking for something worth taking.

“Woah, thought I squeezed so hard her eye came out. Huh, just as well I didn’t shoot anything. Waste of bullets,” his head turned in my direction. “Was she your friend? I’m so sorry, I find it hard to tell corpses apart. Normally, I just give them a quick poke to see if they want to eat me or not.”

I snarled at him, swiping at the unicorn with a hoof. The blade sunk into the concrete nearby, almost to the hilt. Getting a closer look at it, I realised it was actually some kind of claw, the thicker end crudely shaped into a dagger hilt. The weapon slid out of the ground and floated just in sight.

“Aren’t you a feisty one?” he sat down in front of me, giving my throat a squeeze. A grin appeared as I gurgled in response.

“Two ghouls, walking around here, and neither are feral. Makes you think, what if that little settlement I heard whispers about actually exists?” the mask made an almost comical stretching and popping noise, the stallion shaking his face. “Ho wow, it gets hot under there! But better that than getting slow roasted with rads.”

“Now then, Mr. Corpse, perhaps we should have a little chat, hmm?” I felt my neck being pulled away from the ground, my legs moved to match the speed to save as much choking as possible. “If I let go, are you going to behave?”

The pressure eased around my windpipe, allowing another deep breath, “You asshole.”

“Language! And you kissed your mother with that mouth,” he tutted, bringing the knife to my face again. “Now, you will address me by name, or sir. Is that clear?”

I panted as the knife came close to my neck, almost feeling how sharp it was from the wind blowing across it. Caving, I nodded. As long as I lived I could get revenge for Priouette. The knife moved away, still within easy stabbing distance.

“Good boy. I’m Mr. Shock, or Septic Shock. Hunter of all things, from treasure to ponies, and even a ghoul or two from time to time. Today, I’m feeling generous,” he smoothed down a crease in his coat. “You get to live! Isn’t that great? I just need three things from you.”

I felt my jacket twitch as one button opened, “First, I want everything you’re carrying. Second, I want to know where you two came from. Finally, and I don’t blame you if you don’t know, but I’m looking for somepony.”

The second button opened, my jacket opened up. First came my pistol, setting down in front of me, followed by my spare ammo. I watched the methodical way he checked each pocket, testing them one by one before moving to the next. A plan began to form.

“Ok, ok, you can take it all. A-as for where we came from, we’ve just arrived in Manehatten. We heard about the ghouls living here, but we couldn’t find them.”

“Hmmm, interesting. What about the pony?” Septic looked me in the eye for the first time, sending a chill along my spine. “Unicorn, male. Attitude like shit and carries two shotguns, that ring any bells?”

My hoof moved to my pocket, the next one to check. Septic’s eyes shot down at the movement, letting me reign in my surprise. I felt my limb being pulled away from the jacket, my body pinned to the ground as the pocket opened. Magic dragged my business card box out.

He eyed the box, smirking as he floated it up to inspect it. “You were pretty desperate to hide this, what is it? Hey look, balloons!”

He grinned, tapping the symbol of Morale. “I love balloons. There are some great ones over in Fillydelphia, have you ever been there? You should go sometime, lovely this time of year.”

The lid came off with a clatter, exposing the cards. Septic Shock smirked, casually taking one out. I sucked in a single breath as it left the case, tensing myself.

“Hard Copy. Jokewriter and Investigator. Ministry of Mor-FUCK!”

The magic holding me down popped as confetti covered the unicorn, my limbs springing into action as I hurled myself at him. He wiped away some of the string, only to see my hoof sailing into his face. His nose gave an uncomfortable crack, blood dribbling onto my leg as he spun around. My other forehoof neatly caught the business card box, tucking it inside my suit in a single movement.

I followed up the attack with a bounce on my hooves, scything a kick into his neck. The unicorn sailed into the ground, bouncing once. I had never formally studied any kind of hoof to hoof fighting, beyond the standard kicks and pins. Most of this style was based on a delicate combination of utter terror and old zebra martial art films.

And Power Pony comics. Iron Hoof lives on.

Septic chuckled as he got to his hooves, spitting out a glob of blood and mucus. He rolled his neck, wincing at a crunch before following it up with more pops along his legs. I picked up my pistol, rolling my tongue along the trigger as we stared down.

“It’s a shame,” he spoke up, pacing around to match my movements. “I can’t have the usual banter if you’re an earth pony. Can’t talk with a- hey, hey!”

There was a wrenching noise as he pulled a battered cart door across his body, diving to one side as I fired more shots. I took off into the rubble, moving away from Craterside as quickly as possible. The town wouldn’t stand a chance without some sort of back-up. I threw the switch and fought back a tear, Pirouette would have to wait.

I glanced behind me, throwing myself to one side as a chunk of concrete flew past. I performed an intricate dance, bobbing and weaving as more projectiles loomed out of the near distance. There was no pain or uncertainty to my movements. I moved faster than ever before. My body felt light and full of vitality. Ironic for a ghoul, really.

However, the high came to a halt. I turned a half step too far, pulling my head back to avoid a lead pipe whistling down at me. the pipe turned upwards halfway though the attack, clipping my head and sending me to the dirt. I saw stars and purple, blearily rolling to avoid a follow up blow. The pipe clanged as it struck the ground, ringing in my ears as I heard a gallop. My vision cleared in time to see Septic rush at me, spearing me to the ground in a tackle.

We bounced on the floor, my forehooves coming up to protect my head and neck as he rained down blows. Each one felt like a kick from a mule, but the pain quickly subsided with a warm tingling in my bones. I managed to slip a hindleg up, lashing out under his coat and activating the Datplacer.

I felt something break from my kick, the woof of air being driven out of Septic Shock as he thumped against the floor. His armour had caught most of the effect of the Datplacer, absorbing the hit instead of sending him into a wall. He wheezed a laugh and drew two pistols from beneath his coat. I span out of the line of fire, feeling a shot graze my hindleg as I bounced back to my hooves. It itched as the muscle reknitted. It’s not unlike a healing potion, but radiation healing has no warmth to the action. There were at least some perks to looking like a corpse.

Septic rolled to his hooves, a mad look in his eyes as he swallowed a pill, “Holy fuck, you might actually be some fun!”

He fired off a few more shots, ducking away as I sent a few in return. I felt the old buzz of combat adrenaline work its way in, pure instinct taking control. Two more pistols pop-ed in front of me and snapped a shot off each. Without Septic’s aim, they went wide as I dove to the ground, rolling as another two teleported nearby and hosed the space down with bullets.

“No way! You dodged ‘em! Fuck me ghoul, this just gets better!” Septic called out, sliding around my cover and reloading his spent rounds. As his coat flicked up, I saw a host of holsters and spare ammo, waiting to slot into the five pistols that danced around him.

“I never really got the hang of teleporting things bigger than a gun, but my papa said to work at what you’re good at,” that same mad look crossed his face, oozing malice. “Let’s see how well you can keep up.”

The fight turned dirty quick. I pressed to keep us in close range to deter Septic from using his pistols. The tactic worked to a degree, fewer shots were fired but at the cost of them being too close for comfort. We locked hooves, taking punishing blows and counters. He had magic and a cruel cunning that caught me off guard again and again, I had lighter hoofwork and enough radiation to heal away fatigue.

A lucky strike crunched my jaw, followed up with a quick jab to the ribs. I sprung away, forcing myself through the pain as I felt the cold chill of a pistol against my neck, jumping back in with a stomp after the shot went wide. Septic dodged, whistling as the concrete cracked under the force. I brought the same hoof back up and scored a hit where my earlier kick landed. The unicorn cried out, bringing all his weapons to bare.

I took a risk. It paid off.

Before he could pull the trigger, my other leg came around. The unused Datplacer gave a whisper quiet whoomph as it struck, the force hitting him on the chin. Back in training, we were taught about the button. The spot where, even if your foe is twice your size and they shrugged off every blow, it’ll take them down. It had worked on ponies riding high on Buck and zebra martial art masters.

It worked perfectly on an upstart unicorn asshole.

The pistols dropped to the floor in an unceremonious clatter, Septic’s body crashing a few meters away. He didn’t stir, Septic simply lay in the dirt. I waited a few moments, catching my breath as itching came across my body. Looked like I took more damage than I thought, but the damage was minimal.

Confident Septic wasn’t about to bounce back to life, I rushed back to Pirouette’s body. From his injuries, I figured he’d be out of a fight for a while. With any luck, the bloodwings would want some revenge for their fallen brethren. I knew the ghouls would want it if not.

Pirouette’s corpse lay undisturbed. Her face was locked in shock, the right side slightly damp with drying tears. I heard once that some ponies live on for a few minutes after their heads are removed. I pray that it’s just a scary story colts tell one another. Removing the battle saddle, I took her body onto my back and began the long trot back to Craterside.

I kept the switch on.

I watched the ghouls plant Pirouette’s marker in the ground, a chunk of metal warped by evil flames in years gone. It suited her grave, in a macabre way. Something normal, ordinary, turned almost beautiful thanks to senseless destruction. Her body will forever be watched by the skeletons of the past, both pony and building, and the clouds will weep her passing.

A few ghouls had left to find Septic, but they had turned up nothing. For all the hell the wastes put these ghouls through, I had figured it would give them a little kindness in taking the life of the unicorn. No good deeds today.

They found Pirouette’s saddle and brought it back to sit by the many mementos in what the town called an armoury. Blue stayed out searching longer, the sounds of her gunshots distant. Some were hopeful that she had found Septic, but I knew that it was venting. Angry that her friend had died on such a routine and simple task, angry that she sent Pirouette out. Maybe angry it was her and not me.

Tarlung sat next to me, as silent as the stones around us. “I know you said it’s ok to cry, but this time I don’t feel sad. I just feel angry.”

“I know.”

“Celestia above, I want to gut that fucker. I want to track him down, and break him. His own mother wouldn’t recognise the mess left over,” Tarlung spat on the ground, shaking as she rambled. “She was so good, so forgiving and wonderful and kind and loving. She deserved to live out her days in peace, in safety, and that was taken from her. All because some raider fuck fancied some fun.”

“Tar…”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck fuckity fuck!” The filly screamed, wiping away the small tears that leaked through. I let the silence fall, biding my time as she tried to calm down.

“I’ll get him, Tarlung,” I spoke softly, scared that too hard a word would break her. “I think I know where he’s going, so I’ll kill him, and come back. Then we can live here, away from everything.”

I omphed as the filly hugged me, “You better.”

We sat there for a while, not paying a great deal of attention to the funeral. I felt that it was rushed, as if the town was in fear that they were next. Some ghouls talked about moving on to another location, but that would have to wait until the scavengers came back. There was a sense of deep rooted terror, something that all the card games and joking usually covered up.

But there was something else. That same determination that, even though this tragedy had happened, they will carry on. They will trot ever forwards, like true Equestrians. I think that’s where ponies really shine: our tenacity. Our inability to give up entirely, to set a course and keep moving until the end of days.

As the funeral petered out, Tarlung thanked me for the time and made her way home. She needed time to morn alone and I wasn’t going to take that from her. I gathered the last of my things, thanking the ponies who helped with the party, and explained my plans to hunt Septic down. Most were grateful for the gesture, but their eyes told me they expected little success. Frankly, I wasn’t expecting to win, let alone find him again. If our paths crossed, it would only be too soon.

With a heavy, but determined heart, I left Craterside. When I reached the town limits, I took one last look, soaking in a chance for a quiet life.

“Are you sure about this?” Blue called out, stopping me from walking another step. I turned around, looking at her cocked head. “There’s a home here, you don’t owe anything to anypony out there.”

“I do, in a way. Even if it was for his own needs, he got me out of there. If not for that, I’d have never met you,” I turned to face her fully. “That, and I promised Tarlung I’d avenge Pirouette.”

“And that’s enough to leave? Really? Throwing your life away in the name of revenge? This isn’t a story Hard, you could die.”

“It’s not the only promise,” I looked to Pirouette’s grave. “She wanted to see movies again, I was going to get all the parts for a projector and come back here. We could watch Hinny in the Hills and eat cheaply made popcorn. Just like the old days.”

Blue Bobbin frowned, studying me carefully, “I don’t like liars, Hard Copy, so you’d better come home. Else I’m finding your sorry ass and dragging you here.”

“Promise?”

“Only if you do too.”

“Cross my heart and hope to fly, stick a cupcake in my eye,” I finished the movements, grinning all the while. “Besides, who else can fix my suit? I might get battered around a little more.”

I rolled with the affectionate bat to the face, returning the hug after. We held each other for a moment, before Blue broke away first. She nodded, let out a snort of air, and watched as I made my way out of sight. Soon, the tingle in my bones faded, and I had made my way back to downtown Manehatten. The clouds loomed overhead, eternally present and watching.

Equestria had stopped crying, just for a little while.

“Fuck me zombie, what pills did you pop?”

Clean Sweep looked slightly worse for wear, his eyes looked bloodshot while his mane frazzled and poorly kept. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he had slept outside for the first time. Given that was how he spent most of his nights, I reconsidered.

“Just had a good time, saw some familiar sights. What happened to you?”

The door to café slammed open, Domino stormed in with a sour expression. She grunted a hello, then slammed her face into a wall. Muffled obscenities came from the mare, followed with several thumps. I gave a worried look to Clean, who shrugged and took a swig from his flask.

“Hey Domino… your coat looks nice,” her lab coat was now outfitted with pads of leather armour and a new knife belt, several of the deadly weapons winking at me as she glared. “Ok, I’ll leave you to it.”

I sidled up to Clean, who was busy with weapon maintenance. I noticed his guns were in perfect condition, even as he cleaned them down. I cautiously asked what was wrong with the mare, when he pointed at the door. With strained ears, I could pick out quiet singing, as well as hooves tapping rhythmically against the ground. Curiosity killed the cat, so I poked my head outside slowly.

Outside stood a brilliant white unicorn, wearing one of the best tailored jackets I had seen in all my life. Gemstones gleamed along the shoulders and mirrored the reflective aviator shades he wore. He continued to sing to himself, counting steps as he swayed from left to right, dancing out a complex tap routine.

As he spun around, he flashed his cutie mark off to the world. I’m fairly sure nopony has ever written two musical notes in that position before. All it did was raise questions about the nature of his talent. His body swerved back, head flicking his golden mane up. The gelled shape held well and moulded to prominently display his horn. His eyes were completely closed to the world, totally lost in the moment of dance.

I gave polite applause as he rounded the song off. He flashed a cheesy grin, as if there were photographers around him, and gave a stage bow.

“A-thank you, thank you very much.”

“That was impressive, but are you sure it’s safe to-”

“Ain’t no need to worry, swinger, know what I’m sayin’? It’s all fine,” A perfectly manicured hoof slapped against my cheek, the owner then wiping it against my suit. “Yeesh, nopony told Two Tone that there’d be a ghoul around. Real bad for business, know what I’m sayin’? Ponies take one sniff and say ‘nu-uh swinger, that don’t fly here’.”

“Isn’t that a shame,” I deadpanned, beginning to understand why the others had found escapes. “So you’re the singer?”

“Singer? Singer?! Two Tone is more than that, fella, know what I’m sayin’?” He rounded on me, backing up and moving to an unheard beat. “Two Tone is the ring-a-ding-ding, one and only, King of the Swing! He’s an experience, fella.”

“Well, this certainly is one,” I replied under my breath. Two Tone seemed indifferent if he did hear me.

He reared up on hindlegs, striking a pose, “It takes more than just a good voice to be a King, baby. You need to own the stage.”

I forced my jaw off the floor, “Did you just thrust at me?!”

“… Wrapped up in the moment. Ghouls do nothing for Two Tone, fella, sorry to say.”

“Dear Luna,” I murmured.

“Then again, Two Tone’s always willing to bounce in any direction. Not sure if there’s a term for it, but caps make the world turn, know what I’m sayin’?” This was all capped with a casual flick down of his shades, giving me a look over. I suddenly felt very naked, even with a suit on.

“Seven circles, CLEAN!” I stormed back inside the café, glaring at the nonchalant unicorn. “First of all, why? Second of all, WHY?!”

“Because and because, zombie,” Clean gave a sly smile. “He’s our best shot at gettin’ into the Golden Gallop, even with his way of bein’.”

“Way of being?! He just pelvic thrusted at me! In the street! In Manehatten!”

“How ‘bout that, he likes you!” Clean chuckled, leaving his work on his shotguns. “Did what you needed to do?”

“Yes! And… yeah, something came up,” I sighed, sitting down and telling them about the run in with Septic Shock. He never mentioned Clean by name, but the coincidences were too big to ignore. My suspicions seemed to pay off, as Clean’s face turned from cold mirth to serious at the mention of the killer’s name.

“And you’re sure 'bout that? Definitely called himself Septic Shock?” he cursed as I nodded, stamping a hoof. “That complicates matters. On the other hoof, won’t know we’ve left here 'til he investigates Tenpony. Give us a small head start.”

“Septic?” Domino gasped, her face had tuned several shades paler. “Fuck, Clean, this is bad.”

“You know him?”

“In a way,” Clean trotted over to the mare, gently stroking her mane. The motions were tender and careful, like a doting father calming his child as the thunder reigned above. Domino seemed truly terrified by the mere name of Pirouette’s killer, a leg intertwined with Clean’s.

The best investigators know when to push, and when to let the evidence come to you. Part of me wanted to open this can right now, find out why Clean had somepony hunting him down, and what their relationship was. From the way he acted, it was clear to see why they were nervous about being caught. That still left a lot of questions open, however.

Septic Shock was most certainly a mercenary, or bounty hunter of some sort. My mind was set on who would hire him, and why would he go to such lengths to find Clean. Maybe there was something bigger to the Magic of Friendship, something that somepony didn’t want Clean to find. As far as we knew, nopony else had made any progress on the search. Maybe there was an outside force preventing such secrets from being dug up.

This wasn’t the time. I made myself busy, checking over our inventory while mulling these thoughts over. I would ask Clean for all the details later, right now living was our priority. I just hoped we’d live long enough to have that talk.

Dear Team Frosting,

Allow me to toot our own horn, but we did fantastic with today’s party! A hearty congratulation from myself and the team leaders, I doubt even Pinkie herself could have pulled that off without a single issue. (Don’t tell her I said that!!)

Additional congratulations to our newest member, Hard Copy, for his first successful party. Great job as the clown today Hard, though we would prefer a little less slapstick for the foals. Funny, yes, but some may have family that have been hurt during the war. We wouldn’t want them to think being hurt is something to laugh at. Thankfully there was no such problem today, but we can’t always get too lucky. I’m sure the rest of you remember the incident with Team Banana Split.

Now with the fun out of the way, it’s time to get down to business. The next party is in planning mode, but it is a cover. Unfortunately, the sweet filly’s father has received a great deal of funds from the Dice crime family. Given their numerous legal operations and businesses, I’d like to give the benefit of the doubt but that’s not what we’re here for.

Once Goliath has obtained the necessary blueprints, we will begin work on plotting the raid during the party. Once again, I’ll be keeping an eye on you, Mr. Copy, we’ll see how good you are at this side of things.

Again, well done all! You’re making a great difference to the lives of ponies all across Equestria. Never forget that!

Sincerely,

Golden Days
Team Leader – Team Frosting

Level Up

Chapter Five - An Expected Journey

Chapter Five – An Expected Journey

In an irradiated hole in the ground there lived a ghoul

“C’mon swinger, you know this one!
She said her name was Sweetie Belle
Voice more sweet than caramel…”

For the uncountable-th time that day, I groaned. I dragged my head along the floor as an alternative to listening to Two Tone’s endless singing, finding that it only brought a sore neck and pebbles in my skin. I’m not sure which made me more aggravated.

Not to say that Two Tone was a bad singer, completely the opposite. His voice was unlike any I had heard, the most delicious of sounds spoon fed into your ears. A gentle massage to the soul, but with the power of a Steel Ranger’s stomp when needed. It ebbed and flowed constantly, brought into emphasis where needed with a volume changing spell he had perfected.

It came from a study of the Royal Canterlot Voice: an ancient method of speaking used by Princess Luna during formal events and early negotiations with our allies. We had already made specialised talismans and gems for increasing volume, but not being able to control it beyond ‘loud’, ‘louder’, and ‘my eardrums have died’. At some point, Two Tone managed to get his hooves on one of these talismans. He was now capable of rendering any speech completely silent with a simple spell or increasing the volume to deafening levels.

Of course, I had heard that story twenty times already. Nearly once a day, every day, since leaving Manehatten.

“Say, fella,” he’d begin. “Two Tone takes a great deal of pride in his talents, know what I’m sayin’? His magic is from years of honed practice, something that an earth pony like yourself couldn’t quite understand. Ya’ll have your craftin’ and other work with your hooves, but that just don’t compare to the kind of things Two Tone and other unicorns can do.”

At this point, his attention would be solely focused on himself, giving me and Domino the opportunity to mime out the whole spiel in a perfect mirror. I’m fairly sure we could recite the whole thing by heart after day five. We turned it into a game quite quickly while on the road.

The journey to Fillydelphia was long and hard. Several times we were delayed by weather or wildlife, great sheets of rain pummelled the ground to remind the citizens of Equestria where they belong: in the cold, in the wet, and in the radiated hell we made. We braved the weather rather than wait it out, knowing that every minute we could gain was vital.

We passed very few ponies in the area, most being already dead. The others we avoided like the plague, too paranoid to consider they could be new friends to allies to our adventures. Common sense ruled the road: neither side would want a confrontation over straying into one another’s firing range, and our strange gathering would attract plenty of attention. Now with a crazed bounty hunter on Clean’s tail, we were all concerned with who we talked to and what about.

Wildlife, on the other hoof, was almost aplenty. Several vile creatures now populated the polluted rivers and watering craters, mostly large bloated insects. A few two headed cows now roamed the roads, one head making idle conversation as we passed. Polite enough, but I couldn’t find myself able to have a decent chat with any of them. Call me a hypocrite, but I was still getting used to what radiation had done to my world. Necrosis is one thing; two heads and snarky remarks is another.

The cows weren’t the only things that had gained an upgrade over the years. What few wild boars existed in Equestria had somehow turned from small, bristly, and full of anger, to massive, hairy, and full of anger. Clean identified them as Radhogs, followed by naming the one that had spotted us as Breakfast, Lunch, and Dinner.

Before I could begin to ask what he meant by that, the monster charged our party with a bellow from the depths of hell itself. I scarpered for cover immediately and quaked at the sheer size of the monster. Easily two times the size of pony, with tusks large enough to impale two or three at the right angle, the radhog’s squeals brought forth a rancid stink of tainted flesh. Boils and ulcers popped as it raced towards Clean Sweep who calmly looked the creature over as if it were a child throwing a tantrum. Domino had the sense to move to one side. Two Tone, on the other hoof, sat and watched the display like it was a night at the theatre, though behind his riot shield.

“Y’see,” Clean continued from his brief history of the creatures. “It’s all a bluffin’ game. Radhogs think they’re the toughest, meanest bastards in all the Wastes. Ain’t true, always somethin’ bigger around. Right now, he’s thinkin’ I’m gonna flee so he can chase me 'til I collapse.”

He stepped forwards, casually drawing a shotgun from his holster and lining a shot up, “Now, he’s seen I’m standin’ my ground. This makes him real angry, so he’s gonna start runnin’ harder. He’s lookin’ to gut me on one of those fine weapons.”

The breath caught in my throat as the radhog came within spitting distance of Clean Sweep. It gave another desperate squealing roar, trying to dislodge the unicorn from his cool stance. To the monster’s credit, he did move. As if jumping over a puddle, Clean bounced to one side to dodge the oncoming mass of muscle, bringing the shotgun under the radhog’s skull and filling it with lead.

“Course, blind anger has its drawbacks. Y'blind. It’s in the name.”

My relief at surviving the ordeal soon turned to disgust. I made my way to Two Tone, who watched Clean carefully. He was clearly enjoying the view as the mighty hunter got to work, and leaned against his riot shield for support.

“Swinger’s one hell of shot, know what I’m sayin’? Two Tone’s seen that more times than he can count, still a class A act.”

“He almost got himself killed,” I rumbled.

Two Tone shrugged, flicking a bit of hog away with his magic. “Just doin’ what he needs to, makin’ the best of a bad situation.”

The corpse gave a horrific crack and snap as ribs were broken, swinging open to the air. Practised magic and hoofwork changed the creature into food. A small knife cut away at the thicker cuts of meat. The work looked like an art form. Every movement had purpose, nothing was wasted or exaggerated. It could be considered on par with playing an instrument, or painting a picture, if it weren’t so ghastly. Clean spotted me and seemed to relish in my discomfort, still smirking hours later as we sat at the campfire.

“Been wearin’ that face like it’s goin’ out of style, expectin’ us to keep eatin’ two-hundred year old food?”

“No, just wasn’t expecting meat,” I wrinkled my nose at the smell, too similar to the scent of burning ponies to find it appetising. “We’re not designed to eat it, you know.”

“Needs must,” Domino replied, carefully chewing her portion. “If I was going to choose between ancient food or meat, I’d have to go with the latter.

Two Tone nodded in agreement, sat with an honest to goodness fine china plate and silver ware. He carefully cut and chewed the roasted hog like it was a delicacy served in Canterlot, rather than hastily cooked in the remains of a bus shelter on the outskirts of Fillydelphia.

“Griffins can eat it, we ain’t too different from them,” Clean said. “True, ain’t the best thing for us, but won’t do you good being hungry in a fire fight.”

“How about violently ill?” I sniffed at the glistening carcass.

“Won’t happen with me around.”

Domino affectionately pet the unicorn, tussling his mane. “Best chef in the wastes.”

She earned a glare, Clean scoffing at the remark before tucking back into his meal. Two Tone joined Domino’s gentle laughter, sighing contentedly as we watched the grey day turn into night. After we had eaten our fill, we settled down for the night. Two Tone continued his singing lessons with Domino while Clean scouted the immediate area for anything worth taking on the road ahead.

During these times, I’d scroll through the old messages on the DC-pad. A helpful how-to guide had been finished by the third night. While it was a potent piece of gear, it was a prototype in the end. The device had only five uses of the unlocking function and one had been eaten up while we were in Hoofbeats. The device was, eventually, going to be part of the Ministry’s standard gear. Naturally, ponies would be less than happy if we could carry around devices that allowed us to unlock anything we wanted whenever we wanted. So a token system was put in place, granting a limited number of uses based on the mission we were on.

All of which controlled by Stable-Tech themselves. We had our reasons to keep an eye on Stable-Tech: a lot of odd deals for the land to build the Stables, and a few more unsavoury incidents with builders’ family members. Several had been involved with zebra operations, too many for us to ignore, but usually as victims. Stable-Tech were doing the right thing but imagine the panic from knowing that lead architects and engineers had family captured by zebra forces. Faith in the company would drop like a lead balloon.

Nopony wanted Stables to exist. It represented the worst possibility. None of us honestly believed that such horrible circumstances would actually come about, but fail to prepare, prepare to fail.

As Clean returned, those of us who weren’t fuelled on radiation settled down for the night. I took first watch, as usual. Some nights, it would be the only watch, as I enjoyed the peace and quiet. A chance to read through more stories and reminisce.

I enjoyed these moments most of all, not looking back to escape the wastes, but to accept what had happened. I felt that these little stories should never be forgotten, just like the epics of yesteryear. All our lives are made of these little stories. It does you some good to remember that there is a life behind each one.

“Shit,” Clean spat as he scanned the horizon.

His binoculars floated their way towards his saddlebags, only for Two Tone to catch them in his azure glow. We stood on the second floor of an old house, the carcass of Fillydelphia in the near distance. The blankets scavenged from the beds of others were strewn on the floor. Below us, a small group picked their way through the ruins of the suburb, following a main road towards the once great city.

“What is it?” Domino narrowed her eyes as she looked over the middling distance.

“Slavers,” Two Tone replied, his voice venomous. “Looks like they’ve got a pretty good haul too.”

“We’ll go around the other side, no sen-”

“Did you just say slavers?” I couldn’t stop the horror leaking out in my voice.

Clean nodded with a grim look. “Yeah. No sense in kickin' the hornets’ nest, too many to avoid on the road.”

“I’m going down there.”

Clean rounded on me in one fluid and powerful motion, face pressed against mine as he squared up. Unicorns are, typically, physically weaker than earth ponies, pound for pound at least. Given our current physical conditions, I was very aware he could snap me like a twig.

“Don’t you fuckin’ start zombie, we are not goin’ there.”

“Screw you Clean,” I stomped, ignoring the look from Domino. “I have to do something.”

“Ya'll gonna go around make sure they all get home too? Fuckin’ shoot you now if you want to throw yourself in there, save them the trouble,” Clean snorted, his eyes boring a hole into mine. “Can’t save them, don’t be stupid, don't be a hero. We’re leavin’, that’s that.”

“For what it’s worth, swinger,” Two Tone’s velvet voice floated over. “The King agrees.”

“Thank you Two,” Clean replied, a smug look on his face.

“Was talkin’ to the ghoul.”

I almost heard Clean’s eye twitch as he rounded on the other unicorn. “Mind sayin’ that again?”

“Gotta do somethin’, those fellas are headin’ same way we are. Two Tone doesn’t want to run into them again later, know what I’m sayin’?”

To his credit, Two Tone didn’t even flinch at the pony shaped fury that stared at him. If anything, he looked slightly bored by the whole situation, like he had just found out that his label was showing on his jacket. I took the opportunity to check my pistol over and get it set in my mouth. At least I couldn’t back chat Clean any more.

“Dom, opinion.”

She carefully weighed up the choices, bouncing her mane a little. “We won’t gain anything from it, and it’ll be a risk, but if they are going to Filly we could run into them again. If we’re going to do something about them, we do it now or hope that we don’t bump into them again.”

“Swinger, Two Tone understands where you’re comin’ from, he really does. Risky, eats into our time, could invite all kinds of trouble. But, heroics aside, if those ponies see us, they’ll sell us out quicker than you can blink, know what I'm sayin'? Even if we're only seen by them, we're a pretty memorable group.”

Our, for want of a better word, leader glared at Two Tone and me before grunting. He floated his two weapons out and nodded once.

“Fine. You, lead.”

I took us through the rubble as quickly and quietly as possible. We slowly gained on the caravan of slavers, the sounds of whips cracking and general shouting helping disguise our noise. It was impressive that nothing else had come to investigate the cacophony, but maybe other things knew better. Made me worry about what kind of territory we were going in to.

Five minutes later, I finally had eyes on the gang. Eight ponies, most of them earth ponies, trotted around two large cages on carts. Each one was pulled by a slave, walking in a dazed state. Inside was a sorry sight. Caked in their own filth, ponies of all ages. Most of them weren’t old enough to have their cutie marks, what few adults there were stood as sentinels against the whips and insults of their captors. Long, bloody lashes were present on their bodies, oozing infected blood.

“Still sure ‘bout this, hero?” Clean whispered. I glared at him in response, biting down the anger. “The two pullin’ the carts will be drugged up to hell. There ain’t much we can do for ‘em now. I’m countin’ enough ranged weaponry to ruin our day ten times over, and that’s just what I can see.”

“Clean,” Domino hissed. “Either make a plan or shut up, you’re not helping.”

Two Tone risked a quiet chuckle, “Got you there, swinger.”

“Go find a pole and sit on it, Two, you got us in this mess too. 'Sides, command’s been given to the ghoul.”

“Why am I calling the shots?”

“So I have somethin’ to gloat over when we end up in Tirek’s pleasure palace.”

I rolled my eyes, turning my attention to the situation instead of the foal-like bickering between Two and Clean. I slowly began to build a picture in my head. Several scenes of us being shot to pieces ruled out diplomacy, so it would be a stealthy hit and run. Outnumbered two to one, but that was before we opened the cage. I nodded, taking out goody number one: a silencer.

Now, a silencer is a wonderful piece of gear in the Ministry Agent’s armoury. A barrel extension that can attach to the end of the standard issue 10mm pistol, a slightly modified version of the Ironshod design. The barrel itself does nothing. Inside lies a small gemstone, charged with a sound absorption spell. The gem stores up to two hundred standard shots worth of sound before stress fractures begin to appear. Any more past this, all that sound comes out at once.

Pretty cool, right? One of the best things we reverse engineered from the zebra infiltration forces.

“Clean, you see the one on the far right? One ear, bandolier and the great fashion accessories?”

“See ‘em.”

“I can see a grenade belt on them, think you can pull the pin to freak them out?”

Clean gave an affirmative grunt, moving forward in near silence. They weren’t the steady, confident moves of a trained soldier or agent. More like a prowling predator: a cat stalking a mouse. Another difference to add to the list. Being stealthy had been part of the job for me, Clean, on the other hoof, had done this a necessity to survive.

“Domino, back left, closest to us. Try to take her out without the others noticing first, then work on finding the keys.”

“I don’t think I can do it without alerting somepony,” she whispered. “They’re too close together.”

“Damn, I need confusion.”

“A distraction, fella?” Two Tone offered. “Don’t think there’s a pony in these wastes that can outshine the King of the Swing.”

I studied Two Tone, his eyes still hidden behind reflective shades. “You sure you can do that? And stay safe?”

Two scoffed, flicking his tail in my face as he moved past. “Ain’t Two Tone’s first rodeo, he can take care of himself. Watch and learn, fella.”

He bounced away, moving to overtake our target. Domino slipped away. She had none of the animal grace of Clean but managed to stay out of sight we advanced. I grumbled at the taste of old mouthgrip again, moving up to match the other two.

I had to blink twice to believe my eyes as the convoy came to a standstill. Wincing at the bursts of lights, I picked out the distinct sound of trumpets building up. Standing in the middle of the road, with a five-mile smile and his perfect white suit glistening against the horn-made beams of light, Two Tone posed with all the flair of the ponies of old.

I don’t think that description did justice to how jaw dropping this sight was.

“Good evening, my little ponies, figured you folks on the road could do with a little entertainment,” his voiced bounced across the rubble, the volume enough to carry to everyone but stopping short of painful.

“Here’s entertainment. Skewer, pop ‘im,” a slaver mare spat, her companion firing off two shots from his pistol.

The air around Two Tone flushed blue as another layer appeared on his horn. His riot shield whirled around to catch the shots. The reinforced material cracked and splintered from the hits. Two kept his cool demeanour, flicking his shield to one side as it began to self repair, and slowly approached the slavers. The sounds of guns being removed from holsters greeted him.

“Now now swingers, Two Tone’s just wantin’ to put on a show. Maybe you good folks could put a good word to your boss, know what I’m sayin’?”

“Riiight, so what’s stopping us from hitting you with a Mesmer and carting you off with a nice new collar?” Skewer called out, gobbing on the floor.

“You’d do such a thing to the King of the Swing?” Two Tone pouted, flicking his shades down as he gazed at each of the slavers in turn. “That would be a cryin’ shame. You swingers look like the types of ponies who’d know a thing or two about havin’ a good time, and Two Tone knows some of you personally, he’s sure of it.”

The slavers looked to each other, each puzzled by the comment. A few began to murmur, ignoring the slaves as they cowered in terror of events outside. I couldn’t blame them and only could only hope they’d forgive just a little more terror in a few moments.

Clean’s horn lit up as I moved in closer, lining up my shot. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Domino’s dance of death. With a knife clenched between her teeth, she swung her full body weight at the hindlegs of the slaver. The slaver managed a mewl of surprise, only for Domino’s hoof to slam into her jaw. The bone snapped shut, a small flash of pink and spray of red as the tip of the slaver’s tongue flew into the air. Domino dug into the back of the skull with the knife. I didn’t need to see the hoof stomp that hammered the weapon in.

One of the capture ponies shrieked, a foal from the pitch. Heads turned towards Domino as everything else lurched into motion. My silent shot sent a bullet into the head of Skewer, a red mist bursting out. A lucky shot, I was aiming for the body.

Three grenade pins freed themselves from another slaver’s belt and dangled in front of the owner. She struggled to remove the belt until the explosions tore her to pieces. The remaining pieces of hot metal sliced into two more slavers around her corpse, the pair howling from the explosion burns.

Shouts went up as the remaining three spun around. The largest of them kicked their battle saddle into gear. Two automatic rifles sent dirt up around Domino as she ran for cover. The shots turned rapidly as Clean dove into the convoy, cracking his shotgun against the hindlegs of the shooter. I chased after, firing off two rounds at the nearest slaver.

The scarred unicorn growled as one found her shoulder and swung a baseball bat, of all things, at me. I rolled under the swing and brought a hoof up to her throat. My vision swam into red stars as a second bat slammed into my head. I danced as I fought to stay conscious, only to take another three hits to my body.

Pain exploded from the blunt impacts, spreading across my aching bones. Bit of advice to you all, never let yourselves get this skeletal. Ponies have this lovely layer of muscle and fat to get in the way of bumps and scraps. Imagine banging your knee on a table, only the knee is your spine and the table is three pounds of Hickory wielded by an angry unicorn. Then the table starts bashing your face in.

“Fucking zombie cunt!” she growled, cutting into a shriek as I managed to squeeze a shot off.

I didn’t see where I hit her. The fact that I had was enough to break the assault. I reached out and grabbed a leg, pulling her towards me while bringing myself to my hooves. Enough red had gone for me to see shapes, so I aimed for the most nose-like.

I pummelled blow after blow into her face, feeling it change shape between the cries and swearing. Another blow to the head sent me sprawling. It felt like my eyes had been knocked loose as they rolled to focus, landing on the now bloodied slaver. She lay panting in the dirt, painted in flecks of her own blood and teeth. She spat out another tooth.

We both looked up as we heard the boom of a shotgun. Masculine screams came from Clean’s foe as his ruined leg collapse beneath him, bone poking out from torn muscle. He gave a few pitiful pleads as Clean reloaded. More crying came from another slaver, who begged for Domino to get off him. The last two slavers, still stunned by the first grenade, groaned at the sounds.

“The fuck is wrong with you?!” my foe screeched, whistling through the gaps. “Who the fuck are you?!”

Clean finished reloading and casually moved his shotgun to the head of his target. The slaver squirmed on the ground, flicking his head left and right and snorting at the two barrels.

“Splinter! H-help! N-no, oh please nononono!”

A single bang. Clean spat at the corpse, wiping blood off him. “Show some fuckin’ dignity when you die, prick.”

Domino moved over to join him. Her opponent gurgled as blood ran from the wound in their neck. The two quickly finished the wounded slavers, Domino stabbing into the base of their skulls with a hard stomp. She wore an expression like the big bags had just split: grim duty.

“Oh shit, oh shit!” the last slaver cried, staggering to her hooves.

She swung her bats at me once again in desperation. A riot shield caught them neatly, deflecting the blows with hollow thuds. Two Tone took a powerful stance between me and my attacker, glaring at her.

“Fuck this!” she shouted, throwing the bats at us as she took off.

She managed a whole five meters before the first carriage of now freed slaves descended on her. Two Tone blocked the sights as he helped me up, but not the wet crunches as she was trampled upon. His face was full of concern as he looked me over, horn flicking away the dirt from my suit.

“You ok? Took a few hits there, slugger. Need patchin’ up?”

“No. No, I’m fine. Domino, do you have the other keys?” I caught the key chain as she threw it over.

The slaves in the second cart had pressed themselves against the far side, glaring at me as I approached. Between them and the slavers themselves, the slaves stared more daggers. The cage swung open. I gave my best smile at the ponies huddled inside, motioning for them to leave.

“It’s ok, it’s all over now.”

I didn’t expect them to immediately warm up to me, maybe a few concerned looks and hesitation to come out. I certainly didn’t expect one of them to tackle me to the ground and hold a knife to my throat. We struggled until Clean pulled him off me, throwing him to one side.

“Fuck’s your problem?” he roared at the ex-slave. “He ain’t pony eatin’, else I’d have shot him ages back.”

“You stay away!” the stallion bellowed back, motioning for the others in the cage to take their leave. “Stay the fuck back!”

My bones gave protest as I stood back up, the aches and bruises from the earlier beating coming in as the adrenaline wore off. I placed a hoof forwards and hesitated. All I could see was fear in the pony’s eyes. I had seen this kind of fear before, many, many times. He was hopelessly outgunned and outnumbered, but he would fight us all if we made the wrong move.

Back in the Ministry days, I could talk him out of it. Convince him that, in the greater scheme of things, it was better for all if he let us do what we could. Now I was mostly corpse, I doubted that I would make anything better.

“Hold on now, swinger, Two Tone ain’t lookin’ to hurt ya’ll, know what I’m sayin’?” Two Tone moved slowly towards the twitchy pony, lifting a hoof slowly.

“BACK OFF!”

“Where are you goin’ swinger? You have a plan? A home? All Two Tone wants to do is help you, understand me?”

“Yeah, I understand you. Lead us right into another slaver camp, what do you take us for?” the cart now stood empty, the poor pony pulling it carried between two others. “You stay right there, with that fucking monster, and don’t move a fucking muscle.”

Two Tone nodded. True to his word, he remained perfectly still as the group of slaves backed away from the scene. We watched carefully until they had all slipped from sight, all remaining silent. The other freed slaves began to pick the corpses of gear, pointing the newly acquired weapons at us until they took off. Clean was the first to break the silence, sighing as he looked over the mess we had made.

“Well, that was a bust. Go team,” he waved his shotgun as a flag, locking eyes with me. “You hurt?”

“Just a few whacks with a baseball bat, could be worse.”

“Good. Waste of ammo and time. Didn’t even stick around to thank you, fuckin’ typical,” Clean snorted, kicking the corpse of a slaver. “This is why we don’t help, understand?”

“It was the right thing to do.”

“Sometimes, the right thing to do isn’t the right thing to do,” Domino said quietly. “We won this time, but next time we might not be so lucky.”

Night had fallen over Equestria. We spent the rest of the day marching double time, playing catch up for the lost time and putting as much distance between us and the slavers. I’d like to say how every step was agony, yet I braved it all in grim, cool silence. It did hurt. Hurt like hell, and I was very vocal about it.

Clean gave me no sympathy. Every grumble and groan came with a reminder that I was to blame for it. The bickering came to an end when we settled down for the night. We spotted the signs for a recharging station a few miles away, knowing that it would be the last stop before we dug into the belly of Fillydelphia. Outside lay the husks of pony and wagon, eternal watchers of the road they once walked.

I managed to push myself into drinking the ancient tap water inside, Domino mentioning that it was often too irradiated to drink safely. I took that as an opportunity to guzzle it down like it was the last water in the world. The pain subsided with each gulp, the strange zebra magics that had infected me knitting the sore bruises back together.

Made me wonder how balefire had been discovered by the tribes. Did they know it would have this effect on ponies? Or was it just fate playing a strange hand with life? I hope that one day somepony could tell me the answer to that, more out of sating curiosity. My brief time at Craterside had helped me come to terms with the unlife I now had, I wasn’t exactly scared. More like a low key nervousness.

Myself and Two Tone rested by the remains of the campfire inside the small café next to the refuelling station, sharing sips from his hipflask. I was impressed that ponies had continued to brew their own alcohol. I mean, of all the things to continue production, it was on my top ten. It also helped me discover that it was going to take a lot more to get me drunk.

I pulled another swig, enjoying the burn. “He can be a real prick sometimes, Two. He’s never called me by my name, not once.”

“Ain’t that big a thing,” Two Tone dismissed with a snort.

“It’s a big thing to me. Takes away my identity, makes me feel less like a pony.”

“He’s just distancin’ himself, swinger, wouldn’t take what he says to heart. That pony’s seen some real bad shit over the years.”

“Haven’t we all?” I scoffed.

“Can’t agree there, swinger,” Two Tone shrugged. “Lived a life of luxury compared to him, know what I’m sayin’? Two Tone, I mean, not you. That pony’s been through the worst of the world, and walked out breathin’. Impressed he ain’t more unhinged.”

“I guess. Still doesn’t forgive his attitude.”

“Comin’ from the groanin’ dead?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Swinger, you’re not from here. Haven’t seen what we’ve seen, done what we do, you’ve barely lived a day in our horseshoes yet you’re real keen to pick on Clean,” Two Tone’s expression softened. “Heart’s in the right place, but it takes more than heart, know what I’m sayin’? Gotta play by the waste’s rules. Two Tone knows this is tough to swallow, but this ain’t your home any more. It’s ours.”

I didn’t have anything to say to that. I let the words trickle through me, working their way through my head as I took them in and digested them. Two Tone’s expression changed to one of concern and he gave my shoulder a friendly tap.

“Two Tone likes heart, swinger, but he likes ponies who stay alive more. Hell, he agreed to go down there too! He had faith in you, in Domino and in Clean. Have some faith in him too, know what I’m sayin’?”

“I’ll give you that one, Two,” I allowed a smile to appear, and took the next swig happily.

“He’s changed since Two Tone first met him,” Two Tone sighed, looking over at Clean’s sleeping form. “Wouldn’t do what we did today back then.”

“In what way?”

“He’d just have killed you outright, swinger. Used to take no shit from nopony,” Two chuckled fondly. “Why, he saved Two Tone’s flank just because of it.”

I used my favourite facial expression, then remembered my lack of eyebrows. “How? What happened?”

Two Tone waved a hoof away, “Another time, swinger, but Two Tone knows what changed him.”

He pointed to Domino, her head nuzzled against Clean’s chest. The two lay in synchronised breathing, leaning against one another in perfect bliss. A wonderful sight, even taking in account the impressive kill counts the two had racked up this day alone. A warm feeling blossomed inside me.

“Ever since he met her, or at least spent more time with her, he’s been a new stallion,” Two said with a smile. “Mares can do that, know what I’m sayin’?”

“Yeah,” I said after a moment’s hesitation. “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

“You have somepony, swinger?” Two rested his head on crossed hooves, looking over the dying embers of our fire. He eyed the flask and tucked it away into his saddlebags.

I clicked my tongue, hesitating for a moment. “Not anymore.”

I felt him tapping my leg, a look of empathy in his eyes. “Alright, swinger. Two Tone won’t pry. If there’s one thing he knows, it’s love. Can be painful, real painful at times.”

“Thanks. Yeah, thanks for understanding,” I nodded, feeling a little more certain about myself. “You?”

“Heh, had more mares than you’ve had birthdays, swinger,” he had a twinkle in his eye, winking at me. “Including the ones you missed.”

“No way. No! Really?” I chuckled as he nodded.

“From Fillydelphia to Stalliongrad, Appleloosa to Baltimare, even brief fling in Hoofinton,” Two Tone tapped his shield, the letters HPD stencilled on it. “Two Tone’s seen and done a whole lotta lovin’.”

“I’d say, you’re giving me a run for my money. I’ve never been to half of those places.”

“Should go some time. Long journey, but worth it, know what I’m sayin’?” He smiled, suddenly looking a great deal wearier and older. “Two Tone sometimes wonders what those girls are up to now.”

“You ever keep in touch?”

He snorted, “Not for want of tryin’, swinger. Two Tone tried trackin’ a few down when he was younger, fitter. Never led anywhere good.”

I chuckled at the thought, pausing as I looked to his shield again. “You know, you talk about keeping alive, but I haven’t seen you pull one weapon out yet. That seems a bit hypocritical, right?”

“Huh, Two Tone never saw it that way. Like he said, he grew up in a life of luxury. Didn’t see the wastes until he was twenty, ancient for most folk, know what I’m sayin’? Didn’t take to the whole ‘kill or be killed’ philosophy, thought he could just avoid conflict as best he could. He’s a taker of hearts, not of lives.”

I chuckled at the thought. For all his bluff and bluster, Two Tone was a good soul under it all. While he seemed to think himself above others, it was out of protection rather than malice. He didn’t want to connect to anyone. It seemed it was a running theme in this small group, we were just tolerating each other’s company for our own gains.

“You’re a good pony, swinger.”

Two Tone’s sleepy comment brought me back to the real world. “What do you mean by that?”

“Savin’ those slaves. Don’t matter if they make it or not, if they’re scared of you or not, if Clean’s mad at you or not, you did good. Don’t forget it,” Two opened a sleepy eye, locking with mine. “Goes a bit against what Two Tone said earlier, but he means it. Makes him think that maybe, just maybe, ponies could change what they’ve done for years. May not feel like, but you’re makin’ things a little better. Could all do with a little better.”

Two Tone gave me a pleased look as the smile grew on my face, and then slipped off into sleep content. I was alone in the darkness of the wastes, listening to a distant wind howl through the open windows of our shelter. Domino shivered in her sleep, mumbling something. Clean instinctively pulled her closer and moved his head to guard her neck. The murmuring stopped as the demons were warded off.

I silently slipped outside. The door closed behind me, keeping the building’s temporary residents safe for the night, and left me in the cold night air. Pony skeletons lay like the living inside, locked in their eternal sleep. I paused as I looked over them. Maybe I passed this pegasus once upon a time. Maybe I saw them dropping a delivery off so many years ago.

I blew the thought away with a huff of air. Even if I did know them, it wasn’t important now. They were a part of the old world, I was a part of the new. I moved over to the overlook, gazing over the limping Equestria in the darkness of a covered night. My eyes were drawn to the cloud cover

I wanted to see stars again. Of all the things I missed, the sky was the biggest. To see the sun rise and set and the sister moon endlessly chase after. To see blue skies with dotted clouds, drifting forgotten by the weather teams. To see the gentle twinkling lights shine down upon the rolling hills and paved streets.

Once upon a time, when I was very little, my father would let me sit on the roof of our house to stargaze. We would have a blanket, plenty of hot cocoa, an old telescope, and all the time in the world. We spent lifetimes gazing up at the night sky, finding the old constellations and making new ones in our head. We’d hope there was a shooting star that night. We’d look for Princess Luna raising the moon. We’d stay up until the sun tore away the black night.

I remember stargazing the day he died. I remember looking up after the funeral and wondering where he was now. Was he up in the stars, looking down on me, just like the ponies of old? Did he see what happened to our home? The war, the spells?

I hope not.

Another huff. I stopped stargazing once I was part of the Ministry. Manehatten was afflicted with a condition called light pollution, a strange sickness that only the largest of cities suffered. Such life and vibrancy in one place meant that we couldn’t see past the tallest skyscrapers. There was no sense of wonder and curiosity beyond the next block, especially with the war on.

I gave a cautious yawn. I wasn’t tired, but I felt it necessary. A reminder that I was still alive. Not surviving, alive. I thought, I expressed, I acted. I did some good today day, so I let the feeling of pride fill me.

“Aren’t we doing well?” my head snapped around, feeling anger replace pride as the harlequin sat in a wooden booth. “Hard Copy, strolling into town and saving emotionally distressed fillies, one party at a time. What a guy!”

With a wave of its hoof, the words Ghoul Psychiatrist Booth: 5 caps appeared on the top, “The doctor is in, here to help all your gloomy ghoul needs!”

Again, its voiced chopped and changed through genders, ages, tones and accents. Every hesitation bringing a new persona. The half comedy, half tragedy mask twitched as it turned to look at me. Bells joyfully shattered the peace of the night, jingling with every twitch and movement. At least this appearance hadn’t involved anything distressing. Yet.

“You never told me your name, and Creepy Clown makes me feel very silly,” I paced towards it, looking around in case something else appeared. “So does talking to myself come to think of it.”

“Silly names are a great way to run away from your problems,” the masked pony stuck its hoof out. “Of course, we know all about your coping mechanisms. Remember, drugs are not your friends. Five caps for the advice.”

“If you know me, then you know it’s been a long time since then.”

The creature popped out of existence, reappearing in front of me with a teleporting pop. “Time is relative. As are a lot of things, in the grand scheme.”

I took the opportunity to slam my hoof into its face, sending the harlequin flying. Its body landed with a thump, twitching at the odd angle of its neck. To one side, I heard polite applause as an earth pony version appeared on its haunches. It gave me a score of ten.

“That was deserved.”

It shrugged, “If you say so. Whatever makes you feel better. Though I think violence shouldn’t always be the answer, that’s the go to around here.”

“For good reason at times,” my mind snapped to Septic Shock and the slavers. “For all I want to help these ponies, there are some that are past it.”

“Oh yes, don’t we know it,” its voiced shifted to the insane unicorn. “I deserve to die because I killed your friend, even though you know nothing about her. Eye for an eye makes it all ok.”

“You’re taunting me over that? Find a short pier and take a long walk off it.”

“Oooh, gallows humour, that’s new!” the harlequin moved past me, taking a seat by the remains of a delivery cart. It looked out over the wastelands, staring at where the eternally cloudy sky met the dismal remains of the ground. An endless horizon of scorched earth and everything just clinging on to what little life was left.

“What did you expect? This isn’t my Equestria, have to adapt the material,” against my better judgement, I sat next to the pony. “It would take a lot of parties to make this better.”

“Maybe, but that’s not a bad thing.”

“What do you mean?”

“There are lots and lots of parties to be had. Some are the super exciting ones with lots of explosions and ponies turning into confetti!” it giggled deliriously, kicking hindlegs up. “And some are the fun ones with lots of cake and actual partying!”

I’m not sure what expression I had, but I think it was somewhere between cartoon jaw drop and actual shock. I had no real understanding of what this pony was, what it meant that I could see it and talk to it. Was I talking to myself? It wasn’t unheard of in the Ministry for stress to reach that point, and I had been under insane levels of stress.

But now it had opinions that, maybe somewhere inside, I had too. Coping mechanisms with the insane levels of death and brutality that I was once so distant from, now thrust into. The battlefield wasn’t on a sheet of paper, it was here.

The harlequin giggled at whatever face I was pulling. “Even with all this death and nastiness, I like you, Hard. This place is messed up, but at least you’re making ponies smile again.”

“If you’re impressed, then why did you just poke fun at me for doing it? The whole routine back there.”

The harlequin shrugged, pointing out at the decaying home of ponykind. “You’re trying, and you make me laugh. That’s more than what most ponies are doing these days.”

It picked up a skull from nowhere, flapping the jawbone like a mock puppet. “The ponies here aren’t half as much fun as the ones from the war, they’ve just given up. The same old cruel routines, especially those raider ponies. Even a cruel joke is still a joke, and they seem to think that shock humour is all they can use.”

“You say this like you’ve been watching this all for a while now,” a frown came on, as I tried to wrap my head around what it was saying. “Just what are you? Are you in my head or something else?”

The harlequin shrugged, “I dunno, but you’re the only pony I’ve got to talk to in such a long time. Not for want of trying.”

“You know things, you sound like ponies that you couldn’t have met, you controlled a hallucination or a dream. How can you do all of this?”

Again, the harlequin shrugged, its shoulders dropping. Up until now, it had a body shape that was neither stallion or mare, lingering in between. Now it had changed to a mare’s, the body shrinking to fit. Even its voice turned to something that felt familiar somewhere inside, but I couldn’t put a hoof on how or why.

“I just can, I don’t understand it either. I just want ponies to be happy and smile, but sometimes that takes them down nasty roads. Then I started taking them down those nasty roads too.”

Part of me wanted to give the poor creature a hug, to try and comfort it a little. Another shrank back in horror at the implications. “You don’t want to do this.”

“I just want to hear them laugh. No matter what,” the mask twitched as it turned towards me, moving to an angle I was uncomfortable to look at. “I can see that in you, Hard.”

My throat bobbed, trying to swallow something that wasn’t there. “See what?”

“Laughter,” the harlequin giggled. “You know, I’ve just realised. You can’t spell slaughter without it! Wonder if that was supposed to happen…”

Between blinks, the harlequin had vanished. The wind moaned through gaping windows, cutting itself against the broken glass. I joined the listless noise, adding my sigh to the air. I added a deep breath, straightened out my suit and stood up. For all its weird rambling, I could agree with the harlequin on one thing.

The wastes could do with a little more smiling.

Hey team,

I’ll keep this short, it’s good and bad news. Good news is we managed to cut off the supply chain. The raid is considered a success and we’re one step closer in building a solid case against the Dice. Pat yourselves on the backs teams, we’ve done good.

Additionally, the officer is making a full recovery. Thanks again goes to Gadget for her quick thinking and excellent piloting skills with the Spritebot. If it weren’t for you, that would be more innocent blood spilled in the name of security and safety. I’ll be passing your name to Pinkie herself in recognition for your actions.

And now, the bad news. While we’ve gained a step forwards against the Dice, we’re two steps back. The prisoner we took in has already been subjected to memory removal. We’re not sure who did it, or why they did it, but it’s set our work back considerably. Be cautious, we need hard evidence more than ever now – let’s not have another building catch fire.

Let’s not stop here, keep working hard team!

Goliath

Level up!

New Perk: (S)Laughter – With all the grimness of the wastes, what’s wrong with finding some deaths a little funny? Your attacks will do more damage, and some deaths will be a little more exciting than others. And by exciting, read 'gruesome'.

Chapter Six - Clean Sweep's Four

Chapter Six – Clean Sweep’s Four

Hang on lads, I’ve got a great idea

“Well I’ll be a hellhound’s fuck toy, Point! Look what the wastes dragged in,” a scarred mess of a pony chortled as we approached.

He, and his partner, sat outside a grand double doorway surrounded by sandbags and ancient signs. A collection of empty bottles told me just how valued this job was, and how long they had been sat there. A newly emptied one was launched to the side and tinkled into shards against something unseen. Overhead, Pinkie loomed in her eternal grin.

The other pony poked her head out from a magazine and joined in the laughter. “Well, well, Clean Sweep. I’d think I was hallucinating you if it weren’t for Scabs here, he doesn’t let me take the good stuff when I’m on duty. You’ve some nerve coming here again, murdering cunt.”

“Careful now Point Blank, might start thinkin’ ya’ll worth the ammo,” Clean said, his smirk appearing. “That time was business, your ponies knew that, and ain’t we supposed to let bygones be bygones?”

“Those are fancy words for a cleaner. I’m feeling generous tonight, Squeaky. Fuck off before I give you a new hole, and take the walking talking corpse with you,” Point flicked the small trail of mane out of her eye, sending me a wicked grin of filed teeth.

“That mouth’ll be the death of you one day. Must say, Devil’s hospitality needs some workin’ on,” Clean shifted his weight.

“Better watch your fucking mouth, bad talking the boss like that. Nopony’s gonna miss you,” Scabs spat back, squaring himself to match Clean.

“You’re not serious, right? One shot and the whole place comes down on you,” Point’s smile faltered. “You’re out of your fucking mind.”

“How much?” I strode forwards, carefully looking the two over. Clean snorted his disapproval but kept silent.

“How much for what?” Scabs replied.

“How much are you making tonight?”

“What does that-“

The pouch made a distinct clink on the pavement, “That’s two hundred caps. I’m certain that you could take a break for that much.”

Point looked to her companion. I could almost see smoke coming from their ears as they tried to work out what to do. Eventually, their baser natures took over, and the pouch ended up in their hooves. Clean and I strode through with all the grace we could muster, the two guards looking the other way but matching our smiles.

“I’ll give you a fair warning though, Squeaky. You won’t be walking out of here!”

The doors swung inside and led into a carpeted hallway. Luxurious red carpeting, laced with golden swirling inscriptions, lined the floor to match the bottom half of the walls. Parts showed the rot of years had sunk in, edges fraying and places darker with damp. Yellowed lamps hiding behind cracked glass covers buzzed with a dangerous sound. The walls held ancient posters of acts long since gone: death defying feats of acrobats, Filly Valli and the Four Seasons, as well as one particular blue magician that caught my eye.

“Huh, didn’t expect to see her advertised here,” I half-said to myself. “Thought her touring days were long gone after Ponyville…”

“Zombie, focus,” Clean motioned for me to catch up. “Not here for sight-seein’. Yet.”

“Yes sir, my master. Can Igor do anything else for you?”

“Igor can shut the fuck up,” Clean opened a door at the end of the hallway. “This way.”

Time had certainly damped the luxury of the Golden Gallop Casino, tarnishing the edges, but it could not kill what was once a beacon of class and grace. I had only seen the photos of the original, though I did visit the sister building in Las Pegasus with Gadget and Gentle Giant. It dawned on me that perhaps that was when they tied the knot. One of our last missions away from Manehatten: back up for the local teams as faceless noponies.

This hallway was populated with several ponies in zoot suits of all things, casually laughing and joking with one another. All of them had weapons clearly on display ranging from small arms to a fully kitted battle saddle or two. I tried to not let the sinking feeling show on my face as they turned and smirked at Clean. A few jeered about having a deathwish.

A larger mare, easily twice as bulky as me, stood in front of Clean and snorted at him. “Turn around. Now.”

“That any way to speak to a patron?” Clean said, cooler than a frozen cucumber.

“Patron? You’re dead meat, Sweep. Get the fuck out before I put two holes in you. I’d rather not stain the carpet any more.”

“By the Sisters, what is this?” I rolled my eyes, stepping between the two.

Clean began to retort before I caught him mid-sentence.

“I don’t want to hear excuses! A century and half, a century. And a half. My life savings on one holiday, and you’re causing troubles from the beginning! Do you have any idea how much work I’ve put in over these years? How long it took me to finally come here? Do you even know how much money I’m carrying right now?” I may have poured a little too much anger into my voice as Clean’s ears flipped back. Even the suited ponies had stopped their conversation and started to listen in.

“Look, ghoul, just because-” the mare began, only to have my wonderful visage shoved into her face.

“TEN THOUSAND CAPS. Ten thousand! And that’s just physical! Not even talking about the inventory of drugs and other things I have access to, the recipes, the equipment, everything you need to make a pony rich for months, no, decades to come. Do you even know why I came here?”

“N-no, but-”

“I won my first million here! Repeat, my first million! Back before this,” I gestured wildly to my body. “Now I come back to kick back and relax, maybe make some small talk with this Devil Luck my bodyguard mentioned, and you’re harassing me before I even have a drink. Unbelievable! Insane! Perhaps I should take this business elsewhere, I’ve heard about a small gang of ponies on the other side of this Luna-forsaken city that would be very interested in what I could produce.”

I waited for the words to sink through the skull of the mare, her ears pinned back as I now stood taller than her. Not physically, unfortunately, but an angry rich ghoul threating to take a goldmine to a rival gang would certainly alter your standing. I snorted and began to walk away when the bit dropped.

“OK, OK!” the mare shouted, moving to cut me off and guide me back towards the doors. “The Jackels are hardly worth your time, Mr…”

“Copy.”

“Mr Copy, but I’m certain the boss would love to talk business with you.”

“After a few games. Vacation first.”

“Of course, of course.”

“And he’s coming with me. Paid good money for him, bad blood can take a seat,” I pointed to Clean. “If he stirs anything up, he’s all yours, but otherwise you leave us alone, got it?”

The ponies reluctantly nodded but still glared at Clean as his face turned the crowning jewel of smug.

“Good. Tell your boss that I want to meet later, and have this for your troubles,” I threw another pouch of caps on the floor. The suits quickly opened up the pouch and began squabbling over the contents, leaving us to our own devices.

We entered the casino floor, several patrons recoiling at my presence. I sneered at them, trying not to let the action get to me too much. Yes, I’m a mutated freak, but some common courtesy wouldn’t go amiss. This was the first taste of post-apocalypse pony civilisation and, so far, Tarlung’s assertion about non-ghouls was right. It also showed just how accepting Two Tone and Domino were of my condition.

The set up was a casino standard: tables as far as the eye could see, booze flowing freely, plenty of wealth and weapons on display. The patrons were an odd mix of surly, rough, and ‘I’m going to stab you, then screw your corpse’. All the charming kinds of pony.

“Colour me impressed, ghoul,” Clean whispered as we picked our way through. “Even shook me up, almost enough to forget we’re four-hundred caps down. Before we even reached the tables.”

“You’ll be surprised how many doors money can open. The right bits in the right hoof, and the world’s your oyster,” I replied, carefully dodging a disgusted mare in rotting clothes.

“Wasn’t my point.”

“I know.”

On the stage, Two Tone put his finishing touches on his instruments. He trotted to one side of the stage, poking a head around the back. After a few moments, he moved up to the mic, giving it an experimental tap. The speakers boomed, a slight whine of feedback bleeding in.

“Woah, there we go. Fillies and gentlecolts, stallions and mares, swingers and shakers, patrons of the Golden Gallop Casino, your attention please. This is the King of Swing, callin’ all to get your hooves ready for a night of revelry, debauchery and downright dastardly deeds. Two Tone is talking about lettin’ yourselves loose tonight, tellin’ that mare you love her, punchin’ her stallion and drinkin’ more than you can handle.”

Some of the crowd had turned to listen, more as the wolf whistles began. As Two continued his spiel, Domino entered the stage. To say that she was wearing a dress would be wrong. There wasn’t enough fabric on it to be called a dress, but enough to leave certain details to the imagination. As she struck an equally scandalous pose, it dawned on me that I had never really seen much of Domino’s body at all. Not even her cutie mark, which was still hidden by the midnight fabric.

Then again, if I had seen more of it, I’m certain my nose wouldn’t be the same shape.

A kiss was blown to the crowd, drawing more whistles and thumps on tables. It was chased by a small smile, which seemed to be for every individual there, but I saw who she looked at most intently. He swallowed and nudged me to move along.

“Yeah, she’s a real looker, swingers. Welcome Miss Domino to the stage,” Two Tone paused as the howls grew, a few patrons going into worrying detail about what they would do to Domino. “She’s the real magic, ain’t she? Not about the horns on our heads, no sir. All natural, know what I’m sayin’? Even then, there were some folks waaay back who could weave magic like that. You know what sweet flanks, you remind of somepony.”

“And who’s that, darling?” Sweet Celestia, that smoulder.

Two Tone grinned as his horn lit up, several instruments giving an experimental toot, strum, and tap. “Why baby, you remind me of a mare.”

“What mare?” Domino replied huskily into the mic. A few stallions howled in reply.

“I think you know little miss, the mare with the power.”

“What poooow-uh?”

“That old zebra magic, the power of voodoo,” Two Tone rolled on his ‘r’s, giving a wink to passing waitress. I’m not sure what surprised me more: there were waitresses there, or how she had lost all ability to move from a wink.

“Who do-oo?” Domino trilled, her voice nowhere near the power or ability that Two Tone had but nopony seemed to care.

“Yeah, you do, you do!” Two Tone bounced to a piano that had seen better days several decades ago.

“Do what?” the drums kicked in with a heavy beat, not unlike the jungle pounding of zebra tribes.

“You remind me of a mare!”
“What mare?”
“The mare with pow-uh!”
“What power?”
“Yeeaaaah, the power of voodoo!”
“Who do?”
“Oh, you do, you do.”
“Do what?”

“Let’s kick it!” Two Tone shouted as the whole stage erupted into sound, the air filling with sweet soul of swing. As he worked magic on the instruments, hoofs expertly playing the piano and eyes working the crowd, Domino kept the wandering eyes on her. She bounced and swayed to the beat, moving just enough flank to keep attention focused on the performance than the games they were playing. Made me want to know what special talent lurked beneath it all.

Clean tapped my side, pointing to the cards in front of me.

“Your play, boss.”

This new ‘Caravan’ game made no sense to me at all. I nodded and tried to remember the rules taught a few hours before.

“This is possibly the stupidest idea Two Tone has ever heard, and he’s Two Tone.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Two, but this is dictatorship, not a democracy,” Clean replied as he carefully studied his cards, chewing on radhog.

“You’re mad, swinger, barkin’ up the wrong tree, hangin’ with the pink one!”

My ears perked at the last one in the list. “What does that mean? I used the hang with the pink one!”

“Turn of phrase swinger, Two Tone means nothin’ by it. ‘cept that this here pony’s gonna get us all killed!” Two snorted as Clean threw his cards down, ruining another game of Caravan.

We had set up camp just on the inside of Fillydelphia, the ruins providing plenty of hiding places from the slaving community and the other nasty surprises that lurked in the city’s husk. Clean had spent the last hour trying to teach me some of the card games that had grown in Equestria. Many were unnecessarily complex and required your own deck.

Cheating is magic.

During dinner, or rather me watching the others eat dinner, Clean had laid out the plans for the heist on the Golden Gallop. Between the gulps of food and vaguely described layouts of the casino, he managed to form a half decent plan. Two Tone was thoroughly against it.

“So, to recap,” Clean said through a full mouth. “Two and Domino, you’re goin’ in ahead of us. Scout the place, see what’s what. Earn their trust, get yourself a job.”

Two Tone scoffed at the last part, wrinkling his nose. “Get a job, Two Tone has had more jobs than you can count, swinger.”

“How many of them have you managed to keep?” Domino asked politely. She gave Two a smug smile as he coughed on his drink, taking another bite of her food.

“That’s beside the point, swinger. Last run in he had with Devil Luck wasn’t exactly pleasant, know what I’m sayin’?”

“More pleasant than mine, I reckon,” Clean said to his meat, catching my eye. “Last time I was here, was for merc work. Ended up killin’ a few of his employees.”

“I guess he’s holding a grudge?” I looked to Domino as she lectured Two Tone on his inability to keep a job down.

“And then some. Ain’t one to go fussin’ the ferals, but we pull this off I can find a way to make it up to him,” Clean swiped his cards back up. “Course, that’s dependent on you doin’ y’thing.”

“Sneak into the offices, find out where the orbs are kept, collect orbs with Domino, get out of dodge, your turn.”

“Makin’ sound far easier than it is, don’t get cocky,” Clean frowned at my play. “Eight, not bad.”

“Not cocky, I’ve done tougher missions than this while hungover. King doubles, right?”

“Yeah,” Clean set his next card down. “I mean it though, ghoul. You fuck this up and it all comes down on us. I ain’t dyin’ now, you hear?”

I set my cards down, meeting Clean’s stare. “You trusted me enough to take on slavers, show some faith in me now. The hardass act is getting old now, Clean.”

“Ain’t an act. I ain’t lettin’ you get me, or anypony here, killed ‘cause you can’t take shit seriously. I am puttin’ faith in you. A whole lot of it. So you’d better deliver.”

“Does Two Tone need to give you two some time to fuck?” the singer’s comment, and Domino’s subsequent giggle, broke the tension in the air. I smiled against Clean’s cold smirk and we threw whatever rubbish we could get our hooves on at Two Tone.

Our camp filled with the sounds of laughter and joking at the friendly fight, ending in a cautious cheer as Two put his hooves up and took out his flask. We each took a sip from the metal container, enjoying the warmth that blossomed from within, toasting to the hopes of a mission well done. Even faint gunshots in the distance weren’t enough to dampen our spirits.

“Leaves one question though, Clean,” I said. “What happens while I’m away? What do you do?”

Clean smacked his lips after takin a decent pull from the flask. “Two Tone’s distracting the patrons, I’m off to get the attention of the boss. Devil Luck’s gonna know I’m there sooner or later, may as well speak to him face to face.”

“You’re going to talk with a pony who outright wants you dead? Are you sure that’s the best move?”

“Better to face it head on than a knife in the back,” Domino answered for Clean. “Devil would at least want to speak to Clean before killing him.”

“Worst happens, I’ve got Lock and Stock lookin’ out for me,” Clean tapped his weapons and took another drink.

Two Tone sighed. “Did Two Tone mention how stupid an idea this is?”

“Your drinks,” the mare placed two filthy glasses down between us, giving Clean a dirty look and me a cautious one.

The unicorn grunted his thanks, sipped at the drink, and called for another card. We were forty minutes in and on to the second table, I had more experience with blackjack. Ponies had stopped caring about Clean’s reputation and my appearance after we blew two thousand caps at Caravan. We were two suckers with bad cards: everypony’s best friend.

I looked to mine, the ace of spades and the queen. I took my drink in one go, as whiskey is supposed to. My hooves returned to the table, along with the note slipped under my glass.

Vault is in the basement floor. Unlock with the terminal. East staircase, third door on left. Love, TT. PS, tip her well swinger.

I nodded to the dealer. “Stick. Last play for me. Hey, smoothflanks, what I win on this is yours.”

The waitress did her best to hide her disgust, using her smile at my cards to help. As the cards flipped, I passed the impressive collection of caps to the mare.

“And there you go, never let the looks fool you folks. Here’s the rest, Clean. Try not to blow it all at once.”

“Givin’ up already? Thought you’d have more life in you,” Clean smirked.

“Original joke, smoothcoat, what next, something about beating a dead horse?” I shot him a venomous look. “Don’t forget who’s paying you, wash-up.”

“Fuck’s sake, if you two are throwing down do it somewhere else,” the third player, an earth pony with an interesting collection of axes, growled as she took another drag of her cigarette. “Not looking for a scrap tonight.”

“Mare’s got a point, boys. Play nice or get out,” our dealer added, speaking softly for such a muscled creature. “Shouldn’t have to warn you, Clean Sweep.”

“Yeah, yeah, let’s just play already.”

“Bring it home girl!” Two roared, hooves sliding down the piano and holding the note. The crowd fell silent. Nopony dared to speak, though thankfully our game of blackjack didn’t require much in the way of communication.

“Someone call a doctor,
Got a lovesick sweet filly,
One second I’m thinking it’s enough,
But my heart just disagrees!”

I heard Clean take a sharp breath as his attention changed from the card game to Domino. I would have pointed for him to continue, but every set of eyes were on the mare. She slinked her way over to the closest table, giving the front row seats a view they’ll never forget. To his credit, Clean knew how to set up a decent distraction. Even if it distracted him as well.

“Holy shit,” the smoking mare whispered to my right.

“Oooh my heart is still aflame,
And oooh that colt plays me like a game!
My only sin is I can’t win
Oooh I wanna love that colt!”

With a single spin, Domino kicked the mic away and pulled it back to her as she brought out the fire for the finale. The poor stallion she had picked out could nothing more than drool as she weaved her magic.

“Oooh that colt is on my list
Ooooh, sweet Luna, I just want a kiss
Yeah, my only sin is I can’t win
Oooh, I’m gonna have that, I’m gonna get that colt!”

Two Tone’s trumpet was drowned out by the raucous cheer from the crowd. Her voice wasn’t bad, but she couldn’t hold a candle to the singers in Equestria’s peak. Not that it mattered to the crowd of gangers and other scum, some even crying over the performance.

With one last refrain, and the one pony band wrapping the song in a neat blast, Two Tone and Domino took their bows at the stage. The unicorn flashed his grin, gesturing to the mare to send the crowd even higher. I made my excuses and slipped out in the commotion, ducking into a set of doors now unguarded.

Time for my solo.

The doors opened up to two staircases, one leading up to the second floor while the other was the ultimate goal. A hall continued to my right, signs pointing me to backstage and the cinema. I would need to go that way to meet up with Domino for the grand finale. First came the fun part, finding the office.

The staircase led me to a level overlooking the gambling hall. I stuck to the far wall, belly almost touching the wine-red carpet as I sneaked along. I paused at the first door to listen in the conversation behind it. Harsh hushed voices came from within, slipping out of earshot as I moved past. The second door swung open as I approached, my heart leaping into my throat.

The door opened outwards, blocking me from sight, and closed on the laughter inside. A mare walked away from me with a tray of empty glasses on her back. Quiet as a mouse I stalked after her, checking behind me once I passed the door. Nopony had come up behind me and the doors remained shut. My luck continued to hold as I saw the mare walk onwards and through another set of doors.

I took once last look around before opening the door to Devil Luck’s office. The unlocked door swung inwards in completely silence, despite the age of the hinges. The post-apocalypse had been kind to the office itself as well, almost making me feel like I had just jumped back in time. The only things stopping me was common sense and the rot in the carpet. Nopony back in my day would allow that kind of disrepair.

The door clicked shut as I locked it behind me. Every bit of warning I could get would help me, especially with everyone downstairs being as well armed as they were. First port of call was the humming terminal sat on a mahogany desk. My luck ran short as the terminal demanded a password to be accessed.

I let the DC-pad do its work and began to nose through the contents of Devil Luck’s office. I mimed a whistle at the impressive collection of alcohol, though did question how good century aged whiskey could taste. The sheer variety of spirits would have given Hoofbeats a run for its money on a good night. It made me realise just how powerful and rich this pony was.

Over an ornate, but completely unused, fireplace sat a display cabinet. A finely made magical energy pistol sat cradled in a velvet cushion, complete with a small card that once detailed why it was there. Most of the quillwork had faded away yet one detail had withstood the test of time.

“Huh, the Shadowbolts,” I thought aloud, smirking a little at the weird ways fate can twist and turn. “How did this get here?”

My pondering on the legendary pegasi agents was short lived when something truly unexpected sat beside it. A small figurine stood inside a sealed glass case, looking untouched after so many years. I ended up double taking just to make sure what I saw was real.

A cyan coat stood as bright as it was in life with wings poised ready for lift off. Her cocky grin matched the life-like pose, filled to the brim with confidence and the power to back every boast up. The figurine stood on a small disk, inscribed with the only words I felt could completely sum up the Mare.

Be Awesome.

The Rainbow Dash statuette sat behind the glass, the slight warping of light showing me just how thick the case was. There was no visible lock nor way of moving the casing and smashing it would ruin the whole stealth operation I had going on. I was hedging my bets on there being a way to open the case from the terminal.

I had so many questions. Who made this? Why did they make it? How did it end up here? Was it related to the energy pistol?

It then dawned on me that I had just planned how I was going to burgle the item.

On the one hoof, I was no thief. Whenever I performed a snatch mission, it was with the greater good in mind. Doesn’t excuse my sin but it did show a justification for the action. To take the statuette would be purely for self-gain, not a greater cause. On the other side, a pony like Devil Luck did not deserve to have such an item. The Ministry Mares weren’t perfect by any means, but they deserved better than this.

Morals slipping, check.

I heard the trill of the DC-pad finishing its work and bounced back to the terminal. The home page splashed up and my hooves instantly moved to the vault opening instructions. With a message appearing confirming that the vault had indeed been unlocked, I scanned quickly through the rest of the options. Another few clicks and the glass case gave a small hiss as it opened.

With my goodies ready, it was time for the real work to begin. I began the fun job of careful reading, working my way through all the folders listed. Most of the information had been corrupted or deleted, leading me to dead ends. What remained was lists of items moving in and out of the Golden Gallop. Most of it was alcohol or drug related with little listing items inside the vault, most of which added in recent years. I grumbled at the lack of information, grinding my teeth as I continued to search.

I only realised that my angry searching had clouded my hearing when I heard conversation from outside the door. I snatched the pad out of the terminal socket and skidded across the floor to the fireplace. The door rattled for a moment, the handle fighting the lock for entry. I locked my eyes on the door as I drew my pistol. My hoof reached out for the statuette, tucking it inside my suit pocket.

I don’t think I could fully describe how I felt once it rested inside. I felt sharper, quicker in thought and lighter in body. Something inside me had just flicked a switch and I was wired. It was almost like being back at Craterside but without the tingle of radiation. Whatever this feeling was, it was all internal.

The door flew open, spraying a few splinters where the lock had been kicked in. I tucked myself into a corner as two suited ponies stormed in. I silently slid behind them, trying to hold the door open as I snuck out. It was, of course, that moment when they decided to look behind them.

We froze long enough for me to sheepishly grin. Then the fighting started. The goon on my right came at me first, diving at me and trying to pin me down. With a flick of my hoof I closed the door and span out of her reach. There was a dull thud as she went head first into the wall and collapsed in a heap.

The other bucked me into the desk, the furniture protesting as much as my bones from the blow. I had no time to recover as he followed up with another two blows to my stomach. My back rammed against solid wood and drove the wind out of me. There was no time to draw in a new breath, the goon pulled me into a lock and began to choke me from behind.

I slammed a hoof against his stomach, trying to get him to loosen his grip even a tiny bit. Two Tone and Domino’s music filled the air as the door swung open, covering the sounds of our struggle and my gurgling. Not that somepony would come to my rescue.

As I struggled, all I could think of was how irritating it is: being strangled twice in a month. I was thankful I had already tested that side of things, else it may have awoken something in me. The edges of my vision started to darken, and it became harder to move my hoof. The goon gave another sharp squeeze on my neck bringing another gurgle.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a shape swoop over head and kick the goon off me. We hit the ground hard, his head giving a worrying crack against the floor. I looked around during my coughing fit, my throat sore from the sudden intake of air, hunting for my saviour but found no-one new in the room. Just two ponies out cold.

I waited to catch my breath, trying to piece together what just happened. Maybe I managed to get a lucky hit in with an involuntary headbutt. Maybe something had startled my attacker. Or maybe somepony had just appeared from nowhere, knocked out the silent stallion, then vanished into thin air. I caught sight of myself, panting, in the glass of the alcohol cabinet.

The harlequin waved from the chair and went back to playing house with two crudely made ponies.

“Thank you, thank you very much, fillies and gentlecolts. Let’s hear it for the wonderful, the stupendous, and the downright gorgeous, Domino!” Two Tone led the building in applause as I pulled the door to. “She’ll be takin’ a well-deserved rest, and Two Tone will be back in a few minutes. Don’t go anywhere, swingers.”

I shook away a shiver of worry and put myself together, checking that seat was empty behind me. I dragged the unconscious ponies out of immediate sight and closed the door behind me as I walked back out onto the balcony. Radio music filled the air as I moved away from the offices and towards the stairs, moving faster to compensate my lack of careful sneaking. If two ponies had come knocking for me, others knew something was happening. Speed was more important than anything right now.

My hooves barely made a tap as they moved down the staircase. I kept the swift, silent movement across the hall to backstage, ducking through the doors. Two Tone drank heavily from a bottle while Domino stripped behind a fancy dresser. The unicorn waved me over, patting my shoulder as I approached. Despite all his hard work, he was barely sweating.

“Hey swinger, all fine?”

“Yeah, need to take care of something first though. Domino, I’ll be ten minutes tops. Vault’s already open, meet you down there.”

Domino gave a stressed grunt in response. I took it as a yes and bounded back through the doors and towards the cinema.

The cinema is a magical place.

Or, rather, was a magical place. Just like books and comics could take you to other worlds, movies transported you there. You stood on the same ground as Daring Do, cheered along with Sword Mare, and booed the villains along with every other pony in the room. You knew it was all flash and trickery, but it didn’t matter.

Breaking this illusion was hard - mostly because there was a locked door in the way. With a lot of cursing, I managed to break the lock open with sheer force. Inside, my prize of a projector and a whole host of film reels. I moved quickly, grabbing whatever I could from the room. My luck renewed from earlier, finding a projector in the process of being repaired in another room.

My saddlebags now filled to the brim with enough wartime entertainment to satisfy ponies for years to come, I made my way towards the door. A voice in my head told me to drop to floor and remain as quiet as a corpse. Surprisingly easy, that.

In the theatre, I could hear voices chattering back and forth. My ears swivelled to pick out the conversation, stomach churning as I did.

“You’re a long way from home,” a stallion remarked, voice tinged with the rasp of a long time smoker. “Why’re you here? What does Snake want with me now?”

“Snake Eyes,” my blood ran cold.

“What?”

“His name is Snake Eyes, use the whole name. Please,” Septic Shock replied.

My mind raced as I heard his carefully placed hoofsteps. How did he get here already? Who told him we were coming here? Did he get to Craterside? Does he know we’re here?

“You don’t scare me, Septic. None of Snake’s colts do. All hot air, no substance,” a chair squeaked as the speaker sat down. “Get on with it, why’re you here?”

“I’m after somepony, heard he’ll be here soon enough.”

“Cleaning up your boss’s messes again? Sounds ‘bout right, who’re you after?”

I could hear Septic’s smile, “A certain unicorn, you’ll be pleased to hear.”

The other pony burst out in a laugh, slapping something as he chortled into a cough. “Well, well, ain’t this your lucky day! Before you strolled on in, the boys just let me know he wants to speak to me. Face to face, all alone! Wondered in with some corpse, tried to pull the wool over my eyes. Already saw the ghoul go into my office, the sleaseball.”

Seven circles!

“You don’t say! That is very lucky of me, mind if I drop in on the meeting?”

“My dear boy, it would be my pleasure! Imagine that, just what you came to do landing on your lap like that. Somepony up there likes you, colt,” I heard the chair squeak again as the speaker stood up. “Before we get to business, there isn’t anything that Snake Eyes needs, is there? Just to be sure.”

“Other than that, it’s just personal business,” I could feel his eyes piercing through the solid wall, staring straight at me. I could see his twisted grin as he licked his lips. I could smell the scent of Priouette’s blood on his knife.

“I was wondering if somepony managed to see the balloons.”

“Hard! What’s wrong? You’re late and you look like shit, everything ok?”

I nodded blankly, trying to work out the shakes that had overtaken me.

“Vault’s open, but we’ve got bigger problems. Septic’s here, and he knows we are too,” I motioned for her to follow, leading us down the stairs. “We need to grab what we can and fast, before anypony realises what we’re here to steal...”

Timing is everything in comedy. Fate is a master of that art and loves to remind us when it is tempted. Naturally, it was at that moment we walked into three zoot suit wearing ponies. The tension swelled in an instant, both sides unsure what to do.

Domino solved that problem with a knife.

In a single bound, she pulled the blade out of a sheath and drove it into the neck of one of the guards. The others recoiled long enough for me to tackle one to the floor and stomp on his windpipe. He began to gasp, eyes bugging and watering from the effort. My attention turned to the last opponent but found that she now had a knife stuck in her eye. Strange sounds came from her as she twitched, Domino finishing her off with a quick shove of the blade.

I panted as my own opponent flailed at me, his hooves dragging on my suit. We locked eyes, which was a mistake. I closed mine and let Domino finish the job, busying myself with moving the corpses out of view. After stuffing them inside a closet we moved on, silent and serious.

Ahead loomed the vault door. It was far less imposing that I would have thought, my impressions coming from old comic books. You know the kind: massive cog shaped door with a concerning number of locks on it. This was just an ordinary metal door with a green light above it. Inside, however, met all expectations.

My whistle was loud and clear this time, covered by the nearly closed door. Rows upon rows of heavy safes sat waiting to be opened, all with every possibly form of lock on it. Several had thick layers of dust, others had been forced open long ago or had the remains of lockpicks stuck inside. Piles of rotting notes sat waiting to be claimed, while dulled Bits lay strewn across the counting desks.

We moved over to the cage in the back, Domino fishing out a set of keys and testing each one. I gave her a quizzical look.

“Two Tone. I’ll give it to him, he’s damn resourceful when it comes to this sort of thing.”

We left any further discussion unsaid, not wanting to pry into the methods he used. I picked through the few safes that had been forced open for anything that may have been overlooked. My hunch was rewarded with a beaten up, dusty, but intact copy of Martial Arts of the Zebras. My eyes bulged when I saw it was the unedited version as well. It slid neatly beside the film reels.

Domino gave a quiet cheer. The cage clicked open and we swarmed the small space. My eyes ignored the rows of memory orbs as they were drawn to a briefcase. Black metal, with a golden trim. The side facing up had the, now ancient, flag of Equestria in gold, surrounded by the emblems of the six ministries.

I popped the case open, feeling a hiss as the air pressure changed. Inside lay six memory orbs with a golden ticket and another indent underneath each one. The shapes had little uniformity, only that two appeared long and thin, while the other four were significantly smaller. Stuck to the underside of the top case, a written note.

For the Best Night Ever!

Mysteries to be solved, but we had what we came for. Domino placed the case into her saddlebags and we made a swift exit from the vault.

We rounded the corner back to the performance hall, watching Two Tone as he led the crowd in a frenzied song. Whole tables of drunken gamblers, gangsters and raiders swung in time to the song. Drinks, drugs, guns and caps were flung everywhere as glasses were raised to the stage drunk stallion. With a practiced flourish, he flashed a smile to the room, raising his hoof to the roof.

“Sing it ponies, Oh tell me quick
Oooooh, ain’t that a kick
Tell me quick, ain’t that a kick,
In the heeeeeeeeead!”

I grinned to Domino, pointing at the singing stallion, “See, culture!”

The smile cut short as there was a yell from the second floor, a very familiar unicorn flying off the edge and bouncing onto the stage. Two Tone managed an exclamation before being slammed into his enchanted instruments. Rolling onto his hooves, Clean Sweep glared at the direction he flew from. He shouted something inaudible over the grumbles and complaints of the watching patrons, before saying something to Two Tone.

“What do you mean the plan’s gone to hell? Two Tone ain’t bailin’ now, these pricks are putty in these hooves. That just doesn’t fly, swinger,” Two Tone blurted, suddenly remembering his magically enhanced voice. “Huh. And with that, Two Tone has left the building!”

The room fell silent at the sound of a gunshot, all eyes moving upwards. Except for Clean, he buried his face in his hooves and recounted every swear under the sun, while Two Tone tried to sneak away behind the curtains. I tapped Domino’s shoulder, gesturing to the small number of goons that were advancing towards us. We moved back to back, looking around at the smartly dressed ponies.

“Evening folks, Devil Luck here with a fantastic new game for you all,” Our gracious host’s voice called out from above us. “This here unicorn, one Clean Sweep, is wanted by our good friends in Manehatten. Now, while his bounty is already claimed by Mr Shock over here, his companions have yet to have one placed! Two Tone, his mare Domino, and the ghoul: five thousand caps for each of their heads, extra ten thousand for the set. Have fun folks!”

I readied into a low stance, glaring at the nearest goon, “Fantastic.”

The goon smirked as his horn glowed, magic feeling for his weapon. I got ready to leap out of the way of bullets only to hesitate as he pulled out an evil looking device. The unholy offspring of heavy duty construction equipment and a circular saw, complete with wasteland-yellow paint job and a sign reminding us of ‘Safety First!’

The machine gave a deep grumble as the goon revved it twice, turning into a high pitch whine that blocked out the new chaos in the room. The weapon moved with all the grace of a brick house as the spinning end was thrust at me. I easily side stepped the attack, straight into the swing of a baton. I twisted my head to grab the object from the teeth of the wielder and we locked into a struggle for the weapon.

The struggle came short as the whining blade came back, taking half of my ear as I rolled away. With blood oozing down the side of my face, and the realisation that I almost lost my head, I turned tail from the fight. I ran for the staircase, weaving as shots rang across the gambling hall. There were a few screams as patrons where hit, coupled with the distinct shouts of Devil Luck as he roared orders to his goons. From the corner of my eye, I could see Clean Sweep in the middle of melee as he cracked the head of a ganger with his shotgun, firing the other into the face of Devil Luck’s goon.

The whine chased me up the stairs, as did several shouts for me to just off myself to save them the effort. Splinters flew into the air as the machine took another swipe and embedded itself into the staircase. The goon grunted as he pulled it back out with his hooves, the weapon too stuck for just magic, while his companion bounded past him.

We locked hooves once again, kicking at one another as she tried to bring the baton down on me once more. I tucked a hoof in the soft underside of her jaw and locked her head away. She managed to get two strikes to my face as a reward for the effort, making a gurgling sound as I pressed against her windpipe.

I caught the fear in her eyes just in time, spinning us around as the blade came in for another attack. The whine changed pitch as it bit into her leg and jets of warm blood shot across the staircase. The baton fell to the ground in a clatter as the goon screamed. I took the opportunity to throw her into the other, sending them both tumbling down the stairs. The whine stopped as the magic was released.

Safety first indeed.

My relief was short lived as I joined them at the bottom, the wind driven out of me as I heard the distinct sound of small arms fire. I groaned from the throbbing ache in my back and shakily stood back up. Without the whine, I could hear the battle raging in the gambling hall. It seemed that the announcement had set the fuse on the powder keg: everyone was fighting one another, bounty or no.

My attention rushed back to my own situation when I felt a piercing pain in my shoulder, blood slowly seeping down my leg. I looked over and saw a familiar claw-knife sticking out of my back. The owner took his time descending the stairs.

“Well looky here! Didn’t I kill you already?” Septic Shock grinned at my despairing look, his magic wiggling the knife until it touched a nerve. The grin grew at my shriek of agony.

“Oi, fuck face,” the uninjured unicorn grumbled beneath me. “This one’s our kill, seeing as the boss said Squeaky’s off limits. Go get your own prize.”

Septic looked around for a moment before pointing a hoof at himself, “Oh, me. I’m sorry, mind saying that again?”

The goon just managed to move his head out of the way as the knife flew at him. I dived forwards as the mare rolled to her hooves and leapt at Septic with a pained shriek. Her body slid down the stairs as Septic casually blew a sizeable hole in her head and cackled.

“Wow, what was that about? Hey zombie, don’t go too far now! I’ve got special treatment for liars!” he giggled again as the remaining goon attacked Septic with a scream of rage. The two entered a dance of death to the sound of the whining saw, doors swinging shut on them.

A few patrons had gone for Clean, but most of them were either full of buckshot or hiding behind cover, nursing their wounds. The wounded unicorn had taken a position on the stage with Two Tone, the pair repelling any attempts behind the cover of instruments and heavy curtains. Two kept most at bay, using his shield where he could, and attracting attention towards him as Clean attempted to stem the trickles of blood from under his own clothes. Domino lay behind them, drinking from a healing potion.

I turned and ran into the hall, dodging and ducking under the tables as I went. The axe wielding mare came at from nowhere, blood streaming from a nasty cut over one eye, only to be batted out of the way by a frothing unicorn. My saviour turned to killer, as she rounded on me with her weapon: a sledgehammer with a particularly bright gem worked into the metal. A very small voice in the back of my head informed me it was probably a super sledge, and I was about to feel what ‘up to three tonnes’ of force felt like.

Then her body caught fire. As she ran screaming, I picked out a sharp whistle and saw Two Tone waving to me behind the makeshift barricade of card tables and instruments. I raced to the stage, leaping as the piano was pulled out of the way. A few shots slammed into the cover.

I panted as Two looked over my wounds, assuring me that they weren’t serious. Given the empty bottles around us, it looked like Domino had taken the worst of the fight. She sat with pupils dilated, swaying a little as the magic put her back together.

“Two Tone hates to say he told you so, swinger, but he-”

“Luna alive, Two, shut the fuck up,” Domino screamed at him, one eye blackened. “Just shut the fuck up for the next ten minutes.”

Two Tone cowered, ears dropping as he did as he was told. I even felt a little guilty, despite not having done anything wrong. As far as I knew. Clean grunted a greeting to me, firing a shot into the crowd and getting an oddly familiar scream in return.

“Good shot!” I shouted to him. “You have more of those shells?”

“Yeah, they just ain’t enough for this. You get everythin’?” he shouted over the din, lining up another shot. I checked my saddlebags and found the film reels and projector parts miraculously unharmed.

“Domino picked up the most important parts. We need to get out of here!” I yelled, stuffing my gun into my mouth and firing a few shots off.

“Workin’ on it. Two, remember the Fetlock thing? Let’s try that again.”

We did little to assist the battle, conserving ammo for the patrons who were money hungry enough to go for us. Two Tone used his shield and instruments as reactive cover, moving it to block the stray bullets and other projectiles. There’s something amazing in seeing a guitar bat a stick of dynamite away.

The fighting came to a halt with a roar of synchronised gunfire. On the other side of the hall stood a sharply dressed unicorn, five goons all in battle saddles beside him. Each saddle had two nasty looking rifles attached, while the unicorn simply sipped from a cocktail glass. Clean swore as he ducked back behind cover.

“Ok, ok, think we’ve all had our fun, agreed?” Devil shouted out. “Think we can all just calm down now, hmm?”

He flicked his glass to one side and started to comb his quiff. “Now, that bounty is still up, but before I start charging for damages to my fine establishment, I think we should stop shooting at each other and at the pricks we should be shooting at, you fucking idiots. Clean Sweep! Get your ass out here before I blow all of you to kingdom come, you sorry sack of shit!”

“Two seconds, my shotgun ain’t loaded,” Clean yelled, his weapons clacking shut with fresh shells. “Now, I know we ain’t seein’ eye to eye recently, but I’m doin’ what I can to make it up to you. Your folk shouldn’t have been there in the first place, even came here to apologise and make amends for my wrongs. Callin’ for every lowlife in this bar for me an’ my friends’ heads just ain’t hospitable of you, frankly.”

“Make amends?! Your previous exploits are just the beginning, colt. You show up at my door, threaten my staff, and personally insult me? Next, you send the fucking corpse skulking around doing who knows what in my office!” Devil’s rage was punctuated with the sounds of rifles shuffling. “Cream of the crop, you send this sex-fuelled performer into my home, he drinks my booze, fucks my mares, takes my things! Colt, you get out here and make up for this now!”

Clean frowned at the charges, looking to Domino then Two Tone. The singer shrugged in response.

“Said to blend in swinger, so Two Tone did just that. Three waitresses and one guard, one evening.”

“You work fast,” I said, not hiding how impressed I was. Two winked and mouthed a thank you, despite the disapproving looks from the others.

“Perhaps we could strike a deal,” Domino shouted back, voice slurring slightly.

“I’m not interested in talking to no-ponies, sweetheart.”

“I’m sure we can work this out like civilised ponies.”

“Civilised? You think that raider wannabe is a civilised pony? You even know what he’s done?”

“Devil!” Clean roared, all of us flinching from the sudden rage. And fear.

“He ain’t told you? My, my, Clean Sweep what a bad pony you’ve been. Getting a little hot under the collar for you?” Devil Luck chuckled. I looked to Two Tone, who was as clueless as me, while Clean began to stare into nothingness, his eyes glazing over. “This little pony has done more than shoot up some two-bit gangers, things that’ll make it a damn pleasure to see him off. Little Squeaky here’s all grown up, done some real killing now.”

“Shut up! Just shut the fuck up!” Domino near enough screamed. “I don’t care what he’s done, it’s nothing compared to the sick fuck behind you.”

“I might’ve taken offense to that, if it weren’t true,” Septic replied to howls of laughter.

“Dom…” Clean said in a quiet voice, pulling her close to him. Two met my uncertain gaze and nodded slowly. Devil continued his monologue, but we tuned him out as we looked to Clean.

“Hey, swingers, Two Tone may not know what’s goin’ on right now, but he thinks that you need to snap out of it,” his voice cut across Clean, who weakly nodded. “We’re flank deep in it, and we need somepony who can get us out, know what I’m sayin’?”

“Two’s right,” I said. “Pull yourself together, boss. To use your words, we ain’t dying here.”

Devil calmed the crowd down, chuckling himself. “Hoo, well that was interesting. The time for talk is all over now, little miss. Don’t know how you got wrapped up in all this, but you’re sure not walking away from it. Don’t think you’ll be missed much either. I’m giving you five.”

Clean gave Domino a quick kiss, a farewell for the worst, and passed her knife. Her teeth chomped down on it and she nodded firmly, despite being barely stable.

“Four.”

He then sighed as he brought up his two shotguns.

“Three.”

Two Tone fidgeted, looking for something to grab in his magic, and whispered what sounded like a prayer.

“Two.”

I checked my ammo. Five more shots before I needed to reload.

“One.”

Two things happened at the same time. First, the central piece of cover, a roulette table, was flung into the air by Septic Shock’s magic. Second, Devil Luck’s cronies opened fire in near perfect synchronisation.

Two Tone swung the piano across the room to block the wall of bullets. At least, it’s what he attempted to do. The piano overshot and sailed towards me after catching most of the shots. I let fight and flight take control, and they decided to kick the instrument instead of getting me out of the way. Something whispered in the back of my mind about being Awesome and I obeyed.

The Datplacers activated as they struck the wood, sending the piano flying in a new direction. The only thing standing between it and the nearest wall was a rather bemused, quickly changed to terrified, Devil Luck. He managed a squeak of fear before eight-hundred pounds of wooden instrument smashed into him and then the wall.

It even managed a “bong” as the dust and paste settled.

Those who still lived stared at the wall, watching a hoof slowly flop to the floor. Stillness filled the air as nopony knew how to react. The goons had just lost their source of income in an accident, the hopeful bounty hunters had just lost their payout, and the remaining raiders no longer had an authority figure to fear. Septic looked on, shrugged at us, hollered like a pony possessed, and fired a shot into a random mare.

Chaos took hold once again.

I dived behind cover, looking at the paled faces of the others. Two Tone looked the worst of all, slightly greenish in his face. Domino rubbed her face as more splinters flew from stray shots. Clean busied himself with reloading, having fired all shots at once. Despite the earlier reaction, he seemed almost back to normal. Almost.

“Ghoul!” Clean roared at me. “Cover Two while he gets ready.”

I poked my head over the cover, tongue pulling the trigger as quick as I could. Most of the automatic wielding ponies had ran out of ammo far earlier on, the smarter ones having conserved ammo in shorter bursts. Of course, with our luck, Septic Shock was among them. The mad-pony now swung the whining saw into any pony he saw. Most of the damage was from the sheer weight of the device, though I could see that he had made short work of the battle-saddled goons.

Spinning back under cover, I busied with reloading. The stage filled with light as Two Tone’s horn began to glow with an aura. He was blocked from view with the stage curtain, Clean gritting his teeth as he fired away. Domino slumped against him, shaking her head as she fought off the wooziness from the painkillers.

Two Tone’s horn added another aura as he focused, sweat beading on his brow. We scurried to the back of the stage, hiding behind what cover we could find and screwed our eyes tight. I heard Clean whip the curtain away.

“Bang.”

To us, it sounded like Two Tone had just said the word. No louder than he spoke normally. To everypony else in the room, he had turned a single word into a wave of unhearable sound. Pure force smacked into their eardrums as the room filled with a light brighter than the sun.

I waited a second before poking my head over the cover. Ponies staggered around, pawing at their eyes and making strange noises as they tried to gauge what they could hear. Two Tone stood woozy at the front of the stage before falling to one side. I managed to prop him up until Domino came to join us, Clean covering our exit.

We made our way past the groaning ponies, my remaining skin crawling as I saw Septic laughing in his dazed state. Two Tone started to become more confident in his steps and let me scout on ahead. Most of the goons we had passed on our entrance had rushed in to join the fight earlier, leaving a few dead in the hallway. At the other end, I could see two very confused guards.

“What the fuck is going on in here?”

I saw Point Blank and Scabs looking in at the chaos, both too distracted to see the rushing ghoul coming towards them. The door slammed into their faces. Then it slammed on their heads again to be sure. I opened it after I heard groaning and swiped back my pouch of caps from them.

“Great place, you get five stars from me.”

“Wh-what?” Point mumbled before curling up to massage the bump on her head.

“Never you mind, let’s go!” I turned as I heard fighting break out again, rushing back to help.

The others galloped towards me, Clean spinning around to fire off a shot as I caught up. I joined in with the covering fire, hearing Two and Domino make their excuses as they stepped over the guards. We spun back around to join them only for Clean to stumble.

I then realised the last shot wasn’t ours. Septic leaned drunkenly against the doorframe with a wicked grin and blew on the tip of his gun. Clean gave a fearful cry as I shouted for him to move.

I grabbed his hoof, pulling him to stand back up when he fell again. His face turned nearly white as he looked up at me, the shock taking away his power to speak. His legs failed a third time when I saw the problem. I threw him onto my back and moved as fast as I could, praying that Septic’s aim hadn’t recovered any further.

We burst into the cold night’s air and took off after Domino and Two into the darkness.

Dear Hard,

I found this the other day during the weekly check up on the police reports, I was wondering about some of the details that night!

Hope

Manehatten Police Department Report No.20557#A-1110

Night of the 11th of the 10th Moon

Address: Flat 7, Saddle Suites, 42nd Street.

House call at 2am regarding a noise disturbance, called in by a Miss Honey Dream, coming from an apartment below her own. Officer Iron Nails responded to the dispatch. Upon arrival, Officer Nails could hear the mentioned disturbance. Rather than being that of “somepony being murdered”, he commented that it appeared to be the opposite. Officer Nails proceeded to knock on the door.

After the third attempt, the door opened. Officer Nails greeted the resident, one Hard Copy [Earth Pony, male] and checked with the resident that everything was well. Officer Nails noted that the resident appeared to be under the influence of Party-Time Mint-Als, and potentially other substances, but could find no evidence beyond the disposition of Mr Hard Copy. Officer Nails was not equipped with a drug testing kit at this time.

After reassuring Officer Nails that he was fine, Mr Copy attempted to close the door. Officer Nails spotted another pony in the apartment and requested to speak to her. Mr Copy initially refused but agreed on the condition that the nature of the situation is not in the report. As compliance, the report will not go into detail about how Miss Hope (pegasus, female) was tied up, nor about the various objects in the room.

Miss Hope confirmed that the situation was consensual.

Officer Iron Nails then requested the two keep noise within a respectable level as the other residents have complained. Mr Copy agreed, and Officer Nails left the scene.

Actions taken: One (1) Verbal Warning. No further action required.

End of Report

PS: Still up for drinks at mine? Think it’s your turn next!

Level Up

Chapter Seven - Worth

Chapter Seven – Worth

What is the worth of a mare? The sweat on her brow, the blood on her hooves?

My hindleg flew up in a perfectly modelled kick, forelegs coming up as I shifted my weight. Two quick jabs, followed by a low sweep, back to a neutral stance, drop down to a low stance, rising uppercut. I halted at the peak of the blow… and used my hindleg to turn the page. The next pattern brought a grumble and I closed the book instead.

Somewhere, water dripped from a broken pipe. Each drop struck the edge of a steel bar, the rusting tip sticking out of the remains of concrete. A unicorn’s skull hung from the bar, the bone broken where it had been pierced. If it was any consolation for them, they didn’t see what killed them. I imagined their desperate, heroic moments like a movie, helping their loved ones run to safety. Anything was better than reality.

It wasn’t easy listening to Clean’s screams. Despite Two’s efforts, the unicorn couldn’t concentrate on reducing the noise and fixing the damage done to our leader, so I sat on guard while he worked away in the dim light of a lantern, carefully watching the sleeping form of Domino as she twitched and shivered. Perhaps it was a blessing in disguise she was out cold.

We were still too close to the Golden Gallop for my liking, only five or so blocks away. Every gunshot made us flinch and peek out of the single window we allowed ourselves, desperately hoping that the suits or patrons hadn’t got their heads together to chase after us yet. Tucked inside a leaning skyscraper, we took what shelter we could to work on the wounded.

I could feel the soft tingle of radiation work on my body, feeling thankful for my body’s ability to turn something so deadly into a source of healing. The stab wound had started to scar and scab, but the top half of my ear was long gone. Not that I was going to complain too much: half an ear is better price to pay than my head.

To prevent utter boredom, I started learning the patterns described in Martial Arts of the Zebras. The old movies had done their research; I had seen many of these movements before, so copying them wasn’t too difficult a task. Then again, copying a film and a book is nothing compared to using it in a real fight.

That said, I was now a mask and a dragon tattoo away from becoming Iron Hoof. That’s pretty cool, right?

The screams turned into whimpers as Two exited the operating room, some pony’s bedroom. He sighed and gave me a grim nod, taking a long drink from a water bottle. I could see the cracks on his lips and reminded myself of how hard Two was pushing himself.

“He’ll make it, swinger’s got life in him.”

“I’m sensing a but here, Two. What else?”

His larger than life personality had taken a backseat for the past few hours. Without the shades, Two Tone looked ancient. Haggard eyes were rimmed with bags and his mane had lost all the lustre from the sweat and effort, yet he still managed the same air of confidence.

“But there ain’t much Two Tone can do here. Need more potions, painkillers, bandages, anythin’ swinger. Ideally, Buck. At least until we get to a real doctor, know what I’m sayin’?”

“Where’s the nearest?” the desperation couldn’t be hidden. “How far?”

Two waved a hoof for me to calm down, despite his own quickening breaths. “Take it easy, swinger, take it easy. Nearest one that won’t kill us is out of Fillydelphia. Two Tone has more work to do before we can move him, he ain’t a doctor but Clean ain’t movin’ an inch. That and Two Tone can’t work on him while he’s screamin’ and cursin’.”

“Just means he’s alive,” I said, feeling a little worried after at the grim humour.

“They teach you that during the war, swinger?”

I shook my head. “Never trained for real combat, just small firefights. We had Ministry of Peace staff on standby to save us.”

“Real lucky, real lucky,” Two Tone’s snort turned into a cough. I gave his back a good thump, which he seemed thankful for, and sighed. Something had been walking around my mind since we had left the casino, worming away inside my head.

“Hey Two, what do you think Devil Luck was on about?”

“You mean what got Clean so spooked? No clue, swinger,” Two Tone sat against a wall, gently massaging his horn. “That pony’s got more secrets than a mare’s bedroom, know what I’m sayin’?”

“But a raider wannabe? Is that a bad thing to call somepony?”

Two Tone scoffed. “Raiders are the worst of the worst, swinger, barely able to call them a pony. Clean’s worlds apart from them. He’s done bad things, sure, but he ain’t a raider. No way on this earth could he be.”

“Not like we’ll find out soon. Devil’s dead,” I frowned, examining my hooves. “Flat as a pancake.”

Every kill affects you, in some way. Sometimes it was the motivation behind the killing, could it have been prevented? Did I do everything I could have to stop it? Other times, it was the realisation that there could have been a family behind the pony. Were they fighting to protect their home? Would there be children asking where their parent or sibling had gone?

It troubled me that I found Devil Luck’s death funny.

“Nasty way to go, but ain’t like he didn’t deserve it, swinger,” Two Tone’s comment broke my stare. “Despite what he was sayin’ about Clean, that pony was a real piece of shit. Doin’ what he did to those girls, ain’t right swinger, ain’t right.”

“What did he do?” I asked, Two Tone being cut off as a new noise joined us.

Domino gave a soft groan as she started to wake. I learned from Two Tone that most of her wounds were stabs and slices, as well as one particularly nasty gunshot to the flank. Thankfully they weren’t beyond the power of a healing potion or two, but the painkillers helped with the deeper wounds. I helped her sit up and drink down some water, her eyes bleary and dry.

“Urg, feel like shit,” her voice came raspy and dry, and she coughed hard afterwards. “Hard, where’s Clean? How is he?”

“Take it easy, you took one hell of beating. How are you feeling? Need anything?”

“No, no, Clean?”

“How’re you Two Tone? Oh, Two’s fine, thank you swinger,” Two mumbled to himself, blowing out a laugh as Domino smiled apologetically. “Honestly, swinger, Clean’s… ok. He needs better care than Two Tone can give him.”

“What can we do?” Domino pushed me away as she sat up, wincing and rubbing at the new scars.

“Not much we can, need to get him on his hooves to get some real help, know what I’m sayin’? Was sayin’ to Hard, we need medicine. Any kind of drug we can get our hooves on. Anaesthetic if you can, swingers.”

Domino came to life, moving at a dangerous speed for somepony in her condition. “Anaesthetic?! Why?”

“Bullet’s buried somewhere important, Two Tone can’t go working into that without something to numb the pain, swinger,” Two carefully removed Domino from his suit. “If we want to stay hidden, Two Tone needs quiet, know what I’m sayin’? He ain’t getting’ it right now and won’t be without something on hoof.”

“There is a way,” I said quietly. “The memory orbs.”

Two Tone went wide eyed at the suggestion, while Domino frowned. “What do you mean?”

“When you’re in the memory, you only feel what the host felt. Anything could be happening to your body and you’d never know, bit of a drawback but it was for the desk rather than field work,” I said, remembering the first time I wore a Recollector. Being a mare for twenty minutes was eye opening and very uncomfortable.

“But is it safe?” Domino pressed.

“Depends,” Two Tone said around the lip of his bottle. “If he wakes up halfway into Two Tone’s work, it won’t be pretty. Be lucky if the swinger doesn’t die from shock, know what I’m sayin’?”

“How long can you put it off?” I asked. “A day? Two days? A week? It could be ages until Domino’s fit enough for a real search for supplies, Two.”

Two Tone stuttered before a moment, then gave a defeated shrug. The pressure was getting to him. As he said, he was not a doctor by any stretch of the word. Septic’s final shot had damaged Clean’s spine, meaning that any kind of work to it would have to be done by a professional. Two had enough skill to help the situation enough for an expert to take a proper look at it, but the wrong move would mean the end of Clean’s walking days.

During peacetime, this was an unfortunate situation. In the wasteland, it was a death sentence.

“Whatever it takes,” Domino said. “I’m sure Clean will agree.”

Her conviction must have touched a nerve in Two Tone, as his mane seemed to gain more bounce as he stood back up. The stress of that decision weighed heavily on his shoulders and, now that weight was lifted, he could get back to being himself once more. The two entered our operating room, and I was alone once again.

Somepony once said you find yourself in times of solitude. I reckon that pony never had ponies to be around to start with, it’s mind numbingly dull being alone with others nearby. I turned back to the new pattern and started the warm ups.

A bassline thumps through the subwoofers, drowning out the cheers of the crowd. My hooves dance across the turntable in an intricate dance and play with the multitude of dials to squeeze out that perfect sound. Headphones rest against one ear as I time the build and bring the honey-sweet vocals of Sweetie Belle into play.

I risk a look at the audience. They mill and move in perfect synchronisation, directed by a manic pink mare as she bounces with the energy of twenty ponies half her age. Who knows what she was once capable of with moves like that?

The alcohol is sweet on my tongue, the burn far more intense from the powdered Mint-Al heightening my sense of taste. It brings greater ideas, new ways to keep this feeling up, to pump the crowds into even more obscene highs of emotion and love. I see nothing but smiles to match my own, a sea of white teeth and endless joy.

The ultimate party.

A white mare with a blue mane stands by me, working her own table as she takes over for the night. We bump hooves as I take my bow, the crowd roaring and begging for an encore but my time is done. Now to enjoy myself a little more.

I melt into the crowd and receive well earned praise. The hooves propel me towards the bar where a drink is waiting for me. The green liquid sloshes around, almost glowing in the blacklight, and is easy to drink down. As the second round. And the third.

A green mare now approaches with a giant stallion in tow. We hug and exchange laughter. The mare is a unicorn, one of the most talented I have ever met. The stallion is the kindest pony I have ever met, more selfless than the idea of selflessness. The two share a kiss. It is not the drunken kiss of strangers, but that of two ponies deeply in love with one another. I feel an emotion stirring deep inside my chest.

It is warm, like that of pride, yet with a frosty edge. I feel jealous. I want a love like that, but I am afraid. What am I afraid of? Rejection? Acceptance? I look around for a way to numb the pain.

The cocktail waiting for me at the bar looks too inviting. A blend of all my vices: the first cigarette on top of my home, the small tablets of Mint-Als that I rely on every day, the alcohol I use to wash the taste of vomit away, the syringes.

An inhaler.

I run. I do not know why, but I run as fast as possible from the display and into the crowd. These things should make me feel safe and secure, instead they chill me to my very soul. I bash into ponies left and right in my attempt to escape yet none care. They’re too wrapped up in their own drugged fuelled fantasies to notice one screaming stallion.

I burst into the bathroom and don’t recognise where I am. This door should not lead here, but here I stand. I hear a retching in one of the stalls and approach. The door is unlocked and swings open. Another earth pony leans into the bowl, his red mane faded and lifeless while his suit looks like it had been worn for weeks on end. Piles of empty packets and bottles surround the toilet, the brightly coloured drugs standing out against the grey tiles.

He groans as he looks up at me, vomit on his lips and blood dribbling from his nose. “Fuck, what happened to you?”

“What do you mean?” I ask, looking around. “Don’t worry about me, it’s you who’s in trouble. Look at you, you’re a mess.”

“Fuck you. You know who I am?” he shouts back. He looks so familiar, yet I shake my head.

“I’m supposed to be up there now. This was supposed to be MY moment!” he heaves into the bowl. “I need more.”

“Think you’ve had enough, come on,” I move towards him. He shoves me away and retches again. I take this opportunity to pull him away from the temptation.

I don’t even feel the knife stab up into me. He blinks and shoves me away, blinking blearily as if he’s just waking up. He manages to utter another swear. I look down at the weapon in my chest and watch as the blood leaks into my shirt. It drips on the floor as I start to grow cold.

His eyes grow wide as he pushes past me and out of the bathroom. I try to grab him but slip on the floor. The knife has a dull ache as it knocks against the tiles and sprays them with another fine coating of blood. I try to stand once again and catch myself in the mirror.

The necrosis is still there, bone starting to show where the muscle has grown so thin. My suit is tattered and torn, the right shoulder stained with brown after I lost my ear. I look into my eyes and realise where I knew the stallion from.

I know where this moment is from.

I stagger out after him with a fire in my chest. The pain reminds me that I’m still alive, that there is time to save me. I push into the smiling crowd as the lights flash overhead, each burst of darkness hiding the twisted creatures.

I see the blood from their noses, the sores around their lips, the collapsed veins. I see how tired they all are, how sick of it all, how desperate they are for an escape. I catch eyes with one or two and witness the pony inside screaming for an end, by drugs or bullets. The smiles are forced, perversions of anything containing any happiness.

When did I start crying?

They watch me leave as the music pounds on. The Manehatten air is cold on my coat and chills my insides via the knife. I stagger into the road, narrowly avoiding carts as they weave around me, the drivers shouting at me. One clips me, and I kiss concrete.

I can hear laughter. I fight through the stars and try to get up, only to have the world spin away. The laughter grows, joined with the crystal clear ringing of bells as somepony skips merrily. The laughter turns sour. The laughter is at me.

I look around and find myself somewhere new: Craterside before it’s Craterside. A cart thunders through the traffic with stars adorning its side. Behind it, three pegasi race: firing lances of magic from rifles. A balloon with an eternally smiling face floats ahead, missiles streak from it as the crowd screams. Somepony is still laughing.

Then a terrible ghastly silence. Then a terrible ghastly noise.

The cart explodes. Did a stray shot hit something? Did the figures inside complete their task? It doesn’t matter, the result is the same.

The trio of pegasi just fade into the white, swallowed by the lack of colour. A sickly green chases the flash and bathes the crumbling buildings in a wash of flame and death. The ground follows, dirt throwing my body through the air. I notice the sky has been blotted out by the clouds as things rain down from above.

They bring death with them. I hear the screams of Manehatten as it is baptised in necromantic horror and the world changes. I watch, far removed from it all, as ponies drag their half bodies across the floor, begging for someone to save them. They look up into the sky. They look at me. Then they die.

I collapse on the floor again, on the concrete. The knife has gone but I am still bleeding. I can feel the radiation licking at me, filling me with unholy life. I have never felt more alive and more empty than I do now.

Bells chime and a figure cartwheels over the corpses. It plays pattycake with the crying foal as she is burned alive. It waves to me and approaches. I cannot help but smile as the mask comes off.

I kiss my mare, my Hope. She tastes divine, like ice-cream. When we part I see blood running from her eyes, as if she were weeping too hard. Her body begins to match mine – rotting and skeletal. Her eyes grow wide as her face audibly cracks into a smile.

“YOU LEFT ME TO DIE!”

My eyes snapped open with my jaw locked in a scream. I took a few moments to gulp down air, trying to calm myself and work out where I was. I didn’t recognise the corridor I was in but realised that I couldn’t have walked too far, so I took the opportunity to just breathe.

There was a deep throbbing inside my head as I tried to shake the nightmare away, hooves caressing where I had been stabbed. Thankfully it was all in my head. My throat ached after the screaming, begging for a sink and a stiff drink.

“Domino? Two?” I didn’t recognise where I was, other than it was still indoors.

After a few minutes of walking, and calling, I found a public bathroom. I had managed to walk into the other side of the building, somehow traversing the gaps in the concrete as I slept. Nothing short of miracle prevented me from falling several storeys to my death. Part of me was thankful that this escapade had kept me alive, another was terrified of what had just happened to me.

The water was nearly black, but I splashed it over myself all the same, enjoying the cool liquid against my skin. I stared into the mirror at the dead pony. He stared back, looking guilty. Deep down, I knew what had happened. I had always taken the watch because I don’t need to sleep like the others. At least, that was the excuse I told myself and them.

Throwing up helped me regain some sanity. It helped to flush out all the wrongness inside me, remove all memory of the nightmare. I never wanted to relive those moments again, and now I was chased by them in my sleep. The only saving grace was that I awoke from them in the first place.

This wasn’t the first nightmare I had since waking up in the wastes, but this was the first that felt as real as life. I stared grimly at the cracked reflection, flinching as I suddenly remembered the scenes.

Am I starting to slip? Is this what happens when a ghoul becomes feral? The thoughts raced around my mind, threatening another heave until I could put a lid on them. I had to stay sane, stay awake, stay whole.

The soft tingle reminded me I was near a major source of radiation. While I never felt hunger, I felt something like it when I thought of the lethal energies. If I was lucky, I could slip away for a few hours and soak myself up in the glow and try to make me feel truly sane again. Just an afternoon could help me regain my wits.

I looked away from the mirror when something pale yellow caught my eye. Pink butterflies revealed the Ministry of Peace first aid kit, my luck holding as I saw that the latch had broken open after it fell from the wall. Inside lay three potions and a decent supply of miscellaneous medical supplies. Nowhere near enough for Two Tone to finish with Clean, but enough to get Domino on her hooves much faster.

The journey back wasn’t too long nor arduous. I hadn’t travelled far in my delirious state and had walked mostly straight, saving me from the sheer drops where the building had given up after all these years. I found myself in familiar territory and picked up the pace.

The door slowly swung open, Domino looking out at me with a worried look. “Hard? Where did you go?”

“Took a walk, brought you a present though,” I pushed past her into our makeshift camp. “A couple of healing potions, should be enough to get you on your hooves and ready for some thieving.”

I waited as Domino drank greedily from the potions, massaging some of the drops into the more painful wounds. She only had half of the second before she looked good as new, testing her limits out and nodding. We delivered the remaining loot to a grateful Two Tone and a glassy eyed Clean Sweep.

Our leader looked frail and worryingly close to the end. Part of me wondered if I looked like that, while another pointed out how he looked like a pony-sized cuddly toy with his ragdoll pose. I pushed the second thought out of my head as he stirred.

“Hey hun, you ok?”

“Think it’s a bit soon for pet names, Clean,” I replied.

“Ah, the zombie’s here. Somepony mind buckin’ him for me?” he rasped, more out of pain than anything else. I tried to ignore the concerning amount of blood on the floor behind him.

“I’ll get to it later. Me and Hard are going out for a while now, ok? Get you some things so we can get on the road,” Domino stroked Clean’s face gently, as if she was scared that he was about to crumble under her hooves. “Can you hold on a little longer?”

“Do what I can, ain’t promisin’ anythin’. Hey, ghoul, better look after her for me, y’hear?”

“Safe hooves, Clean. Just worry about getting better. You used a memory orb before?” I stopped him before he tried to shake his head. “It’s simple, but it’ll be weird. Try to remember what you can from each one. If we wanted to lock them up that much, they’ll be important. Oh, and try not to think about being a mare too much.”

He winced as he laughed a little too hard, nodding weakly. Two Tone ushered us out and gave us a list of items, most of which we’d be lucky to find after two weeks of searching and bartering. We exchanged hugs, well wishes, and passwords before leaving him to his patient.

“Hey Domino.”

Her hoof stopped short of a step. She didn’t turn around. “Yes?”

We had journeyed a few blocks away, breaking in to a long-abandoned Ministry of Peace office. Unfortunately for us, it was an admin building, rather than a supply hub, but it was a step in the right direction. Two floors in and we had scavenged a few items from Two Tone’s list. I’m glad he was thinking ahead, and that there were leg braces tucked inside somepony’s briefcase for some reason.

“I’d like to say this isn’t my place, but I almost died back there. What the hell is going on? Who is Septic Shock? What is this about a bounty? Why are ponies chasing Clean?” I moved to meet her eyes, my expression softening a little. “Tell me.”

“Trust me Hard, you don’t want to open this can,” Domino slammed another desk shut. “Don’t stick your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

“Well, it currently belongs next to yours and Clean’s, and they’re staring down the barrel of a very powerful gun. Trust works both ways, and I’ve trusted you both long enough to go this far,” I smiled slightly. “That and sticking my nose where it doesn’t belong was part of the job.”

Domino wore a hard look, almost on the verge of anger but too defensive to lash out at me. “This isn’t your problem, Hard. Once we sort this out, we’ll get you clean and make sure you’re safe, I promise, but you can’t go asking that question. If you know too much, that’s a problem for us.”

“So it’s a dirty secret? Dom, if you haven’t noticed, we’re currently digging up secrets from my time. There could be anything in those orbs, and I just gave them to a pony who openly despises me. I want to help, I do, but I want to help as a friend. Not as a hostage.”

The words seemed to ring in her head for, Domino slowly digesting them. She gave a long, shaky breath. “This does not leave here, understood?”

“Of course. To show I mean it, cross my heart and hope to fly, stick a cupcake in my eye. A Pinkie Promise is never broken,” I finished it with a toothy grin. It at least made her smile. She carefully turned to show her side, lifting her labcoat. On her ocean blue flank lay a domino piece, two and five.

“Making lady luck work for you. That’s what my father calls my talent. I know how to play the odds, change things to work in my favour. I can get whatever I want, when I want,” the coat came down. “I wanted Clean.”

“No, you two are a couple?” I gasped, hamming up the performance to no end. Domino’s laughter brightened the mood a little more.

“Yes, we have been for some time now. Though we kept it secret for two years, my father never approved of it.”

“Why am I getting the feeling this ends with a vial of poison, a misunderstanding, and a double suicide? Are there two rival crime families at least?”

“What? No… just the one, actually,” she trotted past, nosing through another desk as I waited for the gears in my head to catch up.

“Hang on, a crime family? In the wastelands? You’re joking. How would they even operate? Who would you shake down? Who would you pay off for that matter?”

The desk rattled shut, an empty bottle rolling to the floor with a deafening clink. “No. My family have been in power for generations, maybe even before the last day. They control all kinds of businesses: drugs, weapons, sex. A lot of hooves in a lot of pies.”

“Seven Circles. So you’re a mob princess, what does that make Clean?”

“A ‘cleaner’,” Domino flicked her hoof at the word. “His special talent is in extermination of wildlife, and everything that comes with it. My family also paid him to get rid of more intelligent problems.”

“I can see why your father wasn’t keen on your relationship,” I kicked an empty wastebin over, then bounced to an untouched filing cabinet. “So he fell out of favour with your family because you two are together, right? Did I wake up in a radio drama?”

“Hang on, let me help you.”

With a heave, we opened the stuck drawer and were greeted with a decent collection of illicit substances. Perfect for bartering or having an awesome party before a raider took your skull, but not the kind of drugs we wanted. If this was one-hundred and sixty years earlier, I’d want to have a good chat with the owner of these.

“My father wasn’t enthusiastic, he put Clean on more dangerous missions, forced him to take riskier jobs. It all came to a head when Clean ended up… let’s just say he went too far one job,” Domino sighed as I finished placing our haul in her bags. “Wasn’t his fault, though that didn’t matter. After the dust settled, it was enough to pin it all on Clean and demand his head.”

I nodded, chewing the information over. “Now daddy-dearest has a reason to call a hit on him and forbid you from seeing him again. Two birds, one stone. Except you’re here, he’s still alive, and, so far, only one pony is genuinely interested in hunting him down.”

“Septic Shock,” Domino spat. “If Clean is a ‘cleaner’, Septic makes the mess in the first place. When I was little, he was just a mercenary. A bit dangerous, but nothing compared to recent years. Father would send him to talk with a rival or a raider crew, he’d come back with maybe a kill or two to his name. Now Septic comes back with the spine as a trophy.”

I knew the extent of the unicorn’s cruelty. The unpleasant sight of Pirouette’s freshly severed head appeared in my mind, unwelcome and unwanted. I busied with rooting through the remaining drawers, looking for a distraction. We worked without a spoken word, pulling out a few more greatly needed medical supplies. It was nowhere near enough what Two was asking for, but we were at least a little more prepared for the adventure ahead.

After ten minutes of silence, I found my voice again. “If you and Clean ran away together, why is he the one with a bounty on his head?”

“I don’t understand,” Domino frowned.

“If I was a mob boss, I’d put out a contract on the safe return of my daughter, not for the head of her lover. Maybe a bonus for his death, but not a bounty on his head without rescuing you…” I clicked my tongue. “The wording. You can still pay off bounties, right?”

Domino’s head drooped, ears flicking as she nodded. My eyes grew as the puzzle became clearer.

“A dowry. He’s not put a price on Clean’s head, he’s put a price on your relationship! Either Clean ends up dying, or he comes back and literally buys you off him. Talk about power moves.”

“I am NOT his property!” Domino roared. “I am MINE!”

Dust shifted from the ceiling. Domino stood panting at the shout, teeth clenched and muscles tensed. I backed away, mostly to give her space but also for my safety.

“Six months! Six months we have scavenged and fought and pleaded to raise the caps needed, and nothing has worked! Chasing every rumour, every whisper, all for nothing!” An unfortunate desk found itself flying across the room. “Pinkie’s Final Gift, the Seven Treasures of the Shadowbolts, The Sparking Ghost. All of it, worthless.”

That last one stung, remembering just who The Sparking Ghost was. I held my tongue though, this was Domino’s time to vent and it had been held back for a long damn time. It also opened my eyes to why Clean was so desperate. All of these had some kind of grandeur to them, a greater story lurking behind. The two had chased every possibility of treasure, of fortune, and turned up empty pocketed. Worst still, what money they had had just been sunk into the casino job. This was the last shot.

“All he cares about is paying my father off, to play by his rules,” Domino drew in heavy breaths, glaring daggers.

“Sometimes, you need to play to another’s tune. You can’t win without playing to their beat,” I gestured to a helpfully placed Steel Ranger poster, carefully leaving my cover. “You think Equestria was ready for a war on this scale? We had to grow into it. We followed the zebras’ drum.”

“That’s different,” Domino dismissed it with a snort and continued her search. “Clean can do something, something he’s very good at, but he’s too scared of what will happen.”

“Are you saying that I think you’re saying?” I asked, becoming a little bolder. “Domino, I don’t even know who your father is and I’m scared of what will happen. The power vacuum would be insane, if the Golden Gallop was anything to go by. A casino owner is killed and the whole place turned to a warzone. What would happen to Manehatten?”

“Manehatten can burn for all I care, there’s nothing in that city worth keeping,” another desk slammed shut.

I placed a squishy hoof on her blue one, not needing an ounce of strength to get her to stop. “You don’t mean that.”

A moment lingered before Domino sighed, sounding defeated. “You’re right, I don’t. I’m just so tired of this, Hard. I’m at the end of my rope and there’s no rescue in sight.”

“I know how that feels.”

“Bullshit,” Domino glared at me. She must have seen something in my gaze, because it soon faltered.

“No, no, I guess you had plenty to deal with back in your time,” she conceded. “I just want to get ahead, to have the upper hoof.”

“You’re not wrong there, and I think I can forgive two lovers wanting control. Stars above, I wanted that when I was your age,” I chuckled.

“I’m twenty-seven,” Domino replied, an eyebrow arched and a smirk on her lips. “That shut you up.”

“I’m over a hundred,” I muttered in defeat.

We finished our scavenge on the second floor and began to make a move to the third. The locked door stood little chance against the Datplacers and took a quick flight out of the opposite window. Thunder rumbled in the distance, once covered by the thick glazing that was slowly repairing itself.

“Never seen that before,” Domino said, impressed. “Do all Ministry buildings have this?”

“Only the ones that were deemed important enough for it, guess this one was home to something very special,” I looked around at the long-rusted terminals. “Doubt we’ll find out what, though.”

A brief nose through the desks coughed up a few goodies. Mostly reading material, but I was now three magazines and a book better off. Nurse Redheart’s Bumper Book of the Body: Breaks, Bandages, and Beauty – a perfect find for what we needed, followed by a few other medical themed magazines.

Five minutes later, we had hit the jackpot. The keys to a wagon outside that was, supposedly, filled to the brim with supplies for the front. The checklist it lay near told us that it was here for a surprise inspection after several supplies had mysteriously disappeared at random checkpoints. We made our move to the stairwell.

The scene from before began to play through my head, matching against Domino and Clean’s actions ever since I first left the pod. The pair were desperate for money, willing to put their lives on the line repeatedly to do so. They walked into the lion’s den just for a briefcase based on an ancient rumour. My curiosity swelled.

“Hey, Domino,” I began. “Just how big is Clean’s bounty?”

“Fifty thousand,” she replied, without even skipping a beat. “Enough to live off for the rest of your days.”

“Stars above,” I mumbled, stopping still on the concrete.

Domino looked up, frowning a little. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s just so much.”

“A price on my life is a price all the same, Hard. I’m just property to my father, that hasn’t changed in years and won’t for a long time,” Domino had a smile on her face that came nowhere near her eyes. “I’ve accepted that. Hate it, but accepted it.”

“For what it’s worth, Domino, I’m with you every step of the way. If this thing doesn’t work out, I’ll stand by until you’re free of this,” I pulled my best grin. “What kind of Morale agent would I be if I couldn’t make just two ponies happy?”

The smile reached her eyes and Domino bowed her head. It came back up sharply, her ears twitching. My stub did the same and we both looked down the stairs. Somepony was in the building with us. We silently crept down the staircase, holding our breath in fear. With any luck we could just sneak out rather than fight, it would cost us too much.

We heard a heavy hoofstep one floor below, followed by an unnerving creak and hiss. “Knight, report.”

“Two non-hostiles in the building. Most likely above. Think they might know what happened with that door,” a female voice replied to the male, sounding somewhat distorted and robotic.

“Shit,” Domino whispered. “Rangers.”

“Rangers? As in, Steel Rangers?” I hissed back. “Isn’t that a good thing?”

Domino gave me a strange look, between utter disbelief and horror. “Good?! Hard, if they see you, you’ll be paste in seconds. The only thing they hate more than wastelanders with fancy tech is ghouls. And you’re a ghoul with fancy tech.”

“What? Why?”

“No time for history lesson, we need to get out of here,” Domino pushed me away from the stairs.

“Movement,” the mare below drawled. “Permission to engage?”

“Permission granted, Knight Cinnamon Toast. Non-explosive munitions, try to avoid blowing up anything useful. This building looks almost untouched, I’m certain Elder Elderflower would appreciate the supplies. Not to mention what we could get for Star Paladin Cottage Cheese for that matter.”

“Understood,” the massive hoofsteps began ascending as we scurried further back. “Do not run, it won’t work.”

For the first time in my life, I gazed upon the form of a Steel Ranger and felt terror. The metal pony shape entered the room with a crunch of old wood, my eyes hurting from the glare of the highbeams. The head slowly sweeped around the room, settling on our pitiful hiding space.

“Come out.”

I almost followed the command on sheer reaction, but Domino forced me down. “We’re just scavengers! Everything here is yours, just don’t kill us!”

“You’re not really in a position to make demands, scum. Get out before I waste ammo shooting through that desk,” I heard the rattle clack of a minigun being loaded.

“If you kill us, that would be a mistake,” I spoke without realising, suddenly meeting Domino’s terrified eyes.

“A ghoul? Can’t tell if you’re brave to stare death in the face, or stupid to tell me you’re here. I personally think it’s the latter.”

“Well, I never did finish high school,” I tried to find a hoofhold for the conversation. “I think you might want to hear this ghoul out. You know what building this is?”

“Knight, what is taking so long?” softer hoofsteps came up, the male pony had joined us. “Is there a fault with the targeting systems again?”

“No, sir,” Cinnamon Toast replied. “Just allowing these two their final words.”

“Well get on with it, I want this place stripped and searched sooner rather than later.”

“Thenyouwon’tfindthesupplywagon,” I blurted.

There was a strange silence. Somewhere, a surviving clock ticked.

“What?” the stallion asked, with an edge to his voice.

“If you kill us,” Domino continued for me. “You won’t know where to find the supply wagon. We found out and wanted to take it for ourselves, but the terminal was destroyed in the process.”

We caught each other’s eyes, hooves touching as we prayed to whoever was listening that they would buy the lie. The seconds dragged by until we heard a strange noise. The Knight was chuckling.

“Typical, you play with things you do not understand and make the world worse for it. Who knows what else you have lost in the process?” the weapon began to spin up. “I’m amazed after all these years, you remain in ignorance. Suffer for it.”

“The Golden Gallop!” I yelled over the din. “Memory orbs in the Golden Gallop!”

“Wait.”

I could barely hear it over the noise of impending death and my heartbeat, the stallion spoke so softly. Despite the delivery, it brought the Knight to heel and the whir slowed down to a stop. I heard hooves tap across the room as he rounded the corner.

The unicorn was dressed in simple robes, red as blood with the insignia of the Rangers on the flank: a single winged sword defending the gears of Equestrian industry. He carefully studied us, stroking his greying beard as he looked us up and down. I could barely read what was going on behind those bespectacled eyes.

“Who are you?”

“Just scavengers,” Domino replied, moving between me and the stallion.

He smirked. “A poor lie. Very few scavengers know about the importance of memory orbs, and yet you brought them up. Who are you?”

“The Sparking Ghost.”

I don’t know why I said that. Perhaps there was a part of me that wanted to become something bigger, better, like I had to prove my worth to Domino. She looked at me in shock, almost questioning what I had planned, but it was nothing compared to the look on the unicorn’s face.

“Well, well, isn’t that interesting. You do not seem to be lying, at least about the wagon. The Gallop I’m less sure about.”

“Why would I lie?” I replied. “What would I gain?”

“Last attempt to save your own skin?” the stallion raised an eyebrow. “Why should I believe you?”

Something about the movement stirred a familiarity in me, but I was unsure of what or why. I slowly opened my jacket, keeping the DC-pad hidden inside, and took out my business cards. He took one carefully, lips moving silently as he read it.

“I know memory orbs better than most. We were in the vault, downstairs on the left, now unlocked. Rows of them, untouched. There’s even a Shadowbolt’s pistol in the office, providing nopony’s taken it,” I focused on keeping my breathing calm and steady. “The whole place was in chaos when we left, no match for two Rangers.”

“Give me the keys and you are free to leave,” the card slipped into his robes as he spoke.

“Sir!” Cinnamon Toast’s external speakers blurted. “Surely you are joking?”

“My dear Knight, look at them. It would be a waste of valuable ammunition, especially when there is a greater prize at hoof. In days long gone, perhaps before you were born, we would make such a trade with outsiders. Small pieces of inconsequential technology, like a long-broken pistol or a dud grenade, for information. I think these two have earned another way to die in exchange for that confirmation, most likely from the very angry ponies now leaving that casino.”

“You’re serious?” Domino slowly stood up. “You’re not going to shoot me in the back as we leave?”

“My dear, you’re already long dead. At least your friend looks it,” his smile was wonderfully unpleasant. “The keys and the location of the wagon, please.”

“Swear on it.”

The unicorn rolled his eyes and began a very familiar set of movements. “Cross my heart and hope to fly, stick a cupcake in my eye. There, an ancient family tradition used on a nopony. Satisfied?”

“Yellow wagon, outside on the left,” Domino threw the keys to him, which he caught without a thought. “How did you know about the keys?”

“That’s something I’ll leave you two to work out. Now go.”

We couldn’t move fast enough.

I stretched out to ease my bones, multiple snaps and pops rewarding the effort. I smiled at the sounds, and a little at the disgust on Two Tone’s face as I did so. The unicorn sipped at a half-finished bottle of gin, found inside a nearly destroyed drinks cabinet. I couldn’t stomach the stuff myself.

“Do that again, zombie, and I’ll make sure they stop snapping altogether, you hear?” Clean grimaced as he tried to get comfortable.

For what it was worth, Two Tone’s efforts were a success. He had spent a while reading through the magazines and books, annotating small parts here and there, before he made his move. With carefully placed pins taken from the braces, as well as several wasteland workings, he had managed to juryrig a support for Clean’s injuries. Time would tell if it would work, but we couldn’t spare a second in letting Clean’s back heal naturally. Against Domino’s will, he was keen to get on the road as soon as possible.

I agreed with him.

After the delivery of medical supplies, Two Tone finished his work on Clean and managed to seal up most of the wounds from his work. He openly admitted it could bring horrific problems in the future without better care, but that was an issue for a later day as Clean asserted. The only thing on our leader’s mind was the events inside the memory orbs.

“First things first,” he grumbled. “Almost prepared to take back any bitterness towards you, ghoul. Livin’ in a pastel hellhole all the time, pretty sure I’d go insane from the colours too.”

“Two, are you sure you didn’t knock something loose while you were in there?” I looked up at the singer only to get a swat from Domino - I couldn’t help but grin. “What did you see?”

“First few were just the planning stages, nothin’ much but a whole lotta talkin’. Also, somethin’ called a spell in a box?” Clean looked to me expectantly, only for Two Tone to chime in.

“Fancy magic, swinger. Two Tone couldn’t find a working piece out here, but read up about it in an old magazine. Spell frozen until it’s opened, one-time use, somethin’ real special,” he chuckled. “Real treasure hunt to get my hooves on somethin’ like that, know what I’m sayin’?”

“Congrats, lifelong goal achieved,” I said as I threw my business card box to Two Tone. “Enchanted so every third card-“

There was a shower of confetti as Two reached it. “-Explodes. Simple spell to keep them doing that, once they run out I need a new box.”

“Back to the point,” Clean began, only to be interrupted by another burst of party horns. “Need more than just tickets. Six items, one for each Mare.”

Toot!

“Two, please stop,” Domino passed the box over to me, as I tried to stifle the giggles at the stallion. “What are they?”

“No idea. Something to do with a dress, or an outfit. Know that kept ‘em on ‘em, or somewhere they trusted,” Clean sniffed, wincing as something twinged. “Fuck, ow. Just need to start trackin’.”

“Any idea where we go first?” I placed the cards inside their pocket, sitting snugly against Rainbow Dash.

“Away from here, last orb had some pony talkin’ about the final parts for the project. Looked mighty important.”

“Where we headed, swinger?”

“Some town called Fetlock Fields, take us eight, ten days to walk it,” Clean caught my eye, and raised an eyebrow. “What’s wrong, ghoul?”

“Five,” I replied, feeling a deep unease. “Five days if the old roads are holding.”

“You ok, swinger?” Two Tone gave my shoulder a comforting pat.

“Yeah, just had a bad experience there once,” I shuddered at the thought. More than just one bad experience in that town, enough to write a whole tale.

Guess you can’t put off going home forever.

Letter from Miss Carbon Copy to Mr Hard Copy [Agent, Team Frosting]

Dear Hard,

I hope this letter finds you well and that you’ve found yourself in Manehatten. Still can’t believe you found a job with the Gazette, knew you would make it big one day! We’re so proud of you, not just me and mum but everypony in town. So many others have left to do things for the war, we’re just glad you’re not on the front lines like every foal out there.

Not much has changed back here, I’m running the shop now. Mum’s never had the knack for repairs, so it’s up to me to carry on that legacy. Who knows, twenty years on I’ll be able to put my hooves up and a little one of my own mess about with a wrench. That said, think I enjoy my freedom a little too much to settle down yet. Maybe I’ll actually leave here for a short while, see some of the world. That couch still on offer?

You might already know, but Cherry Pop died a few weeks back. Zebra ambush during a patrol, her mum told us that it was a quick death at least. It’s weird, but I found that comforting. I remember when we were little and played so many games of house, you pretending to be the butler because you hated the idea of marrying her! Think that actually hurt her feelings, she honestly had a crush on you for years. I suppose you both moved on long since then.

I’m a little worried about mum too. Ever since you left she’s been stressed. The nightmares have come back, and I found her practicing with her old rifle the other day. I want to get the Ministry of Peace in to try and help, but she refuses to talk to them. I think she’s scared of losing you after losing dad, I know I am a little.

Write back soon, ok? I know you’re busy but it would be nice to hear from my dearest brother from time to time.

Love

Carbon

[Action: Letter refers to potential case of WSD, refer subject to Morale agents for treatment]

[Action: Subject is being looked after by Agent Hard Copy, refer to this agent for any future developments. Any other course of action is to be cleared by the Agent.]

Level up!

New Perk: P.P.P (Professional Party Pony) – The art to a good party lies in the surprise. Just like Pinkie, your surprise parties will be even more effective at making ponies happy. Just like her Ministry, surprise attacks will deal even more damage. An Agent is more than guns, a Professional is more than parties.

Quest Perk: Zebra Martial Arts (White Belt) – It’s a bit more complex than wax on, wax off, but you’ve started the journey to become a master of the ancient Zebra art of kicking somepony’s face in. Just don’t go thinking you’re the next Moose Lee just yet.

Chapter Nine - The Hardest Path

Chapter Nine – The Hardest Path

How do you do it? How do you keep smiling through it all?

The sun dazzles me, I bring a hoof up to shield my eyes. In the shade I can see the shapes of ponies around my town. Some are slumped against the walls, others wailing as they cradle their loved ones’ heads. I watch as several make their way towards Needle’s Threads, skin and muscle sloughing off their bones. Somewhere, a siren wails, unanswered.

There is a distant explosion and the sun winks out. I stand in the grey nothingness of the wastes, the screams of the dead catching on the wind and flung to the distance. The ponies continue to move towards their beacon of hope, the eternal pillar of Fetlock Fields. They snap and bite at one another, groaning and crying as they walk on bloodied stumps, the factory bathed in a horrifyingly beautiful green.

“Hard.”

I turn around. My sister looks at me with sad eyes. She is standing next to Hope. They look disappointed in me, they shake their heads as I feel my coat turn to ash. A fire scorches my throat and I gag. By the time I finish vomiting they are gone.

The bile on my chin feels hard, I cannot breathe. My hooves move to my face as it grows tighter, it my lungs struggle for air. I see a reflection in the broken window of my home. I am wearing a mask.

I scream as the bells jingle.

“There’s nothin’ to be done.”

The words chilled me to the bone, worked their way through my stomach and infected every inch of me. Clean’s condition would have been dire back in wartime, but not unfixable. There would always be a way to help him cope and keep on his hooves, never would anypony tell you that there was no hope at all. Yet here we were.

Clean was in a drug induced sleep downstairs with Domino, who hadn’t left his side since we fled the factory. I don’t remember walking back, but I remember the arguments before Clean finally lost to sleep. In agony, in fury, and in desperation, Clean demanded we continued the journey. We had no direction, no hints, and were a pony down already. Domino argued that we return to Tenpony to recover, while Two insisted that we needed to stay put until Clean was in a movable condition. I remained silent on the matter, mostly out of inability to focus.

Deep down, I agreed with the pair. This excursion had been painful and costly, and we were only on the first step. There was little hope that things were going to improve any time soon, especially with the threat of more bounty hunters on the horizon and Clean disabled. Two did what he could, but there was little. There was nothing in his books or magazines that could help him fix Clean, it was too far beyond his capabilities.

My battered body, however, was not. Resetting my nose was extremely painful, but a few Sparkle Colas later left me with a strange numbing tingle as the bone reknit. One foreleg and my middle were wrapped in magical bandages, the excess now useless to Clean. We were sat in the bedroom of Flapjack’s Café, looking over the town in case anything came after our injured group. Knowing our luck, that something was lurking just around the corner.

The drinks had come from a rundown vending machine, hidden away in the back of the shop, and were now being drunk freely. Several empty bottles now sat on the windowsill, a few more had taken a short trip out of the window. It wasn’t a replacement for Two’s alcohol, but it filled the gap regardless.

“That pony will never walk again, poor swinger,” Two mused over his cola before flicking it out of sight. “Would take a miracle.”

“You did what you could,” the words were numb, in both emotion and sound.

“Just weren’t enough,” Two replied half-heartedly. “Feels like he’s let Clean down, know what I’m sayin’?”

I managed to give some sort of gesture as a response, but I barely paid attention to the motion. Two continued talking, but I blocked the noise. My eyes were too focused on the house opposite. I lost track of time until I heard a sudden pop of magic by my good ear.

“You alright, swinger?”

“What? Sorry, just… sorry,” I mumbled, getting to my hooves.

“You ok?” Two Tone tried to stand with me, frowning as I waved him back down. “What’s wrong?”

“Just need a leg stretch.”

“Want somepony to tag along?” Two Tone ignored my protests. “Two Tone’s comin’ with you, swinger, whether you like it or not. Ain’t about to leave you alone.”

“I’m not about to do something stupid, Two.”

“Exactly what somepony who’s about to do somethin’ stupid would say. Two Tone could do with some protection while he’s scavengin’, and he ain’t about to ask Domino,” he gave me a coy smile, though it was clearly forced. I met it half-heartedly and nodded.

We let Domino know our intentions and moved back out into the town. If she wanted to argue against it, she didn’t have the energy to say so. Dusk had begun to set, casting us in the near darkness of night without the long shadows that should follow. I couldn’t even tell what season it was supposed to be now and found myself aching for snow or shine to tell me.

My hometown remained as silent as us, simply existing as we made our way through the streets. Every few buildings, Two Tone would ask me about one of the shops or a collapsed building. The replies began small, one-word answers, but slowly turned into anecdotes about my days as a foal. It was a strange walk, both literally and figuratively down memory lane.

“And over there is where we used to get the best oat-creams, all hoof made and chilled by the owner. We used to call him Captain Cool, he had a boat before he settled down here.”

“Notice there ain’t much boatin’ around here, swinger.”

“No lake, no rivers, it’s just one of those towns that appeared one day. You’d have to travel far to find a boat, only kind of transport here would be a cart or a wagon.”

“Had a cart maker here?”

I shook my head. “Repair pony, it’s been the family business for years. I passed on it but my sister-”

The ground crunched beneath my hooves as I came to halt. “Huh. My sister.”

My head instinctively turned towards where the husk of home lay, hidden behind a few streets of rotting wooden buildings. Two Tone stopped beside me, though I couldn’t see the expression he wore. I felt a gently pat on my shoulder, which brought on a long, slow sigh.

“Wanna talk about it, swinger?” he offered in a gentle voice. I nodded, hesitantly.

“Better to do so. Maybe. I don’t know,” I shook my head, and let out a groan. “This is all a bit much, Two. I knew it would be different, but not like this.”

“What were you expectin’? Ain’t like this place would be safe from the wastes, know what I’m sayin’?”

“Well yeah, but this is my home…”

“Was.”

I frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Was your home, swinger. Easy to see that this place ain’t been your home for years,” Two Tone sniffed at the decay. “Else we wouldn’t be talkin’ right now.”

“What would we be doing?”

“First of all, you wouldn’t have stuck around, would’ve disappeared back in Manehatten to come here. Should be lookin’ through that house of yours. You ran away from here, and it’s eatin’ you up, not to mention whatever else is goin’ in that head of yours, swinger,” Two Tone’s horn lit up, illuminating a fatherly face. “He hasn’t journeyed with many ghouls, but Two Tone has seen enough to know when somethin’s eatin’ at a pony. Stayin’ up, stayin’ away, actin’ strange. Ain’t right, swinger.”

“Ghouls don’t sleep,” I mumbled back.

“That’s true, then why is our ghoul sleepwalkin’ and talkin’?” Two Tone raised an eyebrow. “Clean don’t admit to givin’ a damn ‘cause he’s a stubborn bastard, Domino’s too worried about Clean to say anythin’, but Two Tone’s seen it. And he’s worried.”

“So am I,” I whispered, feeling very small.

“So when our ghoul says he wants to go wanderin’ around his old town, talkin’ about how he doesn’t like it much, and actin’ real gloomy before… just don’t look good, swinger.”

I felt hooves on my side again, followed by a stiff hug. Two Tone didn’t want to touch the squishy flesh but tried his best not to let that show. I just accepted it without returning a gesture and focused on piecing my head back together.

“Let’s start. No runnin’ now, swinger. What happened to you?”

So I told him.

My sister and I were thick as thieves, inseparable from the day I was born. Carbon had all the brains in the family; she could write and build circles around me before I could blink and was the apple of my parents’ eye. That’s not to say I was ignored, I was left to my own devices. While she was the favoured at home, I could make friends with any stranger.

As she focused on her studies, I started to bury myself in books, but found that to read alone was, well, lonely. I started to read at the local library, ended up talking to everypony there, and formed firm friendships with a lot of the other foals in Fetlock Fields. With us part of one of the more well-known families in the town, we were kings of the playground. Constantly getting into trouble and the occasional fight when somepony tried to bad mouth either one of us.

Even though she was the oldest, and known across town, I was her first real friend. Sad in hindsight, but she was the coolest sister in the world. I remember watching when she earned her mark, building a wagon for the derby as fast as lightning. I remember how proud she was when I earned mine, even when it brought a lot of trouble our way. She was my rock, always keeping me grounded, and I was her inspiration, daring her to try something as ridiculous as the stories I love.

So when I announced I was taking an internship at Canterlot, it broke Carbon’s heart.

It didn’t help that we lost our father a few months before the announcement. Dad had been fighting an illness for a while now, but he never made it well known. Eventually, his body gave up the fight. My mother thought it was the end of the family and refused to speak to me, she had seen so much death on the frontlines she couldn’t understand why I wanted to leave. It made my return all the more awkward, and me desperate to leave again.

We never recovered the same feeling when I came back home, my sister was always at a leg’s length as she started to learn the ropes of the family business from mum and the workshop assistants. Though it wasn’t like I tried to rekindle that relationship until I knew I had an out. By then, it was too late. My sister had grown past needing a little brother around, and I was too independent to rely on family.

That’s not to say I didn’t love them still, but they were still small-town ponies. I had just been taken under the wing of the Ministry of Morale after they found some of my riskier exposés on the wealth of the elite, I doubt I was particularly relatable to her after that. I moved to Manehatten, under the guise of writing for one of the papers, and so began the life of an Agent.

“And then, three years later, I take part on a raid in Manehatten. Grenade to the chest, stuffed into a pod, and I wake up to a dead world with a shotgun in my face,” I finished.

Two Tone nodded slowly, digesting the information. He had remained silent through the entire story, simply nodding at points but otherwise there to be a sounding board. It felt like a great deal of weight had been lifted from my chest.

“That’s some story, swinger, though Two Tone gets the feelin’ there’s more?” he raised an eyebrow, making me feel a little jealous.

“Yeah… there’s my time at the Ministry, and Hope and so much more,” I tapped the table outside Captain Cool’s ice cream parlour, a stray thought making me flinch. “I don’t think I’m ready for that part. No, not yet.”

“Can respect that,” he shuffled on his seat, rolling his shoulders. “Guess we both have shames, huh swinger?”

“Shame?”

Two Tone shrugged. “Well, Two Tone ain’t too ashamed ‘bout what he did, he was young and foolish, and that’s what you do when you’re young. Everypony has them, stupid things that get you into trouble, know what I’m sayin’?”

“Yeah, I know I’ve made plenty of mistakes. Think we all have,” Devil Luck’s tirade briefly flicked into my mind, taking me back to Clean’s reaction to the threat. I caught Two Tone’s eye and flinched at the hard look.

“Still worried about Clean, swinger? ’Bout what he did? Don’t care what he’s done, he’s a damn good pony,” Two snorted assertively, his face growing serious. “You ain’t havin’ doubts about him, right?”

“Not doubts… what do you see in him, Two? Domino, I understand in a way, but you two are opposites,” I smiled a little. “Your turn, what was Clean like before he met Domino? What did he do?”

“Ain’t that hard, swinger, that pony saved Two Tone’s life on more than one occasion. Even found somewhere for him to live,” the thought brought a smile on the stallion’s face. He removed his glasses and rubbed at his tired eyes.

“I thought your home was at Tenpony Tower? Surely somepony like you has always lived there,” my ear flicked back as Two Tone roared with laughter.

“Two Tone ain’t some hoity-toity city slicker, swinger, he moulded himself into that role,” he chuckled and sighed wistfully. “He has a place where his things are, but ain’t no place he belongs.

“See, Two Tone was born out west to a farmin’ family under the glitz and glamour of long gone ponies. Sure you know that Las Pegas was home to all the great performers of your time, and they were Two Tone’s idols. He wanted to be them, to follow their hoofsteps and travel the world, bring music to the ears of every mare, stallion and foal, know what I’m sayin’?

“’Course, his parents wanted the best for him. So when they saved up enough caps, they paid for Two Tone to get through the gates and on to the Strip. There, Two Tone found work and started his singin’ career. Takes more than a pretty voice for the King of the Swing to get noticed,” Two Tone’s eyes grew a little dimmer, and he replaced his shades quickly.

I looked at his flanks and nodded once. “How old?”

“Not old enough. Ain’t right, but didn’t matter then. Two Tone was there to make his parents proud, swinger, and he wasn’t goin’ to let anythin’ stand in his way,” he took his flask out and frowned when it came empty. “Not that it mattered in the end.”

“Come ten years, Two Tone was well known enough to go out and kickstart that dream. First stop was his family’s home… or what was left of it. See, some time long before, Two Tone’s parents had run into trouble with a local gang. No money to pay for protection, know what I’m sayin’?”

I turned my head, nodding to save him an explanation. “I get the feeling it didn’t end there.”

“No. Now their son just strolled up on the front door, that gang were real keen to collect, swinger. Two Tone took off, lookin’ for anythin’ that could help him pay them off. He toured, he whored, he cheat and stole, and he ran. All caught up to him just a few years ago.

“He had finished a job in Manehatten, did the rounds and went to pay. Gang had had enough waitin’, had grown bored of Two Tone. Turned out a certain group of slavers were lookin’ for a new songbird after their last one bit the dust, know what I’m sayin’? Problem is, a certain other pony wanted Two Tone to sing for his group. Snake Eyes.”

I tried to supress the flicker of emotion at mention of Domino’s Father. “The one gunning for Clean?”

“Yeah, that’s the one. When Two Tone was meetin’ with this gang, a certain unicorn turned up sayin’ that he’d pay off Two Tone’s debt and that his boss would pay twice what the slavers were offerin’. Gang didn’t like that one bit, said they had a deal and that him should stick somethin’ where the sun don’t shine.”

“Guess that ended well for them.”

“Clean killed them all before Two Tone could blink, set half on fire and gunned down the rest. Told Two Tone to come with him or he’d end up the same, swinger,” Two Tone smirked and shook his head. “Few months later, Clean gives Two Tone his old home in Tenpony Tower and tells him he’ll call on a favour one day. Never did a thing wrong against him.”

“What changed his tune?”

“What changes any stallion? Love, swinger, love,” Two Tone’s smirk turned sour. “Like Two Tone said, he would kill anypony that got in his way, and not easy deaths. Slow wounds to the stomach, breakin’ bones, but the one thing that scared Two Tone most, was fire. Pony had an obsession with it, swinger, would use it when somepony really ticked him off.”

“Fire?” I frowned. “I’ve never see him use it before, you mean the shells?”

Two Tone shook his head. “Magic. Don’t know how, don’t know where, but that pony learned some real nasty magic.”

I blew out a sigh, studying Two carefully. “So why hasn’t he used since I’ve seen him?”

“No idea,” Two Tone smiled. “That Domino changed him from killer to a fighter, there’s a difference, swinger, big difference. I’ve seen that pony kill for a shifty look, a poorly timed comment, talkin’ back, you name it. Once took out an entire raider base ‘cause one of ‘em muttered somthin’ under their breath. Since he met her though, she’s like water to him, know what I’m sayin’? She brings him down to earth, makes him think.”

“That’s for best, though,” I said, confidence in the words faltering as Two Tone shook his head.

“Listen swinger, the Clean that saved Two Tone wouldn’t be… in state he’s in, know what I’m sayin’? Those slaves, outside Fillydelphia? The old Clean would’ve killed them in a heartbeat, he hated them with a passion once, swinger, but it all changed. Golden Gallop would be ash by now,” Two Tone rubbed at his horn, wincing as the day’s magic took its toll. “He’s gentler, but he’s soft. Compared to what he was, he’s too damn soft.”

“Woah,” I looked back at the building where this once-killer was now lying, crippled for life, in the dirt because of a nopony. “Going that far...”

“Pardon, swinger?”

“Nothing, Two, just talking to myself. Listen, I’m going back to the factory,” I moved to leave, only for Two to grab my hooves.

“Two Tone doesn’t know what you’re hoping for, but there ain’t nothin’ of her left, swinger. Remember that.”

“You’re right, and you’re wrong,” I shook my head slowly. “She still has a body I can bury. Don’t wait for me, I’ll spend the night at my old place.”

“Sure that’s a smart idea?”

“No,” I put on a brave smile. “But the right thing is never the easy path.”

“Good luck, swinger. Be safe,” another pat on the shoulder, and Two left me alone in the dark.

The walk back to Needle’s Threads was longer than the first time. I decided to take in the sights, letting the ghosts flow past me in their endless river. The town was filled with life once again, my heart swelled with a strange feeling of joy at being in my hometown and trepidation at what must have occurred all those years ago. A few bumbled around the entrance, but none dared to enter. Perhaps they feared were the unliving stalked.

The entrance had turned into a bloodbath. The sleeping ghouls from the corridor had jumped the mercenaries on entry, leading to one chewed up ganger and a lot of dead ferals. I began my scavenging, knowing that even a little gathered would help a great deal. First came the bodies, which I then piled up ready to be burned later. Next came the various offices. Much like the design tables upstairs, they were littered with grimy pages of old designs: some clothes, others distinctly military in nature. My hoof knocked a lamp on accident, making the ancient bulb pop into life with a dull yellow light and dangerous buzz. There was some power, somehow.

Looking at the drawing table made something in my head go ping, and I took out the page the harlequin had suggested I grab. The design was for a dress with apple-motifs, one that was stunning to look at even on the paper, but that wasn’t what grabbed my attention. On the bottom right corner, a small arrow pointed to one side. I flipped the sheet over, and noticed something scribbled in rough, sharp strokes.

Stallion’s bathroom, near employee’s lockers. Third stall, tank. BB.

I made a mental note and continued my scavenger hunt. Most of the ferals had met their end by bullet or blade, while the mercenaries had died from either bite wounds, blood loss or being ripped apart. The entire building felt eerily quiet, especially after such a brutal fight, making me feel like I was walking on tombstones rather than concrete.

It didn’t help that I recognised a few of the ponies that had come to kill us, having come from the Golden Gallop. I saw the axe-mare from the blackjack table, her face locked in fear after her innards had been chewed into. Behind her, a radio burbled quietly with one of Sweetie Belle’s sorrowful songs. I had heard it before, so many times, but now it fit the scene like a movie.

The song came to a close, and a stallion’s voice took up. “Thank you for that one, Sweetie Belle, and now it’s time for the news with your favourite radio host: DJ Pon3.”

I snorted at the name, shaking my head. “She was a mare, you can at least get that right.”

“Raider activity is on the rise around Ponyville again, looks like that old deathtrap is still kicking. Also had rumours of the Steel Rangers doing some damage in Fillydelphia, which is never good news. Seems like the tin cans might have found another Stable to bust in to, which is just what we don’t want to hear. If you’re listening to this, leave the poor Dwellers alone this time guys, they didn’t do anything wrong.

“Though it’s not the only rumble in the concrete jungle. The old Golden Gallop Casino has been hit, according to my sources. Rumours are patchy, but the tune everyone’s singing is two unicorns, an earth pony and a ghoul strolled in and raised hell. On the one hoof, well done for cleaning out that cesspool. On the other, those ponies now have a target on their back the size of I’ve never seen. Think they’ve pissed off the wrong pony, folks, probably a certain gambling-based family in Manehatten. If you see them wandering around, might be worth keeping clear unless you fancy throwing a cap in their corner. That’s the news, here’s a tune.”

I growled as the music warbled on, partly out of anger at the news being spread, and partly from the tingle that had started to grow inside. She was close. As I walked through the corridors, I found the remains of a bounty hunter. Her face had been ripped open and she had flecks of glowing blood on the remaining muscle. A sawn-off shotgun sat with the rest of the gore, with a trail leading away.

I found Knitting Needle in a storage room. She had backed herself as close to the wall as possible, trying to stem the flow of her glowing blood. She snarled as I approached, the feral side still there and raging.

“After all this time, they’re not coming back!”

Tarlung gave me strength to do what I had to do. For Knitting to last this long, even trapped in her own world, was nothing short of a miracle. For her to change today was a true tragedy. For her to lose the last of her equinity, what made her Knitting Needle, it made me thankful for every lucid second.

I won’t say it was easy to lock her hooves and head away. She put up very little resistance, but it was a difficult thing to do: you never get used to killing your friends. I set the barrel against her head and steadied myself, thinking of Blue Bobbin and how she coped in the same situation.

“I’m sorry, Hard.”

I nearly choked at the words.

“I’m so, so sorry. I’m scared, everypony’s gone. They’re all dead now, I’m all alone,” she was crying. “How do you keep going? I want that strength, but I just can’t. I miss them, Hard, I miss them so much.”

I couldn’t answer. I would lose my weapon if I did, and possibly end up in a pretty awful state if so. Instead, I waited for the sobbing to end. It was painful.

“Remember when we used to play in the fields around here? You and Carbon? Lilac, Buttermilk, Cherry, everypony? It was so peaceful, and so lovely. They’re all gone, aren’t they? They’ve all moved away and died? I pray that it was painless for them, not like this.

“I’ve been so lonely, Hard, so, so lonely. During the day, I would go through the motions, I couldn’t accept it. Sometimes, I’d see myself in the mirror or catch myself in the morning and realise what has happened to me. What happened to mother, to our town, to Equestria. I’d bury it under everything, because I’m just not strong enough to cope.

“I don’t blame you. I want you to know that, I don’t blame you. It’s not your fault. It’s just the way fate is threaded, how it’s designed. I remember a little, now. It was after the spells fell. Before I became this, a mare came. She said she needed what Applejack left. Her name was Battenberg.”

She drew in a long, shuddering breath. I felt the blood trickle on my hoof, warm and sticky. The corner was coated glowing green, the older splots and splats growing dimmer by the second.

“I hope you find what you are looking for, and I hope it brings you happiness, Hard,” she wrapped her hooves around me in a tight hug. I could feel her tears on my shirt.

Bang!

Her body fell limp in my forelegs. The gun fell from my mouth. I didn’t fight the flood.

It had been a long time since anyone stood on the drive way to Copy’s Cart and Wagon Repairs, but the thought was strangely comforting. The red paint on the door to the house was halfway through peeling, as were the alabaster white walls, but the sign still stood loud and proud. I sniffed at the sight, my hoof moving to Rainbow Dash for a strange sense of reassurance.

The DC-pad lay snug next to her, earpiece still plugged in after listening to the holotape left inside Needle’s Threads. The message was good news, but it was placed to one side for the moment. I only cared about finishing the remaining business.

My jacket had been laid on the pyre for the ghouls and mercs, torn by the fights and no longer strong enough to keep me from being shot to pieces. A satchel hung around me, my waistcoat and shirt still hiding my rotted form from the world. It wasn’t the worst appearance I’ve had coming back to my parents’ home, but I wished I was better dressed. Not battered, bandaged, and corpse like.

It took about ten minutes of staring before I worked the courage to enter, even then I decided to examine the workshop first. I was thankful for the lack of bones, and slowly retraced the old steps my father took while he worked. His toolbox still sat, unmoved and rusted into the workbench, forever stuck open. Stainless steel tools lurked out in their oily state, but still usable as I took a spanner into my hoof.

I slipped it back into the box and continued my walk around the small space. A bright red cart sat in the middle of the room, large enough to carry two full grown ponies. A small plastic wallet on a clipboard let me know the spark battery needed replacing after a special dynamo had been installed. I smiled as I recognised the writing style, my sister’s skill with a pencil was never perfect but she would have made a fine doctor.

My ear flicked at the sound of soft jingling coming from inside the house, eyes warily studied the door. I snorted and moved through to the back garden, looking over the long dead grass and rusted swing set. Even after all that time, it had never been removed. The shed at the back remained locked, the window too black with filth to let me see inside. Inside, my mother’s gear from her time in the army, including a very impressive weapon she shouldn’t have had.

Next came the slow climb up the staircase to the roof, where I took a seat. I sighed at the view, allowing myself a moment to reminisce the last time I was here. There was a sad smile as I saw the telescope was well beyond repair, part of me chiding the rest for believing that it might have worked still.

“Hey dad,” I said to the air. “Been a while. Hope you’re doing ok, and that the clouds are blocking your view. You’ll be happy to hear I’m alright, look a little strange, but I’m still alive. Met somepony, once, but she’s gone now. So are all my other friends, and mum and Carbon. I’m the only one left.

“Hope I’m making you proud, that I’m doing the right thing. I’ve killed, dad, killed so I could live another day. Not like mum, nothing to be proud about, just shot or beat up ponies until they couldn’t move any more. I want to say it was to defend us, but that would be lie. I get it if you don’t like that, I don’t, but it’s what you have to do now. It’s what I did back then.”

I sniffed the air, wrinkling my nose at the scent of decay and rotting wood. “I made some mistakes, and I really wish you could give me some advice. Just tell me if what I’m doing is the right thing or not. I feel so confused at times, like I’m just blindly following the road.

“I’m going in now. I might have to kill mum and Carbon. I just want you to know that, if they’re not with you now, they will be soon. Tell them that I love them, and that I’m so sorry for what I might have to do.”

I strode down the stairs in short order, went through the workshop and back to the front door. If I was going to do this, I was doing it the right way. The key was still tucked under the doormat and slid into the lock with a little grunt of effort. For the first time in a century and half, the front door to the Copy family home swung open.

A cloud of dust welcomed me. “Hello? I’m home?”

My shout tapered into a mumble as I saw the moth-eaten coats and hats at the door. Boots, unworn, sat waiting for their owners to take them out into the nuclear winter beside rusted umbrellas. I closed the door behind me, kicking up more dust as the floorboards creaked. A mirror on my left caught my attention, but I relaxed when I realised that I was just looking at my reflection.

Then the giggling began.

“Honey? Thank goodness you’re home!” my mother’s voiced called, stretched into a shrill mockery of her. “We were so worried about you!”

“You’ll have to try better than that, prick,” I spat from clenched teeth.

Moving into the living room, I saw the armchair my grandfather, and his before him, once sat in. We were a strange family, typically the mares would leave to travel the world and do great things, while the stallions stayed at home and continued the family name. Carbon was the first in a very long time to take up the role, and the only one who had a brother when it happened.

“I thought it was a good impression,” the harlequin bubbled back, unseen. “But mass murderers were never my scene.”

The air hissed between my teeth as I tried to calm down. “Soldier, and out of necessity.”

“You say toma-to, I say tom-ato, you say soldier, I say one of Equestria’s greatest killers,” the giggling grew. “Like mother, like son, hmmm?”

I started to move out of the living room, when I felt something warm slowly ooze on my side.

“I must say Hard, you’re doing prre-tty poorly. For a pony that wants to make the world a better place, you’re fitting it just nicely. I mean, first the slavers, then the gamblers, now those mercenaries. Families, Hard, did you think about that?” the harlequin dripped onto my shoulder, nuzzling its head against mine. “I do, makes me giggle.”

“Screw you, Creepy.”

“You even killed ponies from your time too, how did that feel?” I shivered at the touch as muscle and bone shifted underneath its suit. “I bet it felt wonderful, cathartic even. Do you know that word? I love it.”

In the shape of a unicorn, it slithered off me and began to examine the room. “Cathartic, cath-arr-tic, doesn’t it give you chills, Hard? Makes me think of this like one of those radio dramas, you know the ones where everypony dies at the end?”

“What does this do for you?” I rounded at the creature, growling as it teleported away and giggled. The noise echoed around the house, as if my own home was laughing at the state I was in.

“It does nothing for me, silly. Does plenty to you though,” it sang. “Little Hard Copy, back in Fetlock, when he opens his eyes, his heart will stop, when his heart stops, he’ll know it all, little Hard Copy, will soon be feral.”

“Why are you here? One day you’re talking to me, helping me, then you mock me in my own home! You don’t belong here!”

“Home? When did you ever belong here, Hard Copy?” it laughed. “This place may be your family’s home, may be your birthplace, may be where you grew up, but it’s not yours. It never was, you’re too different. I’m better than them.”

I could feel my eyes grow as it spoke in my voice. The cackle after bounced across the room, echoes chasing echoes inside my ears as they layered into a crowd of cruel, ceaseless laughter. The harlequin appeared before me in another poof of smoke, holding a card to its head.

“And your next words are: I was drunk, I was on drugs, I didn’t mean that,” the mask rattled in my direction. “Was I close? Of course I was, you’re no better than anypony else, and not all that different. They were also little bitches when the bombs fell.”

“DON’T YOU DARE!” my scream rattled against the remains of the windows, unchecked emotion changing it closer to a shriek.

The harlequin paused, suddenly wrapping itself in a tight hug and laughing. “Perfect! So perfect! You’re a riot, Hard Copy, so I’m going to do something really special. Tonight, we go back in time…”

The laughing began again as the world was flung in reverse, the world blinked through glim days and dark nights as the tolls of time were undone. My voice was lost in the roar of impossibility, and my body was battered around in the stream of time. I fought my way into the kitchen, witnessing as collapsed cupboards flew back to the walls and plates stitched themselves back together.

And then it stopped.

I sat in the kitchen, hearing the trill of birdsong and the sound of wind rustling through the air. A stack of dirty dishes sat in the sink, dried ketchup staining the white plates. Outside, I could hear the rattle of carts and conversation, the chitter of squirrels as they chased one another across a tree. I could feel my heart race as I tried to make sense of when this was, looking around for a clue.

“Carbon?”

My heart skipped a beat.

“Hang on mum, just finishing a plan off,” my sister replied in the living room. I tensed myself and slowly peeked around the doorway.

Sat in dirty mechanic’s overalls, her cobalt mane in a tight bun and a pencil clenched between her teeth, Carbon Copy put the finishing touches on a rough sketch. Pleased with her work, she spat the pencil out and took a sip of juice next to the array of shading pencils and other drawing tools. Beside her, a radio played a soft, sombre tune of a cello.

“If this doesn’t put me in the eye of Ironshod, Tartarus knows what will,” she giggled, squirming on her cushion.

“Carbon? Are you read- oh for the love of Luna! Not even remotely close to being dressed, covered in oil, and messing up the good cushions!” Restless Runner, my mother, groaned from the stairs. Her flaming orange mane matched my coat, still kept cut short from her time on the front.

“You’re certainly your father’s daughter,” she grumbled as she walked past the smiling Carbon and through me. “Well, apparently being late is the fashion these days, so it’s not like we’ll be insulting any pony.”

“Mum, we have three hours until the party, and it’s two streets away! You’d have us camping in front of the place if I let you have your way,” Carbon snorted and joined mum in the kitchen, washing her hooves. “And you know I have to get this finished as soon as possible, it’s vitally important for the war.”

“That’s what I used to say to get you to eat your dinner,” mum replied, with a hint of that dry irony that I had missed so much.

“Still true though,” Carbon gave her a short kiss on the cheek and laughed again. “That and you could scare us with that one. I remember when Hard fought dad when he tried the same line.”

“Using moves copied from comic books,” mum scoffed, the exact way she always did. “As bad as each other.”

“It was fun though, remember the outfits every Nightmare Night?”

“I also remember taking your brother to the hospital after trying to do the ‘hero’s landing’ off the roof. Several times.”

“He eventually did it,” Carbon smirked. “And it was the coolest thing ever.”

“You’d think after breaking three different ankles he’d learn, stubborn boy. Where does he get it from?”

“Possibly the famous Sergeant Reckless? The mare than held the pass!” Carbon added the flair, her hoof sweeping through the imaginary headlines. I couldn’t help but copy her motions with a sad chuckle.

“And the mare who can’t get her own daughter to dress for a dinner that has been planned for months,” mum replied, poking at Carbon’s sides. It swiftly escalated into quicker jabs until the two broke into a wonderous laughter that made my spirit soar. I didn’t even feel the tears starting to fall.

Carbon moved past me and upstairs, her door slamming shut. I moved, silent and unseen, to stand beside my mother. How I wanted to hug her, comfort her and tell her that I was right here by her side. My hoof passed through her, unnoticed, and she continued to wash up while humming an old military tune to herself. I just spent the time watching her do all the things I missed seeing her do, enjoying the little sighs as she scrubbed at a stubborn bit of dirt and snorts at the bubbles that formed. Dad was always better than her at housework, but she always made it more fun. It wasn’t dinner time if she hadn’t sworn at least once at crockery.

I heard a distance noise and looked out the window. Outside, the beautiful blue sky was rapidly becoming overcast – a sea of dark grey clouds choking the air. For a brief moment, I could have sworn I saw something bright green shoot across the sky before being swallowed up.

“Oh dear, did the weather team get it wrong again?” my mum muttered to herself, looking out the window and tutting. “Airponies, can’t even do their one job right half the time. Typical.”

“Oh fuck,” I heard myself, recognising the sky that now crowned Equestria, what it meant. “You have to go, mum. Run.”

My words fell on deaf ears. She continued to clean the dishes like any other day. Another stubborn bit of dirt was scrubbed away, bringing a sigh of satisfaction.

“Mum, run! Take Carbon and run as fast as you can go!” I had started to shout. “It’s starting! You need to go, you need to get out of here!”

I followed her as she walked back into the living room, frowning at the radio. “Now why’s that stopped? It’s happened again, Carbon!”

“Yeah?” my sister’s voice called back.

“I think the radio’s gone again, Classical Heaven should be playing but the volume isn’t doing anything,” mum sighed. “Mind having a look later?”

“Two ticks!”

“For FUCK’S SAKE!” I screamed in her face, tears streaming as she met my eyes. “Run! Go! Please, just go!”

Somewhere in the house, light bells jingled. I grabbed at anything I could, shouting at my impotence as my hooves slipped through everything. The shouts grew more desperate as I could hear the giggles begin. Almost blind in my fit of rage and tears, I barely saw Carbon come down the stairs and examine the radio.

“Just have to hunt for the signal again… hmmm. That’s Trottingham Tunes’ frequency, still nothing. Manehatten’s radio is down as well, as is Canterlot News,” Carbon frowned for a bit before finding a blurt of noise.

“-test, repeat this is not a test. Message repeats. This is the Equestrian Emergency Broadcast System. Equestria has come under attack. The number of casualties is unknown as is the state of government. The Ministry of Morale assures you that everything is being done to keep you safe and that our forces are scrambling to bring assistance. If you have a Stable-Tech pass, please proceed to your designated Stable. If you do not have Stable-Tech pass, please remain calm. Do not leave your homes. Do not put yourself in danger. Do not change from this frequency. Further information will be supplied as soon as possible. This is not a test, repeat this is not a test. Message repeats. This is the…”

I felt a lump in my throat at the sight of their faces: pure horror. The message repeated another two times before Carbon put the radio down and pulled my mum into a tight hug. Carbon fought back the tears, eyes turning red, while mum looked stoic. She stood there for a minute, and then spoke softly.

“The shed. Bring in all the food you can, I’ll check the neighbours.”

“But the message said-”

“Fuck the message, Carbon! Friends matter more. Now you get out there and bring everything in!” with a final hug, my mother took off outside and left Carbon and me alone. Carbon soon followed the orders, still shocked that she had been sworn at.

“It gets waaay better,” something hissed into my ear. “Let’s jump to tomorrow, hmmm?”

Before I could voice a protest, the world lurched forwards. I was still stood in the living room and I could hear the radio repeating its endless message, but the world seemed to have turned grey already. Carbon sat staring blankly at the radio, bags growing under her eyes.

“-Do not leave your homes. Do not put yourself in danger. Do not change from this frequency. Further-”

“Furthermore, go fuck yourselves, fucking Ministry of Morale. Really fucking uplifting, listening to your doom saying all night and day. What good have you done?”

“Anything changed?” my mum’s voice called from upstairs.

“Nothing, just the same old shit,” Carbon replied glumly. “What’s it looking like out there?”

“Some are heading for the factory, others are packing up, just what you’d expect in a panic. Cloud cover hasn’t changed, guess the pegasi have an idea about blocking the zebras’ line of sight. That or they’ve all died and forgot to turn the clouds off.”

“Mum!” Carbon looked aghast, eyes moving to the top of the stairs.

“Sorry sweetheart, just gallows humour.”

“Still, ponies have died… it’s poor taste,” Carbon sighed. In the distance I heard a rumble, and felt my heart skip another beat. This time out of fear.

I moved to gaze out the kitchen window and sucked in a breath. In the sky, I thought I saw a streak of white and gold. It punched through the cloud cover and ducked back under a fair distance later. In its wake, a cluster of green. The cluster split across the sky towards the ground at a speed that I could scarcely believe.

Then came the sound of detonations.

The house shook as the ground groaned in agony, the entire town screaming as the wind carried a rush of green flames. I could barely hear what Carbon shouted to mum, only seeing that she had ran upstairs. Another explosion as something landed close to the town, the windows shattering. Outside, a foal was crying.

For the second time in my life, I saw my world washed in balefire. The loose planks in the fence ripped away, shattering against the walls of the house and shed. I saw a pegasus try to outrun the wave of heat but they barely managed to turn around before being doused in the necromantic fires. More screams came as the hot winds blew through the town, ponies wailing as they knew what it meant. What was going to happen.

The endless howling of wind was cut through by a scream from upstairs. I raced up them, slipping in my rush. Dressed in her old uniform, mum was pulling desperately at a collapsed dresser that had pinned Carbon to the floor. Blood dribbled from my sister’s lips as she begged not to die, mum trying to calm her over the sound of her rad-counter screaming into overdrive.

The scene froze, leaving only my wracking sobs to fill the silence. The tormented faces of my family frozen in time as they struggled against fate. Something slowly walked up to me, resting a leg over me.

“She lasts a week, then the radiation and internal bleeding kills her. Then your darling mother kills herself as the town starts to change,” the words were punctuated with giggle fits. “It’s so slow and boring, so let’s speed it up!”

I couldn’t manage a no as the weeks flew by. I was locked in horror as I saw, smelled, heard, and felt every agonising minute of my sister’s death. By the time my mother hung herself, my mouth was locked in the scream. I threw myself to the ground as I woke in the real world, face soaked with tears, spittle and snot as I stared the skeletons of Carbon Copy and Restless Runner.

They had come to rest with their heads nuzzle against each other. It would almost look tender if it weren’t so macabre. I moved towards them, scared to touch the undisturbed remains in case they would crumble to dust in my hooves. It would be as though I killed them myself if I did that, the memory not enough to carry on.

Then the harlequin tapped a rimshot on their skulls.

I didn’t feel myself stand up. I didn’t feel the leap across the room. I didn’t hear the savage snarl. I didn’t see how I bared my teeth like some beast. All I saw was my prey and how badly I wanted to tear into it.

The harlequin giggled madly as I threw it down the stairs, the body bouncing brokenly until I jumped to stomp on it again, and again. Its bones popped and cracked, healing as fast as I struck it. I leaned in and bit into its neck, pulling away a spray of red and relishing the metallic taste. It felt so good!

It limped towards the living room, still trying to laugh as I pounced once again with a feral growl. I could barely control my own hooves: the tiny voice inside begged for the monster to stop for just one second! It felt too real to be a hallucination and the voice inside could only hope that I wasn’t caving in the face of one of my companions. Not that the rest of me cared: I wanted blood.

The harlequin’s body bounced across the floor, the shape flowing between every kind of pony imaginable. The broken creature continued to laugh and laugh and laugh, turning high pitched and even more manic than before. I growled as I saw it grow in size, swelling like a balloon, and it pressed me against the wall. The laughter flowed into my body in horrific convulsions until I heard a voice exclaim something unheard.

The laughter stopped, turning into a shrill shriek before the harlequin burst in a shower of ribbons and the cheery toot of party horns. Stood in the middle of the room, another harlequin with a cracked mask. The other had settled on a strangely familiar shape: an earth pony mare. It studied the remains of its giggling twin and nodded once.

A bright blue eye, sunnier than a summer’s day, peeked out from behind the mask. In an instant, all the anger and bloodlust were blown away, and a very small stallion stood before the creature.

“Okie dokie lokie, I think that’s enough of that,” a bubbly voice chimed, ringing through the corridors of my mind. “Are you better now?”

“Seven circles,” I whispered, cautiously approaching. “What… what have I done?”

“Oh, nothing yet, silly. Nothing that can’t be fixed. Turn that frown upside down!”

I fell to my haunches and stared my hooves. “What is happening? What is this? What are you?”

“Me, silly,” like the songs of angels, she giggled. “I’m not too sure what I am, but I know what you are, Hard Copy!”

Her hooves gave a noise like springs as she pronked forwards. “And that’s not happy!”

“Of course I’m not happy! Look at this!” I shouted at the ruins of my hometown, at the rotting corpse of pony civilisation long gone. “Look at Equestria! Look at my body…”

“It is bad, but not impossible to fix,” the harlequin’s eye filled with an unseen smile. “No, I know everything will be fine in the end, and so do you.”

I wanted to get angry, to scream and shout about how wrong those words were. Yet, I couldn’t. The anger melted like an ice cube in a furnace, leaving me with just a wonderfully terrible emptiness inside. How could I have felt anger towards her? Why did I?

The vomit came up hard and painfully, the taste of blood being washed away with that of bile. The kindly harlequin gave my back a gentle pat, rubbing against it.

“There, there, it’ll be alright. In the darkest night, a single light shines bright,” the eye filled with a smile hidden behind the mask. “So don’t lose sight, and you’ll be alright.”

“What does that mean?” my retching broke into a whimper. “What do I do?”

“Do what you’re good at. You have friends, Hard, ponies that can make you smile. You’re not alone.”

“Friends?” I scoffed, my mouth twitching at the thought. “Not friends, no. Companions. In the end, they’re just ponies I barely know. I get on with them, but they’re nothing like Gadget and Gen. Nothing like Hope.”

I stiffened as the harlequin embraced me. It felt warm, just like a real pony. I could feel its breathing, just like a real pony. A heartbeat, just like a real pony.

“I once knew a mare who did something great with ponies she barely knew. Those ponies became the firmest of friends and went on to save the world. They had their flaws, and they argued, and they said mean things, but that didn’t stop them from being friends,” I allowed her to turn me around and hugged her back. “Even when they were lost to each other, they were always connected.

“Even though they didn’t save the world in the end, they laid the road for all ponies to follow after. They made mistakes, and they’re so sorry for it, but it will work out in the end. Just like the ponies you’ve lost, they laid a road down for you to walk.

“Don’t forget Hard,” harlequin said, breaking the hug. “Your friends are still with you. They’re always close by right here, and here.”

She gently tapped my head, then my heart, and warmth spread between the two. It filled my entire body, pushing the hunger for radiation aside and leaving me feeling almost content with the world. Everything was going to be ok, I could believe that.

“Keep going, my little pony, and I promise it’ll all end in Sunshine and Rainbows.”

“How? How can I keep going? I’m not strong. What do I do when the nightmares come back? If… it happens again? What then? Where will you be?”

“Oh Hard, I’ve been close since the beginning silly! You just need to trust your friends, but I’ll still be watching you,” her eye grew wide. “Forrreeeeverrr!”

With a jingle, a giggle, and a breath of wind, she was gone.

I woke in my old bedroom. I stretched out, touching each of the four corners of my bed as part of the waking ritual since I was a colt. I hadn’t done that in years, long before I moved to Manehatten, but it brought a great deal of comfort. There was an inch of dust on every surface, my posters of Twilight Sparkle encouraging reading had started to rot but still held solid on the walls. By my bedside, the stack of comics I said I would pick up one day was still waiting. I was home, everything was ok.

Burying the skeletons of my family wasn’t an easy task, but it brought a smile to my face. They were finally at rest. For the first time since coming to Fetlock Fields, perhaps since waking in this new Equestria, I felt at peace. I said few words at the impromptu funeral, mostly asking for forgiveness for not coming home when I said I would and hoping that they found peace in whatever came next. I returned to the others shortly after, the argument from the day before still hanging in the air. Two Tone paced the floor while Domino sat at a table. Clean was motionless in the corner, given what support we could scavenge from the café.

“Exhaustion, swinger. Pony didn’t sleep a damn wink last night,” Two Tone grumbled after I questioned.

“Nopony did,” Domino whispered, looking down at the floor. “I don’t know what to do.”

“We stay here,” Two replied. “We can’t go back to Tenpony; Clean ain’t movin’, swinger. He’ll be dead in a week if we go any further.”

“You don’t know that!” Domino shouted back, getting to her hooves. “Maybe if-”

“Maybe nothin’, Two Tone is not riskin’ that damn fool’s life even if he wants to! And you don’t want that either, do you swinger?” he slowly moved towards Domino. “It’s over, Domino. This whole thing is over, didn’t find a damn clue!”

“That’s not entirely true,” I said, quietly. Two and Domino looked to me, wearing very different expressions and yet so similar. Both of them looked concerned but were trying to hide the drive to not give up hope.

“I… I found Knitting Needle. She was wounded but was lucid enough to tell me something. A pony named Battenberg took something belonging to Applejack, a small clasp in the shape of an apple.”

“A clasp? What makes that so important?” Domino frowned, glancing at Two Tone who shrugged the question off.

“Anything could be important to the Ministry Mares, there are too many adventures to mention,” I remember helping the writing teams with the official stories. There was a huge demand for better jokes when it came to the Mares, all in the name of morale. Well, mostly Pinkie.

“When did this happen?” Two Tone asked, taking the Golden Gallop case from our collected belongings. There was a distinct lack of hiss as it opened this time.

“A short while after the spells fell, but I reckon that’s what we’re looking for,” I pointed at a certain space in the container, something that could be apple-shaped. “Six items, six tickets, six Mares. The best night ever.”

“That was over a century ago, the trail’s cold,” Domino was softly spoken, but the words carried a lot of weight.

“It’s something.”

Two Tone quickly moved to Clean as he croaked from the bed. Our leader looked drawn and pale, the toll of near constant use of Buck coupled with the indescribable pain he was going through. Even then, I could see a fire in his eyes. The same cold, unending fire I saw when he first pulled me out of the pod so many weeks ago.

“Swinger, she’s right. We’re chasin’ ghosts now, let this die, know what I’m sayin’?”

“No!” Clean snapped. “We’ve come too far!”

“Two Tone ain’t keen on movin’ you, but if you insist then let him take you back to Tenpony, swinger, get yourself patched up and safe, yeah?” Two’s words were full of tenderness and genuine care, his smile warm.

“Clean, please,” Domino added. “We’ve reached the end, and we’ve tried our best. That’s more than enough for me.”

“We’re so close! I ain’t givin’ up now, no damn way.”

“That isn’t your choice, swinger. You need rest, need time to think, and a damn doctor. Two Tone can’t fix your back, you’re not safe.”

“None of us are safe, Two! Nopony here is, those are just the first group to find their way here. How many more hunters are on their way now? How many more are coming for us?” Clean’s voice was becoming hoarse, ending in a low growl. “What happens when it’s Septic knockin’ on the door?”

“At least in Tenpony we might have a fighting chance! We won’t be looking over our shoulder all the time,” Domino nuzzled Clean’s cheek, flinching as he shifted away as much as he could. “What’s wrong with you?”

“If we go back, we’ve lost. I ain’t dead yet, I can still win.”

“That’s suicide!”

“No more than going back to Tenpony,” I whispered, and the room fell silent. “DJ Pon3 knows and has spread the news, chances are that there are ponies there waiting for you. It’ll take us the best part of a month to get there, we’ll be under attack the whole way, then we might not even have a safe place to stay.”

“Damned if we do, damned if we don’t,” Two Tone muttered. “And we can’t stay here for long either, trail will be picked up soon enough.”

“We do have one thing ahead on them, though,” I held up the DC-pad.

Domino gestured for me to go on. The pad clicked and whirred, then began to play the recording I found through a tinny speaker.

“This is Agent Battenberg, mission log 5. I have recovered the Apple Clasp for the Magic of Friendship project and am on route to the final two destinations of my mission – Warehouse Delta at Hope and the Combined Development Labs near Appleloosa. It’ll take a few days, with any luck the anti-radiation pills will help me survive that long.

“I’ve seen what the radiation can do to you, when I met the daughter of the owner here. She has started to show signs of extreme mutation, and this is only a month after the initial exposure. If this is what happens to us when we absorb enough of this poison, I am terrified of what could happen to me.

“I hope that the other agents find these in case the worst happens. I am praying to anything and anyone who might listen that I’m not the only one left. May the dead forgive me if I am.”

There was the barest hint of panic in her voice, as she fought to stay strong for whoever was supposed to be listening to this log. The recording continued for a few seconds before clicking out. Clean chuckled on his bed.

“Fryin’ pan, fire, now into hell. Won’t be expectin’ on us to go through raider territory, then slaver territory.”

“It’s risky, but it’ll give us time,” I added.

“This is insane,” Domino began to pace. “There’s no way we can make it, Clean. How are we going to get there?”

Two Tone gave me a guilty look, knowing what I was about to say. “My family used to repair wagons, I’m certain we could put one together.”

“Fuck’s sake, Hard,” Domino muttered. “This doesn’t change the fact the state Clean is in, he’s a sitting duck like this!”

“We go back, we’re gonna get killed. We stay here, we’re gonna get killed. Can only go forwards from here,” Clean rumbled. “Dom, Two, it’s the best shot we have. We do this, we get the money, we pay off the bounties. Might even have a change of luck, find a doctor out there.”

“Wishful thinkin’, swinger, but there’s somethin’ to it. Those science labs might have somethin’ that can help,” Two Tone sighed. “Don’t like this, not one bit, but this here swinger’s thrown a wrench into the plans, know what I’m sayin’? Givin’ us an out.”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” I pawed at the ground.

“It’s dangerous, risky, and downright stupid,” Domino shook her head. “There’s no convincing you, is there?”

“If there were, you’d have done it already,” Clean smirked. I was almost taken aback at how warm it was in comparison, less of the cold killer I had seen and more of a smug child.

“First things first, we’ve got a cart to build,” I said, taking out the designs from the living room. “And I’ve got some ideas.”

RE: We need to talk [Marked for Deletion]

Hey Hard

I know you’re going through a rough time, and I’m here for you, but you need to face facts right now. I will keep my promise because that’s the kind of pony I am, but you need to come clean with yourself and this whole mess. We both know it was only dumb luck that there was a similar killing the other week that got you out of this mess, and that is a really fucked up thing to say.

As your teammate, I’m angry at you for abusing the position we’re in. Our job is so damn important that we can’t afford to make these kinds of mistakes. There’s a reason why we take this poison off the streets, if it’s unchecked and not correctly used it leads to situations like this.

As your friend, I’m worried about you. Everypony can see how distant you’ve become, and we’re not sure what’s causing it. There’s no doubt, you’re amazing at your job but it shouldn’t be at the cost of you. I know we say that we have to flip the switch, but we do have to switch it off as well. We’re only ponies at the end.

And, as your lover, I’m scared of you. What happens when I come to yours and you’re in a fantasy world on Dash again? What happens when you pull a knife on me? I know you’d never hurt me, but when you’re under you don’t know it is me. I can’t be with someone who terrifies me.

Hard, please, think long and carefully about this. I won’t drop a cliché about “if you love me” because I’m not the problem here. This isn’t about me and you, it’s just you. Whatever your demons are, we can work on this together.

Yours, always

Hope

[Agent Hard Copy has elected to undergo rehabilitation at a local Ministry of Peace hospital. Cited reason: Drug addiction. Team Leader Golden Days has approved this leave of absence, and wishes Agent Copy a speedy recovery. Agent Copy’s family have not been informed, as per his wishes.]

Level up!

New Perk: Hush Now, Quiet Now – You've overcome your fear of the night, by becoming the terror instead. You can now instantly kill any sleeping enemy without alerting anyone else and have conquered your fear of going feral. Now you've one less excuse when you go psycho.

Chapter Ten - Rag and Bone!

Chapter Ten – Rag and Bone!

They have their entrances and exits

If nothing else, I have to give it to the designers at Sky Bandit.

The dynamo was a genius idea for the ground-based pony, and utterly useless to the standard clientele of pegasi or those on the front line, who relied on self-powered vehicles rather than traditional horse powered ones. The idea was perfect for the everyday merchant; powered by a spark battery, it reduced the weight of the entire cart to make pulling it a breeze. It felt no different to walking at a normal pace, only with a bigger consideration for corners, and was nearly whisper silent.

Once you had sold your wares, you walk back without the need for the weight to be reduced, so the wheels would power a dynamo that turned the motion back into stored power for the battery. Nearly infinite use from one battery, all from what you’d be using the cart for anyway. Simple, flawless, fantastic.

And utterly unheard of, as the only prototype was in my family’s workshop at the time.

Carbon’s Triumph rattled along the road, bringing a groan from Clean as he tried to work out how to rest in his new wheelchair. It was cobbled together from rough ideas, Clean’s directions, and my sister’s old copy of TLC Squared, but it worked all the same. The task also brought out a side of Clean I had never seen before, that of a pony well versed in metal and wood work.

He had waved off the praise quickly, pointing out that it was common sense to know how to do it from weapon maintenance. This was quickly countered when Domino reminded him that he was the one who reinforced her labcoat and did the clothing repairs as well. He rarely made noise after that.

It had eaten up a few days building the chair and cart, but that time had let us scavenge Fetlock Fields thoroughly. There wasn’t anything worth taking left in the town, but we were better supplied since we left Fillydelphia. That’s not to say we were well off, ammo was still scarce and the others were thankful I didn’t need any food else we would be in trouble.

The road to Hope was a long one. Located between Ponyville and where Appleloosa once stood, we had the Everfree forest on one side and raider country on the other. We rested during the day, venturing out occasionally to look for friendly ponies to barter with, and travelled at night. With dynamo system in place, one of us could sleep next to Clean and our gear, one would pull and one would stand guard. Clean, meanwhile, controlled the gun.

I didn’t want mum’s old recoilless rifle falling into the wrong hooves, now.

While ammo was limited, it was powerful enough to punch through a light zebra tank. It was overkill for anything short of a Steel Ranger, making it a very good deterrent when raiders became a little too bold. After firing a single round that manage to go through a building, and out the other side, the one party brave enough to try turned tail and ran. It was a waste of ammo to chase them down, but it did stop anyone else trying their luck.

Just on the outskirts of the town, we settled down for the night. As the campfire popped and hissed at the canned meals on it, we discussed what the plan was once we were inside the town.

“No point in taking the cart in, not ‘til we find this warehouse,” Clean said, sipping at another healing potion. “Won’t be a sign pointin’ us to it, and we can use it to set up a camp.”

“Where would this sort of warehouse be, Hard?” Domino asked, hissing as a spark leapt out at her.

I mulled the question over a canteen of filthy water. “Could be anywhere, if it’s one of the Ministries’ it will be well defended. If it’s Awesome, then we’re really screwed.”

“Death trap,” Clean muttered. “Pray it ain’t.”

“If it is, how’re we plannin’ on gettin’ in?” Two Tone slowly lifted the cans of beans off the fire. “Ain’t no way we can fight our way in in our state.”

“We’ll find a way, still have a few tries on this thing,” I tapped the DC-pad in my pocket. “Worst comes, I’m sure Hole Punch will help.”

Two Tone snorted. “Namin’ a gun, ain’t that the strangest thing you’ve ever heard?”

I hid my smug smile as Clean’s blush turned to a glower. “Some folk just enjoy namin’ things”

“Seems unnecessary to Two Tone, swinger, just a gun,” the singer sniffed, taking a careful bite.

“Right, and the ten back up outfits were essential because…?” Clean rolled his hoof, waiting for an answer. “Yeah, thought so.”

“Ain’t Two Tone’s fault you didn’t learn lick ‘bout fashion, swinger. A performer has to look his best at all times, know what I’m sayin’? You’re there in the same clothes you’ve worn for years, lookin’ like any other two cap scaveng-argh,” Two’s gagging was drowned out by Clean’s growling and our laughter, slowly petering out.

“We still have the problem of finding the warehouse,” Domino began, watching the others tuck in to their food. “Hope seems a little… flat.”

“There isn’t much here beyond the Ironshod factory, so it’ll be blended with the surrounding buildings to hide it, or it’ll stick out like a sore horn,” I wiped my mouth clean and tapped a hoof against my chin. “Hmmm, keep an eye out for shops that don’t belong.”

“Real helpful,” Clean snorted. “Can’t tell what half these shops used to be, let alone whether they’re supposed to be here.”

“If only you had somepony from that time who could help in working all this out!” I flung my hooves to my face and collapsed in a heap on the floor. “Oh woe, woe upon this cruel world!”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, put your caps where your mouth is, ghoul.”

“It’ll speed the whole process up,” Domino added. “I would say it’ll be a breeze, but with our luck...”

“Would be good to know what kind of shops are worth breakin’ into as well,” Clean admitted, quietly though.

“That and seein’ if a store’s a chain, or a real, one of kind find,” Two Tone beamed. “Good to get some exclusive materials, know what I’m sayin’?”

“Remind me what century you’re from again?” I shook my head, Two shrugged. “Either way, we’ll be in and out before you know it.”

“I hope so,” Domino smiled. “No more goose chases.”

“Don’t say it,” she groaned as we looked the store. “Don’t you dare say it.”

“Well,” I started, trying to fight the giggles. “At least we won’t be chasing a goose.”

Outside one of the most specific stores I had ever seen, we examined the bright yellow door. Daffodil’s Duck Depo boasted over one hundred unique varieties of rubber duck design, not including recolours. It stood out like a sore horn for a variety of reasons.

First, the paint had fared far better than the other doors on the street. While the other doors were chipped, cracked, and even non-existent, the Depo’s still held strong. Second, it still had windows. We discovered that the windows could self-repair after examining the lack of glass on the rest of the buildings, and when Clean launched a bin through them.

Finally, it was on the same street row as a load of coffee shops.

I groaned a little, knowing full well who had decided on the cover and the location. Pinkie did declare there was a method to her madness, and nine times out of ten she was proven right at the end, but it still made me wish for a slightly saner and more understandable mare to be in charge of a Ministry.

However, it did mean we had moved forward with our search. Having spent three days slowly working our way through the town, we had made very little head way in our hunt for Warehouse Delta. After the first day, we chose to hide the bulk of our possessions in what we elected to be our base of operations – dragging Carbon’s Triumph all day was a pointless venture in Hope. This find was the first breakthrough, and a great relief to all of us. The only thing standing in our way now, was a lock.

“It’s not something I can pick,” Domino hummed as she studied it with Two Tone. “It’s just a black panel, no buttons, no keys, nothing. I’ve never seen anything like this one before.”

“That, and Two Tone doesn’t have the skill to try it,” he said, replacing his shades. “Looks like we’re stuck here for the time being, swingers.”

“Maybe there’s another way inside,” I glanced at the surrounding stores. “Like a wall that has collapsed somewhere.”

“Shush,” Clean said, sharply.

“Swinger, if you have a bet-”

“Shush.”

Two Tone blinked and was about to retort when Domino put a hoof to his muzzle. We waited in silence, until I could pick it out as well – the rumble of a cart being pulled along, and two voices singing something together. We nodded and dashed for cover, me and Two hiding behind an old apple wagon while Clean and Domino ducked around a corner. The rattling increased until I could hear the voices clearly.

“… bring out your junk, we’ll give it a home
A broken pistol or a garden gnome,
Come on, come on, come on,
Come on an’ give it to us!”

A mare sang while another hummed a tune to match, both looking very casual about walking into town. They stopped and helped each other detach from the overloaded wagon, groaning as they stretched themselves out. The entire thing was filled with junk of all kinds, my mind spinning at the sheer volume of random odds and ends, from ancient teddy bears to broken toasters, piles of rags that could be clothes, and even a weapon or two buried in it all.

“Well, here now,” the larger of the two had a raspy voice, the sound of a long-time drug user at odds to her remarkable singing voice.

She jumped into the wagon and pulled out something I hesitate to describe as a sword. The blade was the same length as her, a quarter more for the grip, and had been made from the metal bumper of a Sky Bandit. On one side, a yellow smiley face had been crudely painted on the wider part of the blade.

She hefted it on to the back of her leather armour, white hooves and blonde mane almost blinding compared to the stained brown clothing. Her companion kicked a hoof, and I heard the soft whining build of a MEW charging up. She flicked her hood back, revealing a short, pale blue mane with a streak of white running through the middle. I slipped back behind the cover as she scanned the area.

“Think we’re being watched,” she said, loud enough to give us warning.

“Think we’re too late too,” the other growled. “There’s a trashcan in there.”

I slowly stood up and walked into the open, letting the wind flick my jacket open. I didn’t try to hide my holster as I squared off against the two mares. They slowly moved to stand opposite me, carefully eying me up. If this were a movie, this is when the music would stop.

“Afternoon,” I tried.

“Hey,” came the curt reply.

“Can I help you?”

“Depends, how hungry are you?”

“I’m a ghoul, we don’t really get hungry,” I replied, trying not to let the hesitation show. Honestly, I had no idea if that was true.

“That’s good to hear. You some sort of last guardian? Here to protect the secrets of Equestria?” the hooded mare stared me down.

“Not exactly, more an aficionado of rubber ducks and duck accessories.”

“So you decided to throw a trashcan through the middle of the shop? Tantrum at the lack of limited editions?” her larger companion grunted. “You’re full of shit.”

“Why are you here?” I fired back, shifting my weight a little. “What’s so important about that building?”

“Like you don’t know,” the sword mare matched my stance. “Run away, little ghoul, there’s nothing here for you.”

“I’d do what she says, you and your friends,” the hood flicked her eyes around. “I know the sound of unicorn magic, and I’m sure they know what this thing is capable of.”

“I’m sure we can talk this out without the need for fighting. No need to shoot the place up, right?” I looked over my shoulder and raised my voice. “Guys, slowly now. Just to talk.”

Domino moved first, striding towards me with an air of confidence. She flicked her ice mane out of her face, as if to establish herself as the alpha mare. Clean followed behind, holding himself proud despite the difficulty of the chair.

“Ain’t lookin’ to scrap over this, sure there’s enough in there for us to share. Sound fair?”

“Not a bad call, but what’s the chance we’re after the same thing?” the hood lifted her chin. “What are you here for?”

“Can’t we find that out after we get in, baby? Ain’t it easier if we’re all inside, know what I’m sayin’?” Two Tone appeared next to me, only to double take. I tried to follow his eyes, only to see the shock and rage building in the sword-carrying mare.

The same white coat. The same blonde mane. The same singing ability. Even a similar cocky stance to them. The air grew horribly, unbearably, silent as we watched the two ponies. I could feel the air being pulled taut, the presence of the two ponies almost overbearing.

“Oh,” Two Tone managed. “Shit.”

I barely managed to pull the stallion out of the way as the sword came down, both of us kissing dirt as it cracked the concrete. I shoved my pistol into my mouth and fired a warning shot, only to leap back and aim for an actual shot.

“Bastard!” the mare shrieked as we dissuaded her from giving chase, taking the opportunity to hide back behind our cover.

To the side, I heard Clean open fire as well, cursing as he missed and hit the glass again. Several ducks inside squeaked as they were perforated, the zap-whine of the hood’s MEW firing back to keep our heads down. I fired a few more shots to chase the sword mare away until my pistol clicked empty.

“Two, do you know her?” I ejected the magazine. “She looks like you, sings like you, but there’s no way. You’re not that old, right?”

I looked at him as he gave a sheepish grin. “Uh, early bloomer?”

There was a sudden thud, followed by an odd wobbling noise. Two Tone and I turned to look at the spear jutting out of our cover.

“Who the hell uses spears in a firefight?!” I shouted, trying to reload my pistol as quickly as I could.

I swung my head over to see where our foe was, only to find the mare running away with a wire between her teeth. I looked back at the spear, following the trail, and grabbed Two just before the wagon exploded. We skidded to another spot, Two’s shield catching most of the deadly splinters sent everywhere.

“WHO THE HELL ATTACHES GRENADES TO A SPEAR?!” he belted, wincing as a few shards poked through his suit. “You’re a mad pony, kid, and Two Tone ain’t likin’ it one bit!”

“Oh shut the fuck up!” she shouted back, coming back around with another spear. “And don’t call me kid!”

“Don’t take it too personally, Two, I’m sure you’re not the only absent father in the world,” I said as I threw my pistol in the air to him and met the mare in the open.

Compared to the sword and saw I had fought in close combat, the spear was far less dangerous. Most of the blows she dealt were to stun or guard than to kill, but that only showed how skilled she was. Despite their earlier attempts, the two weren’t overly keen on actually killing us rather than scaring us away.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t working.

I span around another stab and brought a forehoof up to counter the reverse swing, jabbing my other hoof towards her face. She dropped and brought her own up in two snapping kicks, which I caught with my cuffs, following with another stab downwards. I heard the tearing of fabric and felt the sting of a new cut across my chest, bringing myself close and delivering a solid headbutt on her nose.

There was a slight crunch, and a grunt from the mare. I chased it with another two blows and a turning kick from a hindleg, only to be tripped up and having to roll to avoid the stabs at me. Two Tone’s shield came to the rescue, blocking the blows with quick twists and giving me a chance to slide away.

The shield came over both of us as her companion strafed us with shots, cloak completely gone. The battle saddle housed an impressive looking MEW rifle, red beams eating at the shield while an assault rifle kept us scooting for cover. Her black painted combat armour looked almost fresh off the line, the flanks adorned with a strange symbol not unlike Rainbow Dash’s cutie mark.

But that wasn’t what caught Two’s attention.

“A pegasus?” Two Tone blurted out for me. “What the hell is-”

He didn’t get to finish as the spear assault came back, catching him along the leg and staining his suit with a flood of red. The butt of the spear swung into his nose, matching the injury she had, and sent Two sprawling. I tackled into her, batting the spear out of her mouth and pinning her hooves down. Someone, somewhere, shouted something I couldn’t hear.

“Can we just talk for five seconds?!”

“Goddesses, your breath stinks,” she said as she headbutted me.

It wasn’t enough to do any real damage, but the jerky motion let her slip out of my grasp and start to squirm out. I went to pin again, only to have my side explode in pain. My body spasmed as I heard the crackle of electricity, feeling it tingle across my entire body. More blows thumped down on me until I felt hooves holding me down.

Somewhere Clean shouted, “Fuckers! Come at me!”

Something clicked around my neck, and I heard the distressed cries of the others fight against the shouts of the new arrivals. My eyes burned from tears and the damage done to my body, and I looked to the nearest figure I could see. The cutie mark was a ball and chain, and the owner had a gap-toothed evil grin.

“Nighty night, new blood,” he whispered, and brought the stun baton back on my head.

That could have gone better.

When I came to, night had fallen. I groaned at my sore neck, my hoof moving to massage the pain away. My eyes opened faster when I felt something metal fastened around it. I tapped all around it, unable to get a look beyond a dim red light just out of the corner of my eye.

“Rise and shine,” came a dry, female voice. “Glad you’re not completely dead, I get to bitch at you about the smell for a while longer.”

The sword mare, no longer in her armour, lay at the other end of the caged cart. She had a metal ring fastened around her neck, with a similar red light on one side, and looked completely bored. I was more taken aback by the number of scars that decorated her body, not all of them from combat. Her cutie mark sat proudly on her flanks: a single spear landing on the centre of an X.

“And no, I don’t know where we are,” she pre-emptively answered my first question. “Only that we’re being taken to Rusty’s place, wherever that is.”

“Rusty? Who’s that?”

“These pricks’ boss, maybe the head honcho for this area. I lose track of who’s who all the time,” she laughed humourlessly. “And now I’m gonna die or end up some fucko’s cocksleeve. All because of you pricks.”

“You attacked us first,” I started only to be cut off by a savage snarl. “Sorry, I don’t speak that.”

“Lay off him,” the other mare said, lying behind me. She lounged against the bars, with a tired look on her face. “It’s not worth the energy right now.”

The cage rattled as a passing slaver slammed into it, growling for us to stay quiet. Taking a moment to do as he said, I could hear Two Tone singing somewhere in the camp. I strained to see where it was coming from, and to find the others.

“Who does he think he is? Dancing and singing for the bastards,” sword mare muttered to herself.

“Probably trying to gather information,” I said, hoping to paint the singer in a good light. “Two Tone wouldn’t do this just for fun, he’s got a plan.”

She scoffed. “Two Tone, shitty name for a shitty stallion.”

I looked to her pegasus friend whose own eyes were directed skyward. As she gazed at the clouds, I found the answer to an unasked question. Her wings were ragged, misshapen from some sort of defect rather than damage, muscles atrophied and nearly limp compared to those I could remember. Those wings had never taken flight. They shifted a little, showing the Bit sign for a cutie mark.

“Yes, wings, amazing,” she brought me back to the world. “You know what else has wings? Bloodwings, and I’ll fuck you up the same way they do if you keep staring.”

“Sorry, just haven’t seen a pegasus in a long time,” I mumbled.

“Won’t be seeing at all in a minute.”

The other mare gave a hoarse laugh. “And you were telling me to lay off?”

“She’s got you there.”

“Shut up,” they chorused.

The night passed by with the sounds of Two Tone continuing his songs. A small amount of food was passed around for the others to eat while I kept my ears out for news and clues. We were in two different cages, on our way to some kind of big meeting for slavers hosted by this mysterious Rusty. Two ponies would rest inside the cage, while the third pulled for a day – perfect for draining us of enough energy so we couldn’t resist being put back inside.

That said, the collars stopped us short of trying anyway. The mares explained that they were bomb collars, wired to explode when we were out of a certain range or whenever somepony pressed the button. There was no way of safely removing them without tools, and our weapons had been stripped from the word go. We didn’t even have rags to cover us, something I had noticed since waking up in the wastes. I prayed that Carbon’s Triumph was still safe, the DC-pad, projector, and Rainbow Dash hidden away as well.

Else we were really stumped.

The days crept by as we left Hope and began a long trek to Appleloosa. Two Tone’s shows had yielded some information, though it was patchy at best. Worst of all, it seemed like somepony had tipped the slavers that we were at Hope.

Ponies had enough common sense to steer clear of the wagons, though I saw a few peeking at us from hidey holes. None were brave or foolish enough to approach us, to attempt a rescue. The bitterness seeped its way in, but I understood why they wouldn’t risk life and limb for ponies they didn’t know.

It soon gave way to despair on the fourth night of marching. Hope was long gone, in both senses. I rested against the bars of the cage, staring out into the darkness, trying to ignore the pained whimpers of Clean as he turned the wrong way in his sleep. For what it was worth, the slavers had allowed him to keep the wheelchair. The mares seemed amazed that he was kept alive, making my spine tingle: they knew who we were.

My eyes settled in the gloom, taking in just enough light to see shapes and suggestions, when they spotted movement. I sat up, looking at the shapes as they cautiously approached, “Psst, hey!”

The shapes paused, and two ponies skulked their way to the cages. A mare and a stallion emerged from the gloom, looking beaten, bloodied and half starved. I could see the desperation in their eyes and felt the creeping horror of what was going to happen next.

“Hello?” the stallion replied, voice low.

“Get back!” I hissed, pushing my head between the bars. “Go, now! Get help!”

Then I remembered that I was a walking, talking corpse who just appeared out of nowhere in the dark.

Her scream covered his swear and woke the entire camp: slavers milled to the cages, firing shots to keep them penned in. The mare attempted to run but was tackled and mercilessly beaten by three of the vile ponies, while the stallion stood his ground, shouting for her to run away. I turned my head as he came under the barrage of metal implements, my cage-mates taking no interest in the fight.

“Haha! Lookit, we’ve got some wasteland newbies,” a toothless unicorn exclaimed, hauling the mare up.

I could now see that the blue jumpsuit she wore, the number 37 stencilled in yellow writing on the back, as well the blocky shape of a PipBuck on her leg. The stallion wore the same, though his suit now featured blood stains from a gash on his head. The two were forced on the floor together, the collars snapping shut around their necks.

“Well well, ain’t this just our luck?” an earth pony mare stalked the two. “From the looks of it, you two are fresh out, ain’t you? Oh Rusty’s gonna eat you two up.”

The stallion joined Clean, Domino and Two Tone’s cage, eyes white and unresponsive to the shouts of the mare. She skidded away from me as she was forced aboard, the pegasus giving her a wary look before moving over for space. The stablemare tried to struggle at her collar, eyes full of fear in place of determination.

“Don’t,” the sword mare said sternly. “Mess with it, and it’ll take your head off.”

“No, no no no no no no,” the stablemare said over and over again, eyes darting. “Cog! Cog, wake up!”

“He’s out, baby,” Two Tone replied, his voice smooth as silk. “Calm down now, panickin’ ain’t helpin’ nopony, know what I’m sayin’?”

The sword mare muttered something about ‘baby’ and snorted, but Two’s words helped the stablemare get her breathing back in order. She still looked scared witless however, eyes darting everywhere around me as if she was mostly scared of just acknowledging my existence.

“Don’t mind him now, he’s real friendly, ain’t you swinger?” Two encouraged, jumping as a slaver shouted for quiet.

I nodded and gave her a toothy smile. In return, I got another mewl of fear and settled for staying as far away from the mare as possible. With the excitement over, the slavers started to settle back down, the others falling asleep as well. I turned my attention to the endless sea of clouds and sighed.

What would the stars say if they saw this?

The following morning began the ordeal once more. I took position to pull the cage and put all my energy into the simple act of putting one hoof in front of another. It gave Two and Domino time to talk to the new arrivals.

Even after the night, the stallion still hadn’t woken. Two assured the slavers that he hadn’t died, but if they wanted to actually use him they’d need medical supplies. The laughter at his request told us how much they cared.

As the days rolled by, Two Tone managed to squeeze names out of the mare: Turing Tide and Brass Cog. The two stable dwellers had just fled Stable 37, somewhere in the Appleloosian desert. The Steel Rangers came knocking just a week or two before and barely a hoofful of survivors got away. The pair ended up separated from the others after a raider attack and followed the light of the camp’s fire for safety. In their defence, I’m certain I’d do the exact same thing.

Soon, Appleloosa itself changed from a point on the horizon to our immediate vicinity. The old frontier town had changed a great deal since its inception years before I was born, especially with so many of Ironshod’s board hailing from there. Even then, it still wasn’t safe from the touch of balefire. Many of the buildings had collapsed from the stress, others lay obliterated from the detonations. Those that remained stood proudly against time, while rotting from the evil that lurked inside. I shuddered at the new decorations and hoped that the ponies whose remains now covered the walls died easily.

But more than the buildings, the numbers scared me. We were just eight of what seemed to be tens, maybe a hundred slaves, all locked inside pens of all shapes and sizes. Foals cried for their mothers, husbands called for wives, the newest arrivals still had the look of hope of rescue, while the long-term slaves looked beaten to the very soul.

We were placed in a corner, still separated by a few meters, amongst yet more slaves. Turning Tide and Brass Cog were led off elsewhere, while the two mares kept to themselves, remaining silent until the first night of arrival. I was stood sentinel, watching the sleeping and crying forms of my fellow ponies in iron, slowly mulling thoughts over until I heard light hoofsteps behind me.

“You do this every night?” the pegasus asked, joining me as I looked over the others. “Bit creepy.”

“Ghouls don’t need sleep, and I’ve got little else to look over.”

“She’s right though,” Domino mumbled sleepily from her cage. “It’s a bit creepy, Hard.”

“Thanks Dom, always count on you to have my back.”

“What are friends for?” she replied with a tired, but playful, smile on her face. “Didn’t catch your names.”

“You didn’t,” the pegasus rolled her eyes. “Look, I’m sure none of us want to stay here, so how about we help one another, yeah?”

“Sounds good to me. What did you have in mind?”

“Break out.”

“That’s a result, not a plan,” Domino slowly got to her hooves. “No equipment, no idea where we are, and we’re outnumbered. Not to mention the new accessories.”

“So we’ll just sit tight until prince charming comes along?” the pegasus scoffed. “Let me guess, he’ll be tall, dark, handsome, dressed in the finest armour of all the wastes?”

“Well, I don’t mean to brag.”

If I could, I would have broken into a cold sweat at the voice. It had chased us across the wastelands once before, and now it found us in the worst possible situation. I saw Domino’s face fall and Clean slowly stir, his expression turning to anger as he saw our visitor. My head slowly turned as he removed his gas mask, a smile plastered his face as light from his horn casted shadows on ours.

“Look who we have here,” Septic Shock sighed. “Not in great shape, are we folks? If only I was a hero…”

“What are you doing here?”

“Spoilers, my dear joker,” he tutted, the smile becoming even crueller at the sight of Domino in a bomb collar. “Oh this is delicious. Don’t worry sweetheart, I’ll make sure to tell them to treat you properly. Wouldn’t want daddy to get all upset when he hears about how you’ve been enslaved thanks to your boyfriend. Let’s just hope for your sake that comes soon, I have a bad memory.”

“Fuck you,” Domino growled.

“Ah ah ah, careful now. The only reason the corpse and the cripple are still alive is because of my sweet talking. Wouldn’t want them to go the way of weasel now, would we?” he chuckled at the glares.

“The fuck’s a weasel?” the pegasus spat.

“Four-legged animal, known for wriggling its way out of things and going pop,” Septic replied. “Honestly, what are you taught in schools these days?”

“How to kill smug cunts like you,” she snarled back. “Let me out of this cage and we’ll see who goes pop.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

“You wouldn’t last two seconds,” I muttered, much to the pegasus’ shock. “Back down before you get us all killed.”

“Well, well, the zombie’s learned. Why don’t you tell them what I did to your one-eyed friend? That ought to wake flappy up a little,” Septic’s smile turned to a sneer. “That said, I’m pissed off I don’t get to kill you, ghoul. That little collar is a shield right now, but maybe that’ll disappear when I come back with a nice fat reward.”

“Trust me, I’ll be coming for you once it’s off too.”

“I look forward to it. Be a shame if somepony like you ended up dying here,” he licked his lips, eyes twitching. “I could do it, you know. I could kill everyone else here. So it’s just you and me.”

“Then do it,” Clean snarled from behind me. “Hurry up and get this shit over with, ain’t plannin’ on sittin’ here waitin’ for the end.”

Septic hesitated, then shook his head. “Ah, sorry, I have to let you suffer for a little longer. I know, I know, it’s such a bummer! But my hooves are tied.”

“Bullshit,” Domino spat. “Since when did the rules ever stop you? I know what you’re capable of, so why hold back now?”

“I have my reasons,” Septic crooned.

The pegasus snorted in dismissive mirth. “Your friend’s a real piece of work, ghoul. All talk and nothing to show for it, bet he doesn’t have the balls to fight a real pony.”

“Says the mare that fights a cripple?” Septic smiled as he pulled his mask on, his voice muffled by the rubber. “I’ve killed children that would put up a better fight than you, my little pony.”

“Monster,” the earth pony mare growled from her corner, finally taking her eyes off of Two Tone’s cowering form.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Septic hummed.

“You’re worse than that. Creatures like you are just born evil,” Domino snarled.

“Born evil? Oh no, my dear Domino, it took me many years to reach this point,” he chuckled, looking dreamily into the distance. “That said, I’m far from the worst thing the wastes have produced. No, I found that, then I killed it. Enjoy the rest of your days, I’m certain I will.”

He pivoted on his hooves and sauntered towards the waiting slaver guards, leaving our cages alone. Clean shook his head and groaned as the aches began to return, rubbing at his back. Domino gave him as much help as she dared, grumbling at her collar.

“Mouthy prick,” the pegasus mumbled, then glared at me. “What’s your history with him?”

I didn’t come up with an answer, ignoring the continued glare as I moved to the small corner of the cage and waited. In the cage beside me, a small bundle of foal was curled up and sobbing. I looked at the pitiful creature, reaching out to touch it before freezing.

I looked at the rotting limb and began to wonder whether it was the right thing to do. Could I still make children smile? Is there such a thing as a happy slave? I wondered if the foal had ever seen a life outside of bars and collars, and slowly retracted my hoof.

How do you make somepony like that happy?

The question consumed my thoughts as night became day, then night again. The mares’ bitterness towards us festered as more slaves arrived, now numbering nearly one hundred and twenty if the groans of passing slavers were anything to go by. Mornings began with a shock baton alarm, checking that we were all still alive, followed by poor attempts at taunting and offers of freedom in exchange for foul favours.

I noticed some of the others being dragged away, our cages remaining untouched. None of the slaves returned in the coming days, only more were taken. We tried not to think about what was happening to them, keeping our thoughts to ourselves. Even the foal was taken before we were selected, making me grimace at the thought.

Then our turn came.

We were herded out of the slaver camp, marching in file under the watchful eyes of ponies and even a few griffons. I felt little towards the half eagle, half lion creatures during the war, knowing their hunger for money overpowered their sense of loyalty to either side. Several stood at the reinforced battlements of the camp, sniper rifles on pivots to keep unwanted guests out. There was never any hope of escaping while we were inside, but now we had a chance.

Around twenty of us were marched out, a collection of different ages and genders, but almost all with the same defeated look. To one side, a rickety wooden outpost had been built with a giant antenna sitting atop it. I briefly considered what purpose it could serve, but soon all that played on my mind was whether we were about to be sold or simply used as sport. Neither was ideal.

They kept us in a tight group, looking over the dusty hills outside of the town. I licked my parched lips, wondering what we were looking at. I then realised there was something else about the hills – they were too sharp for them to be natural, too organised as well. It was almost a pattern, perfectly placed to give the illusion of a small cluster of hills.

Bunkers.

“Lissen up, hound-bait!” a slaver roared, sending the foals cowering. “The boss bird is here, so belt up and clean the shit from your ears!”

He stepped to one side and gave way to another figure. Tall, imposing, staring down at us like we lower than filth, the slaver’s boss flexed her wings and rattled her talons along the cracked ground. She smirked, as much as her knife-like beak allowed, and studied us carefully. I saw that one claw has been replaced with curved blades.

Rusty.

“Meat,” she relished the word. “That is all you are. Meat. You are shields, you are carrying equipment, you are scavengers, you are property, but above all else, you are meat. You have lost the right to call yourselves ponies, or any sort of creature. You are meat.

“However, even I can pity meat. In this world, there are things greater than a food source. Weapons, water, technology, money. Today, I bring you good news, meat. To some, this is old news, do not spoil it for the fresher cuts. Centuries ago, your fucking ancestors decided to perform experiments on who knows what beneath this earth. The same ancestors that turned this once beautiful land of peace into the shithole you call home.”

She chuckled and held a claw to her armoured chest. “I can’t thank them enough.”

“You will dive into these laboratories and bring me the fruits of their labour. You will do this in eight hours. If you disobey, think you can escape, or try to hide what is mine from me… well, there’s a reason it’s called a bomb collar. You will be working in groups of four, make sure you get along,” she spun on the spot and barked orders to her cronies, sending the group into a flurry of activity.

“Saves us the search for the labs,” I said, trying to lighten the mood half-heartedly. “Maybe we’ll make some progress.”

“This is insane,” Two Tone muttered. “Ain’t ever heard of a slaver op bein’ this organised, nor this big. She’s got one pair of lungs on her, know what I’m sayin’?”

“Reckon there’s somethin’ behind the scenes here, Septic wouldn’t just stroll up to any slaver’s hole,” Clean sucked in a breath. “He’s wantin’ somethin’, and I reckon he needs or wants us to find it.”

“But what?” Domino wondered out loud, biting her lip. “What’s so important about this place?”

“What isn’t?” Two kicked a rock to one side. “Lab that ain’t seen the sun for longer than the land? Bet there’s plenty of interestin’ things down there, swinger.”

“New blood, move it!” a slaver howled at us, his stun baton parting me and Clean from Domino and Two. “Don’t you think about arguing, else we’ll see how long it takes for this to start cooking ya from the inside out!”

We backed away towards a small group of fellow slaves. I caught Two Tone’s eye and gave him a sharp nod, Domino mouthed something to Clean. In their cluster, I saw Turning Tide and, now awake, Brass Cog. My attention returned to the approaching group, and I let out an audible groan as the sword mare was stood among them.

“You know,” Clean drawled. “Would seem like fate has a real hard-on for fuckin’ us, huh ghoul?”

“There was an ancient belief that a few ponies adopted during the war, from some faraway lands. They said it was called karma, a balance to the world. You need to do good deeds to have good done to you, while evil deeds are punished with misfortune,” I sighed at the thought. “You’d think the parties would have counted for something.”

Clean snorted his amusement. “Like that idea, sounds like goin’ all out on the drink and comin’ to later. Guess there’s somethin’ to it.”

“Yeah, only this karmic hangover is feeling a little unfair. I only drank the punch,” I groaned, biting back a yelp as a stun baton touched my side.

“Shut up, rotflank, or I’ll feed you your own teeth,” our chaperone grinned, solidly built but showing the signs of drug abuse. “Your team awaits.”

The first member was herded towards us. Naturally, it was our previous attacker. She looked less than pleased to see us as well.

“Oh fuck’s sake. First Rag’s dragged off, now I’m going to die with the cripple and the corpse? Just my damn luck,” the mare shook her head, only to glare as the slaver poked at her with a crackling baton. “Congrats, it’s a tamer version of my vibrator. You gonna do me a favour and go fuck yourself with it?”

I was impressed that she didn’t make a sound as it slammed into her face, but she remained silent as the slaver dragged her to me and Clean. I offered a hoof, only to have it ignored as she got to her own, spitting out a glob of blood. A snort of bloody snot followed as she rubbed her nose.

“Twice in one day, Luna dammit. Might start liking it eventually,” she muttered. “Keep staring and dreaming, death breath, this mare doesn’t fuck corpses.”

“Wouldn’t necessarily call you a mare,” I replied, looking at the crowd as the groups were herded away. “Mares are ponies, and you’re not much of a pony.”

“Are you all talk, or do you actually do something?”

“Think she likes you,” Clean smirked. “More fight in you than I thought there’d be.”

“Still more alive than the two of you put together,” she followed, falling quiet as the baton crackled again.

“Staying quiet keeps you alive,” the slaver grinned. “Should follow Mr. Smiley’s example, new blood, else I’ll give you something to really scream about.”

Moving towards us was a mountain of pony, easily twice my size. His crimson coat stood bold despite the numerous scars all over his body, orange mane with red flecks and tips was flicked out of his eyes. A few sores around his neck had scabbed over, rubbing against the metal of a far older bomb collar. His eyes were full of a deep, blue sadness, while his jaw was set in grim determination, matching the fire of the exploding dynamite cutie mark.

“Say hello, Smiley,” the slaver cackled. “Are you gonna ask their names again? Or have you finally learned?”

The vile creature walked away, still laughing as she rounded other slaves into groups. I offered a stiff hoof to the stallion, surprised at how readily he took it.

“You’re new,” he stated.

“Well, give or take a few decades, but yeah,” I replied. “I’m Hard, this is Clean and…”

“Go fuck yourself,” the mare spat.

“… and her. We were caught about a week or two back, yourself?”

“I can tell, you use the words of a free pony,” the stallion looked us all in the eye, I could see he had said this time and time again. “Long enough to forget, welcome to the herd.”

“Got a name?” Clean asked, looking uncomfortable after meeting his gaze.

“Warm. Warm Smiles.”

We marched across the arid ground, looking at the other groups lined up at various bunker entrances. Groups of four stood in front of the doors, some wearing masks of bravery while others didn’t disguise the terror they were feeling. Foals cried for their parents as strangers ignored them, a few good Samaritans trying to reassure them.

Doors popped open, the teams darting in. Some managed to all enter before the doors swung close again, others barely made it past the entrance before I heard gunfire or some sort of creature roaring. I shook my head in horror, trying to pretend it was something else lurking there.

“Goddesses,” the mare said under her breath.

“Fuck me,” Clean whispered. “Ghoul, what the fuck were you ponies doing here?”

I didn’t have an answer to give.

We passed a team of three children and one adult, hearing the sealed air escaping as it opened. The door swung open, and a roar came from the cavern. I span around on instinct to see fleshy tentacles burst from the opening and grab a screaming foal; the limbs, thick like roots of an ancient tree, made the little bones pop. Slavers shouted as they opened fire on the unseen horror, the other foals trying to flee as the adult was pushed into the door.

I convulsed as the baton slammed into my side again, touching on the burnt skin. “Stop staring, move faster else that’ll be you, meat.”

The gunfire continued, the door slamming shut as the screaming children were rounded up and taken away. I prayed it was to somewhere safer than where we were heading. We reached our designated door shortly after, a slaver with a battle saddle giving us a toothy smile. He kicked the assault rifles ready and began to tap at a terminal hooked to the door.

“So this is the stallion of the hour?”

Above the door, inspecting her talons, Rusty rested. “I thought Septic was mad to ask us to keep an eye out for a cripple and a ghoul. I thought ‘there’s no way a pony that injured would risk slaver territory’. You’re full of surprises, Clean Sweep.”

“You have somethin’ to say, say it,” said Clean.

“My mother told me not to talk with food, bad manners,” Rusty grinned. “I do hope you enjoy this stroll down memory lane with the ghoul, I’ve heard it can get pretty nasty in there.”

With a bark of laughter, she flew up and over our heads. I felt oddly passive about the whole conversation: the most talkative of all the ponies I had taken out tended to be the first to run when things went wrong. The same extended to griffons.

“This’ll be fun. Hey, cripple, heard you’re still alive ‘cause of some fancy money on that head of yours. Do me a favour, don’t get eaten in there,” the salver cackled, tapping a few more keys.

Clean ignored the taunt, a grim look appearing on his face. Once again, his life was bought through money. The door hissed as the pressure was released, my neck popping as I rolled in preparation. I looked to Warm, who was performing similar warm up stretches.

“Any survival tips for an old timer?” I asked, voice distant.

“Find a weapon.”

“Anything else?”

Warm gave me a look and cracked a small smile. “Then find a weapon you can actually use.”

“Piece of cake,” I muttered.

“Grab what you can, get out alive. Everything you find that’s useful to the boss is one step closer to freedom, maggots. If you come back empty hoofed, we throw you back in. If you take too long, will pop you. If you don’t come back, then congrats with your freedom,” the slaver wracked with laughter, hacking into a wet cough as the door swung open. “Go, go, go!”

I took a deep breath and dived inside. The bravado came to a choking halt as Warm pulled me back by the bomb collar, the familiar tat-tat-tat of a turret matching the sparks that kicked up on the metal floor. The slaver shouted for us to get back inside, but our fellow slave ignored his rambling, picking up a rock and launching it into the room. The turret tweeted a recalibrating jingle as it spun around to look for the tiny invader, firing another burst of rounds at nothing.

As the metal cavern was lit up with gunfire, I saw cover a few meters in. Warm threw another rock, and I chased after it as the turret hesitated what to shoot at. Fortunately, it chose the rock. Another burst went off, giving me enough light to see a fallen fire extinguisher. The turret made a sad beep as metal canister crumpled metal housing.

“Let’s go!” I shouted, guiding Clean, Warm and the mare through.

Somewhere, an alarm was screeching and other turrets, unseen, swivelled and clicked into action. The door slammed shut, and we were plunged into darkness for a few, terrifying seconds. I winced as Clean’s horn lit up, the unicorn looking grim.

“Where first?” he asked, looking to Warm.

“Look for an armoury or a research lab. Either one will help,” he looked up and down the corridor, and nodded a direction, taking the lead.

We started to follow, only for the mare to snort. “You’re following him? Pretty stupid.”

“He’s done this before, I trust him to get us through this alive,” I replied. “He’s the closest thing to an expert right now.”

“Yeah, if he’s so great at this, why’s he still a slave?” she pushed past me. “Fucking idiot.”

“Bitch,” Clean whispered as she moved out of earshot, following on as well. I did the same, pausing for a moment. The fire extinguisher would come in useful.

The corridors ebbed in a red light, my eyes adjusting to the gloom quickly while the others took more cautious steps. After I caught up to Warm, I started giving careful instructions on avoiding the bones of other ponies inside. I didn’t detail what I could see, mostly because I tried to pretend that I didn’t see it. Vents had been torn open, ancient blood rusted the edges, bullet casings littered the floor, even a few scorch marks from explosions loomed from the gloom.

Relief finally came when we found our first four way junction ten minutes later. A satchel lay at one corner, along with a carved arrow in the wall. We pulled it open, sighing at the familiar sight of a 10mm pistol. Clean took the weapon, grunting at the three shots remaining. The only other item was a holotape, but with no way to play it I kept it tucked out of the way.

We followed the arrow, Clean keeping close behind. We’d freeze every few moments, hearing the sounds of something skittering behind sealed doors, or somepony screaming. Warm had unfortunately informed us that the bunkers were all connected somehow, so the scream could be an echo through one of the vents, or somewhere around the corner. To go searching would be a death sentence.

“Was left alone on one run, others went to hunt for the source,” he murmured. “All dead.”

“If we’re divin’ inside to look for weapons, why’re there still slavers out there? Ain’t anypony tried usin’ ‘em?” Clean grumbled, asking the question we all wanted to.

“They tried, the moment they came out with them the collars went off. All the collars are hooked up to the antenna you saw on the way here, the slavers can see if they’re still active too. One of them gets opened, you can bet on those bastards will be waiting.”

The mare tsked, the news ruining her plan. She moved ahead with Clean, taking the extinguisher from me. I was glad to not be the one throwing themselves into danger any more.

“That said, I have a plan,” Warm whispered to me. “Think I have a way of getting out of here.”

I nodded, keeping my eyes out. “I’m listening.”

“We could die.”

“I’m listening.”

“And it’s not just us I want to break out,” I turned to meet a fierce flame in his eyes, almost taken aback by the passion. His intentions remained unspoken, but clearly communicated.

“Like I said, I’m listening.”

True to his name, he gave me a wide grin. “Knew you were a good pony, a servant of the herd. I’ve been a slave long enough to pick a few things up, like how to disarm the bomb in these collars without the slavers catching on.”

“I’m guessing there’s a but here,” I suggested.

“But, I don’t have the tools that can do it, and I don’t know explosions well enough to do it perfectly.”

I blinked and looked at his cutie mark to double check. He sighed at the motion and nodded sadly.

“I can craft an explosive out of Big Mac and Cheese and a wire, turn a tin can into a grenade, tell you how to flatten a building with a twig. But the opposite?” he shook his head. “Still, you in?”

“I’m in,” I didn’t even consider it for a second. “Make sure you let Clean in on it too. He’s good in a fight.”

The moment broke with a scream from ahead, too clear to be an echo. Clean started swearing at something as we raced ahead, hooves squealing as we stopped. Bone had pushed herself against the wall as something tried to grab at her. Clean had backed away as well, his magic wrapped around the fire extinguisher as he tried to keep it out of the creature’s grasp.

Trapped in a metal shutter, it had the vague shape of a pony without a coat. Pale skin was taunt against bone, while a vertical slit for a mouth split open to reveal a mess of tentacles, throbbing and writhing slowly as they tested the air for the meal that had just slipped past. Dried blood around the door informed me all I needed to know about the last group of slaves through our door, and I tried not to think about how there wasn’t enough room for a pony to pass through the gap whole to be devoured.

Bone looked at us from across the hallway, a look crossing her face as she seemed to weigh up a choice. She made a grim nod, spun around and ran away, hooves striking against the metal as we pushed back from the probing tentacles.

“Fuckin’ bitch!” Clean shouted, slamming the nearest tendril with the butt of the extinguisher. “What now?”

“We go back, we won’t make it past here,” Warm said, keeping himself between us and the monster.

As he spoke, we heard a rattle from the far end of the hall. Around the corner came the mare again, galloping as fast as she could with something long and metallic in her mouth. I could only watch in wonder as she slid along the floor and swung the end of a metal floor lamp into the mouth of the monster. There was a crunched followed by an unsettlingly scream of pain as the lamp’s base was wedged into its head, the door holding it in place.

The mare gave us a smug grin and lead us onwards before the lamp could be dislodged, the monster still crying in agony as we rounded the corner. She was almost skipping ahead, the red light of the bomb collar shifting as she moved along.

“Ah, that’s much better,” she trilled, Clean meeting my eye and giving me a worried look.

The arrows continued to materialise as we walked, though no other bags appeared. We occasionally came across another turret, as well as another unfortunate slave who didn’t see it in time. The fire extinguisher had become battered and misshapen from the repeated abuse, but we were keen to keep using it over the pistol.

The last turret came down in a screech of metal. Clean began to dig through the pancaked remains, pulling out a few undamaged bullets and adding them to the bag.

“Any luck we’ll find somethin’ that can shoot them,” he said, half to himself to raise spirits. “Where now?”

“To the right,” the mare replied, looking down the hallway. “I can see a door.”

She slowly moved towards it, when we heard the rumble click of another turret. Just above the door, it slid out, almost as if it was in slow motion. I didn’t even realise I had moved until I used her as a springboard, throwing the extinguisher at the turret with a shout.

Tat-tat-tat and the canister gave, filling the space with white foam. My voice broke at the feeling of a bullet slamming into my flank, shoving the mare out of the way lest any other shots came at us. Something inside me clicked and I jumped backwards, fighting through the pain. The remains of the extinguisher flew into my hooves, one side perforated with three bullet holes, and I swung it up at the ceiling.

The subsequent bang and sad beep made my spirit sigh in relief and joy. Only one word echoed in my head: Awesome.

The door clicked and hissed open, leaving me lying on the floor with blood slowly dribbling out of my side. Clean, Warm and the mare pushed through the white foam, the red stallion sighing in relief as he saw me.

“Thought you were dead. Nice work,” he patted me on the shoulder and took point, Clean following after. I slowly pushed myself on to my hooves, the mare easing me up as well. I cast a wary look, to which she snickered.

“Like I’m gonna do something to a mad-pony like you. Scratch my back, I scratch yours. Thanks for the save,” she then studied the wound. “You’ll want to get that removed before you drink a healing potion, nothing’s worse than a bullet stuck inside a healed wound.”

“Thanks,” I frowned, limping through the door.

“Bone,” she added. “The name’s Bone.”

She pushed past me, checking the step at the door. “Why tell me now?”

“Gives you something to yell before all the heroics, ghoul,” she replied as the lights flicked on inside.

The door opened into room filled with cabinets, a single terminal on a desk sat at the head. Along a wall, rows and rows of dead screens sat, coils of cables trailing from the terminal. On the other side, which Warm was studying carefully, a massive map showing the spiderweb of connections for the other bunkers. A single pin was attached to one particular room, helpfully labelled “Medical storage office”.

Clean pottered around, examining the screens with a frown, while Bone began opening the various cabinets. I turned my attention to the terminal, pushing the skeleton of a unicorn out of the way. Another 10mm pistol sat at the desk, while a card sat on the other side. I carefully examined the plastic, balking at the symbol on the other side.

“Guys,” I called out. “Think I’ve found something.”

The others looked over as I held up the Ministry of Awesome card, feeling a deep unease. Bone shrugged, Warm grunted and returned to the map, and Clean whistled. His wheelchair rattled as he approached, the effort clear on his pained face. I moved to meet him.

“Think it’s what’s her name?” he whispered, I nodded. “Righ’. Check that holotape, see what she knows. Maybe she can get us an out.”

“Clean,” Warm shouted across the room. “Think I’ve found an armoury, and a medbay too.”

“Perfect,” the unicorn shifted over, taking the pistol with him and leaving me to return to the terminal. I wiped the dust away, and popped the tape slot open, tapping to load up whatever was on it. Lines of code and technical jargon washed across the screen. Bone approached and watched the stream.

“Never understood terminals, that’s Rag’s department,” she muttered. “Found some tweezers and bandages, can get that leg looked at.”

I nodded my consent and lay down with a grunt as she got to work. Her change in tone was jarring, but not unwelcome. At least I had a name to call her now. With a little working, the bullet was pulled free and my leg was wrapped in bandages, the magic already healing the hole left behind. I was about to nod my thanks when I saw the slow motions of chewing, catching her eyes as the pupils shrank to pinpricks.

“Bone, what did you just take?” I asked cautiously. She smiled and tapped her nose, winking. I caught the scent of mint.

“Got us a path,” Clean said as he approached, Warm in tow. “We’ll use this place as a base, then head out to gather weapons and medical supplies. Can start thinking about what to do afterwards.”

We gave our approval, and the terminal chimed. I got to my hooves and saw that a single selection had appeared. The holotape whirred as I clicked play.

“This is Agent Battenberg of the Ministry of Awesome Recovery Team. If you’re hearing this, then I have failed my mission to secure the Combined Development labs. I thank you for completing my task and commend you for your sacrifice.”

“The fuck did she just say?” Bone hissed at me, a wash of cold running down my spine.

Battenberg continued without pause, no emotion from her voice. “The experiments here were meant to turn the tide of the war in the direst of circumstances. While most were benign, others involved… less savoury ideas. Unfortunate choices had to be made, and they were hard choices. This is Equestria’s shame, the projects that could never appear on paper but were necessary for us to win the war. It was my team’s duty to secure these labs and destroy what experiments remained, though only I have made it this far. However, it seems that I was unable to finish my task. In this event, I have loaded a script onto this tape that will fully activate the security systems inside the facility. Unfortunately, whoever you are, I cannot allow you to leave.”

The door slammed shut, while somewhere outside, I could hear panels sliding open, and the sounds of things waking from a long slumber. One by one, the screens flicked on, each showing a feed from across the laboratories. Some had helpful notes of what room we were looking at, while others simply had an ammo counter. Those ones span suddenly and I could see the shocked expressions of slaves stare up at whatever had just dropped from the ceiling. Brass Cog was among them.

I looked to the others, each wearing a different expression. Clean’s was of concern, Bone’s anger, while Warm appeared almost passive. I looked down at the skeleton and hoped she died a slow, horrible death to do this to others.

“If word got out about what has transpired here, then it would only bring shame to the Princesses. That cannot happen. Equestria thanks you for your service, and I personally wish to extend an apology for your unfortunate fate. Rest assured, the robots will make it as painless as possible. None of the staff here suffered in the first purge. Long live Celestia, long live Luna, long live Equestria!”

The tape stopped, and through the metal corridors we heard the screams starting – some equine, others certainly not. Screens showed ponies fleeing rooms and corridors as multilimbed robots floated into sight, buzz saws whirring and flame throwers cooking the air. On one screen, I could see the remains of a stallion being pulled apart by some strange dog-like creatures, while another pony was slowly being covered by a mass of tentacles. I could hear my ragged breathing, feel the throbbing pain in my side and my beating heart slamming in my chest. Clean summed it up perfectly.

“Fuck this place.”

Level up

Chapter Eleven - Behind the Scenes

Chapter Eleven – Behind the Scenes

They say the road to Tartarus is paved with good intentions. There was nothing good in what we did.

“Have to ask, did your cutie mark have something to do with causing disaster, or is it just part of the shit luck in being a ghoul?”

I glared at Bone as she smirked, picking another cabinet and looking through the contents. I slowly stood up as she found a familiar tin, popping it open and taking one of the small tablets out, placing the rest in a pack she had procured from somewhere in the room. Clean and Warm discussed battle plans on the other side, looking at the map and working out where we should storm first with our two pistols and seven bullets.

Clean looked especially bitter, though it was hard to tell if it was just his normal expression at the distance. I had elected to remove myself from the terminal and swear off them for the rest of my days, hiding myself in the corner until I felt better. There was no way I could have known, but I still felt guilt for indirectly causing the deaths of so many slaves.

Ponies, I corrected myself.

“What’s wrong with him?” Bone asked, rolling a Mint-Al along her tongue and gesturing to Clean.

“Tartarus below, you can’t tell?” I grumbled and slowly stood up, still feeling the sting of the bullet wound as it slowly healed.

“No shit, we’re trapped here with who knows what out there, no food, no water, and his back’s fucked. Injury or born that way?” she continued, nosing through the other cabinets and oohing at the contents.

“Shot to the back, rushed surgery, then a lead pipe finished the job,” I closed the door on her, glaring as she casually reopened it. “Mind staying sober for five minutes?”

“Fuck me, were you always this much of a party pooper?”

“No, but I’m certain that the amount you’ve taken so far is enough to kill me.”

“Pfft, mare up,” Bone began to sniff at the long-dried materials in the test tubes, gagging a little. “You stallions are always so dramatic and over the top in everything you do. You fuck ‘em once and then they want to save you from the wastes. You take a few pick-me-ups for the shakes, they call you an addict.”

“I know an addict when I see one, you have that look in your eye.”

Bone paused and examined me carefully. “You know what, I believe you, but while you got to repair yourself I’m stuck in this rut forever.”

“Sob story? You’re above that, Bone,” I replied, snark mode fully engaged.

“Yeah, I love it too much to give it up,” she smirked, turning back to the cupboards. “Though, for what it’s worth, zombie, your friend’s situation isn’t permanent. I can fix him.”

She blinked as I spun her around. “Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not lying. I’ve tasted every fine substance in the wastes, and there’s one thing that can repair a pony like that. I know what it is, how to use it safely, and I reckon I’m a good enough doctor to fix the rest of your pals up too,” she smirked, eyes twitching as the drugs took effect. “In fact, right now, I guarantee I’m more than good enough.”

“How? Where? What do you want?”

“Music to my ears,” she sang as she pushed me away. “First off, you promise to help me and Rag break out of here. I heard you whispering to the mountain over there, ‘bout getting yourself out. I want in on the break.”

“Done,” I didn’t even hesitate. She was, unintentionally, going to be released as well either way.

“Second, I get to hold one favour on you. What I ask you to do, it gets done. When I say go, it happens or you die trying.”

“How is that anything different to slavery?” I couldn’t hide the smile from the irony of it.

“’Cause it’s one thing only, and I ain’t that cruel. Plus, you can always just run away before I get the chance to ask you.”

“Good thing I’m a fast runner,” I half-joked.

She replied with a wicked smile, like that of a housecat with a mouse. “Reckon I’m faster. Given what it is, we might find it here. We’re looking for something called Hydra.”

I nearly tripped over my own hooves at the word. “Are you insane?”

“Yes?” Bone cocked her head. “Oh! No, not a hydra. It’s the name I know it by, an experimental drug made by some madponies, apparently based on a formula made by the Ministry Mare’s top medical scientists. Only seen some shithead raider’s attempts and they work fine, so the real thing’ll be perfect. It’ll fix your friend, no question.”

“My question stands.”

“So does the answer. It’s the ultimate in healing medicine. Repairs a pony at the basest of levels. Even heard it can regrow a limb, make you like new if needs be,” Bone spoke with an almost wistful air, sighing afterwards. “Imagine how that would feel.”

“Try some Fixer to help with feeling like new, it does wonders,” I said, perhaps a little too bitterly. “If we can find this wonder drug, the deal’s on. Until then, no promises made or kept, got it?”

“Fine by me, zombie,” she offered a hoof.

I met it with my own. “Hard, Hard Copy.”

“You say that like it’s supposed to mean something,” Bone smirked.

“Yeah, it does.”

“Ghoul, over here,” Clean stood with Warm by the screens, watching the bloodshed unfold. “We’ve got a plan.”

“How much of a plan?” Bone asked, joining us.

“More than we did earlier,” Warm answered, tapping at a screen. “This room here looks like the security room, and it’s currently empty.”

“And how is that going to help?” Bone sneered. “Hoping a friendly pony will be there to take us home?”

“A shut off,” I cut across Warm, who simply nodded. “It’s where I would put it.”

“Failin’ that, weapons, gear, somethin’ to help. Think we know where it is on the map, ain’t too far from here,” Clean wheeled over to the other side, pointing at the room in question. “Follow this corridor, two lefts, and it’s one of these doors.”

“In a place filled with murderous robots, experiments gone wrong, and who knows what,” Bone added, quietly but not quiet enough.

“If you have any smarter ideas, I’m all for hearin’ them,” Clean growled. “I ain’t too keen on spendin’ the rest of my time inside this here room.”

Bone glared at Clean and moved to meet the challenge. “Ok, squeaky, how the hell will we make it there? Two pistols between four ponies, and I’m counting fuck all else.”

“Improvise,” Warm cut between the two, deflecting the rising anger between them. “We won’t have to worry about an experiment gone wrong, not with those things around.”

He pointed to a floating sphere, metal appendages hanging next to the small jet that kept it suspended. Three stalks held three eyes that examined the corridor it patrolled, while the limbs kept a buzzsaw and a small pistol off the ground. Another had a lit pilot light, cutting through the darkness and revealing the corpse of a fellow slave. I hoped he was set alight after he was shot.

“No, no, that’ll just kill us instead,” Bone tapped the screens. “So will that one, that one, that one… is that a brain?”

“Didn’t say it wouldn’t be dangerous,” Clean spoke, his drawl serious. “Just our best chance. Not like we were gonna get through this without a scrape.”

“We’re off to a bad start though, Clean,” I kept my opinion quiet, letting the others ignore me.

“Holy shit,” Bone snapped us to attention as she stared at a screen. “The fuck are those things?”

I joined Clean and Warm in studying the creatures that lurked outside our door. Something had chased them our way, another wriggling out of the air vent just out of camera shot. They had the shape of dogs, the paws out of proportion compared to the gangly limbs and a short tail that flickered side to side. A reptilian tongue slid out, tasting the air and moving back into the salivating mouth.

“Somethin’ else to get through,” Clean said firmly. “Grab what you can, maybe a chair or two.”

Bone readied her satchel, grabbing another two hooffuls of various drugs and examining an old IV stand. Clean checked his pistols and nodding in short satisfaction, readying one and tucking the other away for safe keeping. It was strange seeing him without the stocks of his shotguns sticking over his head.

I shuffled the satchel over and stretched out, knowing that the only weapons I had left were my hooves. Warm remained unarmed as well, only wearing his collar and wraps for his hooves, and had begun similar stretches. I caught his eye, and saw a similar expression of confusion, when Bone whistled for our attention.

“You two ready?” she hollered, a painted-white chair by her side in preparation. As if they heard her, the door began to bang slightly, hissing coming from outside.

“I miss those shotguns,” Clean grumbled, his horn flicking the door open.

One of the creatures jumped, squealing as Bone’s chair sent it flying down the corridor with a wet thwack. Another took another chair to the back, hissing as Clean beat it over and over until it mewled in agony, looking up with a ruined back. The unicorn gave a disgusted look as he crushed its skull.

The third hung back, growling and rattling its tail at us. With yellowed eyes and slit irises, it opened its mouth revealing fangs glistening in what I hoped was spittle. I readied for a fight when Warm slid across the room and kicked it into the air. Like he was juggling a ball with his hooves, he skilfully batted the creature around before bucking it into a near wall. It barely had time to squeak as it slammed against the metal, gurgling as its pulped innards came to a standstill.

Warm nodded once and led the way out, giving a shout as he stamped another squealing creature to death. We rushed out the room, returning to the metal tomb of a corridor. Clean hobbled after Warm, his horn illuminating the murk, with Bone close behind. I held the rear guard, feeling naked without any armour or weapons.

True to Clean’s word, it was a short journey. We raced as fast as we could down the corridor, stopping at the junctions so we weren’t blindsided by some other creature or robot. So far, we had remained lucky, but knowing us that luck was about to run out very shortly. The second left came and a locked door loomed twenty meters ahead, two more flanking each side. Friendly yellow writing informed us it was the security room, as did a hovering robot wearing a police pony’s helmet.

Looking like a metallic, flying octopus, it hung in the air with an eerie roar from a small jet forcing it afloat. Three tentacle like appendages hung slack, each ending in a gruesome weapon, coming to life as bulbous eyes swivelled to catch up to whatever the sensors had detected. Namely, four horribly under-equipped ponies who were in various states of injury.

There went the luck.

“Ah! Foul zebra sympathisers, come to steal more treasures from Equestria have you? Have at thee!” the Mister Handy cried, its Trottingham accent throwing me off for a moment.

“Wait!” I cried, pushing my way to the front. To my surprise, it did pause.

“Last words?” I could hear the imaginary eyebrow being raised.

“Hard Copy, Agent of the Ministry of Morale, Team Frosting. These ponies are with me and we need your help,” I panted, hoping that at least one of those words would trigger something inside the robot’s programming. “Agent Battenberg sent us!”

It studied me carefully, the stalk-held eyes shifting up and down. “No, sorry, doesn’t ring a bell. Avast!”

“Figures.”

I bounced back from the whirring saw, getting a worrying sense of déjà vu as it narrowly missed my neck, almost nicking the collar. Clean fired a shot and cursed as sparks flew off the armour plating, barely denting the metal. He fired another shot to cover Bone’s charge, the IV stand only serving to push the machine back a few steps and making it chuckle. I charged back into the fray and gave my best flying kick yet. The robot bounced off a nearby wall, which the saw chewed into before snagging.

“Your attempts to kill me only prove your guilt!” it cried, struggling to free itself. “Now hold still while I get free.”

It surprised me how fast Warm moved, barely feeling him leap past me until the air caught up. It surprised me when he managed to kick the robot hard enough to tear the trapped limb off. But, what surprised me most, was when it cried out in pain.

“Arg! ‘tis but a flesh wound!” it readied the flamethrower arm, only for Clean to land a perfect shot. The backwash singed what remained of my hair, and the metal turned black with soot. The robot gave another scream, lances of red firing wildly as it tried to find us.

Warm bounced off the floor, and my jaw dropped. Like one of the valiant heroines from those trashy martial art movies, he sailed through the air unharmed but roughed up. He spun his body in a tight arc, bringing a rear hoof down in a solid stomp on the robot’s eye-stalk and folded the metal in on itself. They both crashed to the floor, Warm delivering another two quick jabs and wrenching the dented metal plate off to expose the whirring innards.

“You bastard!” the robot’s anger came through despite the synthesised tone, only to stop as the IV stand was rammed inside it. Bone cheered as the battered machine crashed to the floor, sadly beeping as it shut down.

“Gotcha!” she grinned, retrieving her makeshift spear. “Everyone else still in one piece?”

There were several grunts of acknowledgement from Clean and Warm, though I remained locked in silence trying to wrap my head around what I just saw. The hiss-snap of the security door woke me up, but I was still in awe of the sheer strength I had just seen. The others had already been inside for a few minutes, leaving me with the metal corpse.

“What just happened?”

“Pick your jaw up and move it, zombie,” Clean replied from inside.

The security room was nothing special. Bone had already squeezed herself into armoured barding and was examining the few melee weapons that lay around. Warm had moved the bones of an unknown number of ponies to a corner, a trail of dust showing the seats they once sat at. Behind a bank of terminals, Clean was staring and frowning, his magic wrapped in a trashed microphone. He looked at me and sighed.

“Ghoul, I’m about to say somethin’ stupid, but you’re the best shot.”

“Does it involve this terminal?” I gestured, feeling a slight unease.

“Yes.”

“Is this terminal connected to anything?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure you want me to do this?”

Clean’s yes was covered by Bone’s no, the stallion frowning at her. “I don’t know a damn thing about ‘em, ain’t my area of expertise. Reckon it’s the same for the others, so ain’t askin’ them on it.”

I sighed and nodded, self-esteem at an all time low. “Sure, what do you want me to do?”

“I’m thinkin’ we can get this here microphone fixed up and start searchin’ for Dom and Two,” he trotted past me, wheels straining from the fight. “See what you can find on that terminal. Try not to drop another load of bots on us.”

I bit back a snarky remark, and took a seat behind the screen, tapping through the options available. Apparently, karma was being rebalanced, as the unlocked terminal had several security options relating to turrets and robots. I tried not to think about the yellowed humerus that lay beneath the chair and preferred the invention of some lesser god that had unlocked the terminal for me.

“Clean, think I can do something about the bots from here,” I called to him. Three different variations of “don’t touch it” came back.

I gave one an experimental tap just to see what could be done from here, disheartened as a request for a password winked up. I backed out of the option and started to search through the ancient logs for something useful instead. Most were old logs about the various comings and goings of the security, but a few delved in the opinions on the scientists working there. It didn’t take long for me to get side tracked.

Action Report – Incident #1142 – Sergeant Morning Star

Eggheads have screwed up, again. This new creation they’re brewing, only known to us as “IMP” has caused far too many issues. For something that’s supposed to turn the tide of the war, it’s doing far too much damage to us. One drop too many, and it turned that poor filly’s rabbit into a rabid monster that’s just hospitalised two of my ponies and killed another. It was supposed to turn it green. Now I have to write a letter of consolation to Jumping Jack’s parents and wife, fantastic.

I’ve voiced my complaints to the head honcho, Gestalt or Mosaic (whatever she decides her name is on a given day) and was told that we have to suck it up. “It’s a direct order from the Ministry Mare herself, until the new offices in Maripony are finished.” The hell does that mean? When will they be finished? Why does the research need to be moved there?! If it’s that dangerous, it should be nowhere near civilisation! In the meantime, I’ve refused to allow continued practical experimentation here. One of the few rights I have, and by Celestia I will not have more ponies die for this.

On that note, had another complaint that yet another chimera has gotten loose from containment. Bit stupid breeding them to have the power to melt through metal, train them from birth to chew through the armour of a tank, and then store them in a cage. What did you expect to happen?

“You alright?”

I glanced up to see Warm looking over me. I nodded and returned to tapping idly on the terminal, hoping to get somewhere. I tapped out and moved towards the communications tab. He knocked the screen twice, bringing my attention back to him.

“Where did you learn that?” he frowned at me.

“Learn what?”

“That kick. It looked like you were copying a comic or something: the run up, the jump, the screaming.”

If I could blush, I would have turned a brighter red than my old mane. “Uh, I read it in a book. A real book, that is.”

“Yeah, no wonder, it was awful,” he smiled. “A good attempt though.”

I scoffed to hide the embarrassment. “How would you know?”

“Because I learned that one years ago,” Warm gave me a knowing look. “From a real master, not a picture.”

“A real master? You don’t mean…?” I hesitated, head marching through the implications.

Warm nodded, opening up a new line of questioning. Of course, there were zebras in Equestria: it was Morale’s job to monitor and protect them after they fled their homeland. The knowledge they brought was vital for the war effort and helped further our cause in the pursuit of peace – so we told them.

“But how?” was all I could muster. “Who? Why?”

“No idea how, just know they did. Small tribe hidden away in the world. Helped an injured foal, her parents were keen to thank me. I was in chains with them for a few years, building up skills and picking up what I could,” he smirked. “And yes, you can call me sensei.”

“Is that the right term?” I frowned, trying to remember the word. “It doesn’t sound right.”

“You’re not calling me teacher. Or sir,” Warm motioned for me to follow, having copped on that my tapping was doing nothing useful. “You’ve got the moves down, but you’re lacking the basics. Get those stamped in, you’ll be kicking through robots in no time.”

“Not sure if you’ve noticed, but you’re twice the bulk of me,” I gestured my rotting remains. “You’re going to hit far harder than me.”

“That’s because I had to compensate,” Warm replied. “I’m not quick enough for the real moves, so I put everything into each hit. I think you’ll do fine though, you’re light on your hooves.”

“Ok,” my voice didn’t hide the scepticism, but I followed Warm to the door.

“Trust me, you’ll do fine. We won’t have long, but this will put you on the right track.”

I shook my head, trying to wrap it around the whole situation. “Right. So what happens now, you teach me some cleaning techniques and I’ll become a master?”

Warm blinked at me, looking rather confused. “No, we do it the way I learned how. Clean.”

The unicorn grunted an acknowledgement, trying to dig into the sealed lockers. The microphone looked almost serviceable already.

“Me and Hard are going out, we’ll check the other rooms and see if we can find something useful. Will you and Miss Go Fuck Yourself be alright?”

Another grunt.

Warm shrugged and led me out of the room, moving over to one of the rooms we had passed on the rush to get there. He grabbed a few intact metal plates from the robot as we passed, balancing them on his back with perfect precision. All he was missing was a team’s worth of coffee orders and he’d be the perfect ministry agent.

I shook the thought away and entered the room with him, the door sealing shut behind us. “So, what do I need to do?”

“First step is to teach you some of the basics and we’ll go from there. Your hoofwork is a mess and you’re combing too many styles, think it’ll be easier if we streamlined what you know and work on that first,” Warm explained, my eyes glazing over.

“Sorry, combining styles? Messy hoofwork? I don’t get it, I was just following the pictures and instructions.”

Warm blinked and whistled. “That book you read must have left a whooole lot out.”

Iron Hoof wasn’t known for its accuracy, I thought, trying not to vocalise the complaint. “What first then?”

“First part is easy, I teach you the basics through hooves-on teaching.”

“And what’s your coaching technique?” I asked, feeling a little nervous at the mischievous twinkle in Warm’s eye.

Warm dipped low in a stance I had only ever seen illustrated, his namesake expression turning a little cruel. “I beat the shit out of you until you get good.”

Unlike the movies, there is no fast forward through the power up montage. What occurs over weeks and years of hard consistent training is condensed into minutes of awesome with a kickass soundtrack, inter-cut with shots of the wised master nodding as progress is made. Maybe there’s a slow lull in the song where the hero falters, but then he gets back up and keeps going stronger than ever until he pulls through at the end.

Real life has no such luxury. It does, however, come with a great deal more pain and bruises. For the next two hours, Warm drilled correct hoof-placement, balancing skills and basic combat techniques that no book could have ever conveyed via the gentle art of kicking my teeth in. Time wasn’t on our side, so it was a quick and dirty job to get me battle ready enough for the dumber things we’d be fighting inside the lab. No sense in practicing a flawless hoof-lock to leg break when you’re kicking metal monsters.

It didn’t occur to me just how ridiculous this whole thing was. Here we were, death lurking around every corner, duking it out because he saw me attempt something from a comic book. It couldn’t come at a worse time, yet there was no better time to get it done. The opportunity to be tutored by a master of the art on top of it being an applicable skill in the immediate future.

Canterlot University eat your heart out. I’ll take the School of Extremely Hard Knocks any day.

During the breaks in the training, and what sparring we could handle, Warm explained more about the history of zebra of martial arts. Or, to be more accurate, what he could remember. Everypony from the war had heard of the most feared style, Fallen Caesar, and how one or two zebras could cut swathes into our troops. This had been scrutinised and examined a billion times over the war, to the point where the Equestrian Army had developed a counter to it based on one particular example: Doombunny.

What surprised me was Warm’s assertion that this was just one of the most effective styles for one on one combat. While Fallen Caesar saw the most use because it was ideal for a final struggle to the death, it was made to work as part of a sequence of other styles that blended together. Initially, I couldn’t wrap my head around the idea: surely we’d have seen somepony use another style?

Warm countered with if I could tell if there was particular twist to their hoof or not when somepony kicks me in the face.

“Zebras came from a world of unending combat, every day was a fight for survival,” he explained during our scavenging downtime between fights. “You fought alongside the herd or they all died.”

“So that’s where the different styles came from?” I asked, pocketing a lucky few bullets.

“If you want to ignore all the sacrifice and meaning behind them, sure,” Warm scoffed. “Every style has its own history, its own story. Fallen Caesar, for example, supposedly came from a zebra warlord who once rose up against the tyrant that ruled their land. The new Caesar then taught it to his closest guards and allies so they may kill him in honourable combat should he become a tyrant as well. They then taught the new Caesar and on it went.”

The memories of how the zebras feared Princess Luna came to mind, perhaps they were trying to save us from a tyrant of the night in their minds. “Huh, makes sense. What about the other styles then? What are they for?”

“Depends where you stand in the herd. Are you the defender of the children, sworn to give your life before anything would happen to them? Then you take on Testudo, one that is mostly counters. Are you the scout, seeking out the dangers in the land and only using your attacks to help you get away? Then you learn Venator,” Warm continued on, pausing only to examine a new find or to bash a lock into submission.

Eventually, I asked the burning question. “Then which do I learn?”

“What is your role in the herd?” he replied, focused on a chest of drawers. “What do you bring to the table?”

I started but found the words were caught in my throat. Maybe I was overthinking the question, but I couldn’t help it. What did I do for Clean, Domino and Two? What did I bring? How do I make myself useful for them?

I felt something tug at my heartstrings as I reached for my business cards, still back in Hope. A reminder of who I once was, and now something I couldn’t keep hiding behind.

“I don’t know how to answer that,” I said, heart heavy. “Not yet at least.”

“Well, choose soon. Don’t know how much longer we’ll be alive for,” he turned from his work and gave my shoulder a firm pat. “And we have work to do.”

Something above us screeched, making both of us flinch and stare up at a trail of dust falling from the ceiling. A speaker popped and crackled, shaking more dust free.

Clean’s voice, somewhat exasperated, crackled through, “Finally, ghoul get back here. There’s a problem.”

We joined Clean and Bone, the former now also wearing armoured barding, as they argued over the haul they had managed to obtain. Beside several open lockers, as well as one which now had a screwdriver lodged into the lock, lay a few serviceable weapons. Bone stood defiant over some and barked at Clean.

“’Course it fucking matters! I’m not leaving empty hooved here! Got a damn business to run.”

“We ain’t leavin’ at all, you bein’ like this,” Clean fired back, eyes looking haggard. “Finally! Ghoul mind explainin’ to your new friend here why she can’t claim these weapons while we’re still usin’ ‘em? Figure you’d be better with the sense talkin’.”

“The mediator perhaps?” Warm muttered quietly with a raised eyebrow.

“I wish, makes it sound like I get somewhere,” I whispered back before joining the conversation. “Bone, how are we going to get this all out of here?”

“We all gotta use it, but I want mine and Rag’s fair share before we start giving out the goods, and I want a promise we will get that too!” she snorted, pawing the metal floor and dragging a few shells away.

“I’m sure we can work something out, we do need to put survival first,” I held up my hooves defensively as the glare turned my way. “Please don’t stab me.”

“Wasn’t gonna.”

“Well, glaring daggers and all,” I flashed a grin. “Point is, there are other things to go looking for. We need medical supplies, more weapons, and survivors.”

“Wait, what?” Clean and Bone chorused.

Clean recovered faster. “Ghoul, I’m all for finding Two and Dom, that’s a given, but we ain’t doin’ this shit again. We can’t save everyone, there just ain’t enough of us.”

“I agree, breaking us out will be piss easy, but everypony else at the same time? And they get their hooves on our hard-earned loot? No,” Bone snorted.

“That’s not up to you,” Warm rumbled, suddenly feeling much bigger than he did a moment ago. “I will not abandon anyone in this state. We band together, like we always have. We are a herd.”

It felt like we were stood in a dragon’s lair, the beast having just woken from a long sleep by three squabbling ponies. With a metaphorical talon around each of our necks, Warm moved between us all. His presence filled the room to stifling levels, Clean’s ears twitching as he fought the urge to fight while Bone looked nearly terrified by the visage. She eventually caved and nodded once, Clean managing a grunt before breaking eye contact. In a gasp of air, the tension fled and the room became still once more.

“Now then,” Warm said, his voice calm with peace instead of rage. “Medical supplies. Bone and Hard, you two scout out and find what you can. Me and Clean will use what we can here, see if we can do some good.”

“Sure,” I squeaked.

“Take the map, ghoul. Found a few spares, marked here and the first room on them,” Clean floated a small foldable sheet of paper, pointing at the various spots to hide the shakes. “You find anythin’, make sure it’s friendly and at least equine before you bring it back.”

“Sure you don’t want a pet abomination?” I tucked the paper into the satchel and dodged the scowl. Bone moved alongside, her IV stand now with a serrated knife taped to one end, matching the other knives across her body.

“Ok, let’s go. Give us three hours, we ain’t back we’re dead,” she trotted out of the room, whistling a tune I didn’t recognise. I shrugged at the others and gave chase.

“Ghoul, we’ve been here,” Bone grumbled at the crossing of corridors, looking at the squished remains of several oversized roaches.

“Maybe it’s the left turn at A laboratory…”

Navigating was never my forte. I was never a pathfinder during my time in Morale, I left that to either Gadget and her spritebots or the pony whispering in my ear to let me know where to go. Not to say I was totally useless with a map, with time on my side I could eventually get to where I was intending to. Intentionally or not, I would arrive.

Bone’s grumble grew into a growl. “We tried that, that’s why we’re here again. Face it, we’re lost.”

“Not lost, temporarily displaced, just a case of finding a new direction and taking it,” I stuck out my tongue, only for the paper to be snatched from my hooves and into Bone’s line of sight.

“Then we’ll take the next right and search every damn room until we find something,” she grunted, stuffing the unfolded paper into a bag. “Luna fuck me twice, you’ll be the death of me.”

I frowned at the swear but followed dutifully on. Beyond the bugs, we had met nothing else in the corridors. Bone suggested it was because of the area we were in: fewer experiments to contain so both robot and monster would be far from us. I hoped that she was right, I had no desire to find anything more dangerous than a bug right now.

We had spent most of the walk-in silence, occasionally hearing Warm through hidden speakers asking for survivors to find a map and come to us. With any luck, somepony would actually hear it and find the security room. If luck was really on our side, it would only be ponies that came to us.

“You mentioned something earlier, goddesses?” I tested the air, seeing if I could defrost or ease the tension. “Who are they?”

“Have you been living under a rock for the past century?”

“Technically under a building, but yes,” I quietly replied.

Bone didn’t give any sign that she heard and carried on. “Celestia and Luna, the goddess sisters. They carry the sun and moon above the clouds.”

“You mean the Princesses?” my brow furrowed. “When did they become goddesses?”

“Sweet fuck ghoul, I don’t know. Go find a historian and get them to explain it all!” Bone snapped, storming on ahead. “Maybe there will be some helpful book somewhere that’ll give you all the damn answers.”

“That seems a little too convenient,” I countered, trying to keep up. “I’m just trying for conversation.”

“And what good will that do?”

“I dunno, find out how to work better as a team?” I suggested, only to have a hoof jammed into my chest.

“There is no team, here. Partnership, sure, but once we’re out of here that’s us done,” Bone snorted, poking my chest as she spoke.

“And here I was, hoping you would have warmed up to me by now,” I sighed. “If there’s one thing I know from the war, making friends keeps you alive, so make as many as you can.”

“We won’t be friends, not with the company you keep and the things you look for. We’ve only needed each other, and we’re gonna keep it that way,” her eyes narrowed. “And you can bet your rotten ass that I’ll kill you if we bump into each other in Hope.”

“What are you so desperate to find there?” I dropped my tone to match hers, seeing a spark of surprise. “What’s got you so on edge?”

I moved to block her attempt to push past, meeting her eyes again. Crystal blue dodged my dim green, searching for an escape from the gaze and the situation, until Bone broke. Her body language shifted from aggression to passive acceptance, but she kept the annoyed expression.

“Trapped down here with who knows what, Rag is out there in trouble without any back up, and I bumped into the one damn pony I hate more than any other fucker in this world. Is that reason enough, Hard Copy?”

A distant scream echoed around us before I could reply. We both swivelled our heads to where it came from, distorted from the metal acoustics of the halls. I sighed and started to move towards it, feeling comfort as Bone moved to keep up beside me. She still bubbled with anger, now focused like a keen blade instead of boiling away. Our pace built up as we saw signs of a fight, blood splatters here and there with spent casings lying around. A sign flashed by telling us we were near the medical supply room.

The casings were cold, but the scent of blood was still fresh in the air, “Think this is a hunting spot.”

“There have been several fights here,” Bone added sharply. “Old and new blood mixed together, shitton of scratch marks… but there shouldn’t be anything like experiment labs near here.”

Bone frowned to herself and took the map out, studying it carefully in the dim red light. The endless metal hallway opened into a near identical one, only this ended with another doorway. I approached it with careful movements, body tense for the inevitable jump scare that fate had been holding on to for the last hour.

Nothing seemed off about the doorway other than the lack of door. I couldn’t see anything that suggested a trap, but I still entered with my head low and ear perked up and ready. The light behind suddenly winked out as my rear hooves crossed the threshold, leaving me in the dim red glow of emergency lighting. The corridor was barren, save for the outline of the frame and a matching frame at the other end.

“Hello?” I called out, my voice suddenly gaining an echo. “Bone?!”

I walked along the corridor, examining the walls for a clue to where I was and why the rest of the compound had just ceased to exist. At the other end stood an opened door way, the light flickering until I almost crossed the next frame. I noticed two things: first, the light wasn’t originally red, and second, there was writing on the wall.

TurN bACk HArD COPY.

The words were written in blood, the remains of a corpse sitting in the other corridor. The pulped mess was barely recognisable as a once living creature, rather a mound of meat with a few shards of bone poking through. It still wore a bomb collar.

I rapidly moved back to the entrance as, in the distance, something screamed. I tried to walk through the frame, only to find it blocked by something invisible. I pushed against it, trying to fight back the rising panic.

“Bone! Seven circles, help me!” my voice began to rise as the screaming grew closer. I took a few steps back and attempted to run through the blank space. I was thrown along the corridor as a reward for my efforts, which only added to panic.

“Oh no, no, no no no no,” I starting to slam on the frame, the walls anything.

The scream echoed around me, bouncing off the metal walls and reverberating inside my own head. I glanced over my shoulder and renewed efforts as I caught a glimpse of something approaching very fast. My own screams joined the noise as I could hear the sound of a hard gallop, hooves striking polished steel and leaping over the welded seams. There was no time to try one more time, so I turned to face my foe.

The creature was a rotted, skinless pony. Its one good eye span wildly as it continued the hoarse scream, hooves bloodied with the endless charge, half ear twitching as it came for me.
It was then I realised who I was looking at.

“You idiot!” I screamed at me and slammed me back through the door with an insane amount of force.

I managed a small woof as the air was driven out of me, followed by a cry as my head hit a wall. Stars swam around me as hooves pulled me away, my eyes blinking away the red when I saw the horror’s torso poking out of the door. The other me looked with his one good eye with a scowl, glaring daggers.

“Asshole! A hundred years of planning and practice, another fifty of running and killing to break the paradox, and you get in the way at the end?! FU-” and then he winked out of existence. A door rolled down the frame and slammed shut, a red light flicking on to “Locked”.

“The fuck was that?” Bone mumbled, more to herself than an actual question.

I could only shake my head and push for us getting as far away from that door as possible. I tried not to think about my words, nor the sign that helpfully identified the area as a Time Loop Testing Room. I barely understood magic, let alone how to manipulate it without a horn.

We returned to the corridor, the tension building back up once again as we replayed what we had seen over and over in our heads. Thankfully, all it took was a single left turn and we reached our goal. It seemed fate was having far too much fun with our lives, but it was willing to throw us a bone from time to time.

Still cautious, we opened the door and waited for the monster to burst out from hiding. Bone took the opportunity to throw her makeshift spear into the room, satisfied that nothing was coming at us after it stopped wobbling from the cupboard. We slinked in, taking the room in.

In the immediate vicinity, two rows of metal tables and stools sat with a list coat of dust – now disturbed from the change in pressure. Cold air washed over us, drying out my tongue as I breathed, blinking twice as much to restore a film of moisture. A mixture of wooden and glass doors sat in rows, labelled with the varieties of medical goodies that lurked within, while a half open door leading to a break room stood opposite a sealed glass and metal door. Bone moving to examine the treasure trove of chemicals while I nosed at the locked door.

Thick glass embedded in thicker steel let me look into the room, holding only rows and rows of vials. My eyes wandered to the attached terminal, waiting for a password to open the hoard of medical mysteries. I felt a temptation to just try and forced it down, even on my best day I wouldn’t have a ghost of a chance unlocking a terminal in a place like this.

“The fuck are these?” Bone’s question pulled my attention away as she lay two harnesses out on the table. “Found them on two mannequins in that room there, any clue?”

I looked them over, trying to discern a use. “No, nothing. They look like needles though.”

On some of the padded areas, there were rows of tiny needle like points, hollow tubes linking to them in preparation for something to flow through them. I traced the tubes, coming to where saddlebags should sit on the flank. Two canvas bags held metal containers, but I couldn’t pry them open despite our combined strength. Bone scratched her head.

“Dunno if they’re worth taking or not, they look painful,” her eyes scanned over once again before suddenly lighting up. “Wait!”

“What?” I frowned, watching her beam. I followed a pointing hoof and came to a word I couldn’t pronounce.

“They’re for drugs on the go! Look here: Isosteroprophenhol, that’s for storing buck. And here, this looks like it should take the tablets and turn it into an intravenous liquid to inject it into the body! Holy fuck ghoul, this is a great find!” Bone’s smile turned to a grin as she gave a very filly-like squee of joy. “Who knows how much this is worth!”

“Wouldn’t you need something to use this?” I frowned at the harness, hissing as a needle caught on my side. “It’s not like it can predict when you need certain drugs by itself.”

“Cross that bridge when we come to it.”

“Yeah… how do you know that Isoscelespro-whatever is buck?”

“I read the labels, duh,” her smirk faded to annoyance at my confused face. “Yes, I can read. You find anything?”

“Storeroom, but it’s locked by a terminal,” I sighed, cutting it short as Bone held up a note with the word ‘password’ written on it. “You’d think security would complain about something like this.”

Bone shrugged, smiling. “We’re only ponies.”

We punched in the password, shivering as the door hissed open. Cold air rushed to greet us as did a plume of mist. Bone nudged me forwards, whistling nonchalantly as I fired a look over my shoulder. Bracing myself, I stepped into the cold and began to look over the various vials. All of them held chemical names I didn’t recognise in any shape or form, far beyond what anypony had ever taught me back in school chemistry.

All the colours of the rainbow stared back at me, each stoppered and labelled with precise care. I even spotted one that was literally all the colours of the rainbow in a single bottle, each one lying in perfect layers. What remained of my skin crawled at the sight, making me turn my head away. Across from it lay yellow painted canister, flecks of pink on it in vague shapes hidden by frost.

Experimental Medical Drug no.4777 “Hydra”

I carefully took the canister, the symbols of both Arcane Science and Peace adorned the side, along with warnings about it being untested on ponies. Given Bone’s familiarity with the drug, it seemed those steps in the safety program had been skipped long ago. I read along the edges, staring at the cocktail of chemicals and tiny notes about the storage.

Most of the words washed over me, meaningless gibberish in an arcane language far above what I could understand. I’m no fool, but science and magic weren’t something I ever took an interest in – beyond the logistics of how Ironheart’s armour could carry Saddle Rager in her True Anger form.

What did grab me were the words I did understand. True to its name, the canister contained something labelled as Hydra Extract. Hydras were one of the most feared creatures before the war, perhaps even more so than dragons or one of the star beasts. A dragon can be reasoned with. A star beast can be placated. Both of them would die once you pumped enough rounds into them.

A hydra could not communicate and had a high chance of coming back for rounds two to five after you’d blown it to kingdom come.

So knowing there were ponies who once worked here capable of not only defeating but harvesting a hydra’s body parts for medical experimentation did make me feel a little nervous, I must admit.

“How about that,” Bone said through chattering teeth. “A deal is a deal, ghoul. We get this back to the others and I’ll fix him up all shiny and new.”

I could see a mischievous smile behind her eyes as she took in the entire stock, only catching the slight twitch of an ear. Inside the lab, another hidden speaker squealed to life suddenly. Clean sounded angry as something was being stripped down in the background.

“-fine, ghoul can look after himself enough, and wouldn’t tussle with that mare on a good day. Besides, it’s just a medical lab, what’s the worst… shit,” the speaker popped as he flicked it back off.

We looked at each other and gave a nervous laugh, easing it through to a real one. I pushed past Bone and entered the lab, moving straight through to the rest room. I could hear clinks from the freezer and settled for praying that they were just being stored instead of consumed.

The two mannequins, now naked, sat in the corner next to a coat rack filled with lab coats. One made its way into the satchel, at the very least it could be torn up for bandages if not worn. I sat down at the terminal and began tapping away. Like many terminals, ponies had used it as a personal diary as opposed to the intended purpose – recording your work on something other than parchment.

That said, when you can enchant parchment to last indefinitely, was there a need for magical information storage?

The majority of entries were based on small experiments going awry or casual bitching about the relationships between colleagues, including a few fraternisation offences. Not that I was innocent of such conduct. One did catch my eye however – it was dated after the last day.

To whoever is still alive in here, for the love of Celestia help me!

I don’t know who let that madmare in, or why she’s activated the purge, but I’m still in here! I’ve had to hide myself in here because of one of those giant robots Morning Star insisted we get – for our safety indeed! The fucking thing nearly decapitated me when I came out of the bathroom, it’s only dumb luck I managed to get inside the labs. If anyone is near them, PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE SAVE ME.

Borealis

Mail written in surprisingly polite desperation, and accidentally on a terminal that can’t send any messages. Perhaps they escaped, though it was likely they didn’t. This purge that Battenberg had instigated was thorough enough to kill off all the other staff and Borealis didn’t come across as the surviving type.

With little else to read, I returned to the room and dove into the cupboards while Bone continued to clink and giggle inside the freezer.

“Find anything useful?” I asked, reaching as far back as I could.

“Ooooooh yeah, this is the jackpot. Also found a few missing things too,” she replied, another rattle of bottles chorusing. “Like there should be something here, but it’s not. Maybe somepony got here before us?”

“And skip all of this? Doubt it,” I grabbed whatever drugs I recognised, surprised that Bone had ignored so many on her first pass.

The silence returned for another ten minutes until I stood up from another delve. I froze as I saw the shape of a massive metal creature in the reflection of a cabinet window, lingering in the doorway. Though it was too large to fit through it, I could hear the beeps of circuitry as it tried to figure out a way to enter the room.

The machine was a terrifying combination of a metallic pony’s limbs with a body attached to the top. I had heard stories of Sentinels on the battlefield, and ever a few Ministries using them as security – just the shape alone was enough to wish there were several more miles between me and it. A flat head, sat on top of a thick bolted torso, swivelled towards me and red-ruby eyes lit up as it recognised a new target. A pneumatic piston swung into the door, easily crumpling one side of the frame as it began to carve a path towards us.

“Hard, what’s going on out there?” Bone’s voiced called from the freezer. The frame shook again.

“Might have a slight problem out here,” I replied, trying to force the panic from my voice and taking a position behind the closest thing to a weapon I could see. “Please tell me you found something with more punch than a spear.”

Bone poked her out as I tried to ram the machine with a metal table, my attempts to dislodge it screeching to a halt as I heard the tell-tale sound of a minigun warming up. The floor left my hooves as Bone tackled me out of the line of fire. Uncountable bullets slammed into the floor, chewing up the table and cupboards with ease as the mounted weapon corrected its aim.

We skidded beneath another table, kicking the legs down to put a barrier between us and it. Bone looked at me with a scowl as I put myself between her and the table, then began to dig through her bag. With a cry of triumph, she pulled out a strange grenade and threw it over the table cover.

Bullets had started to chew through the metal top when the device went off, the krump of an explosion replaced with an audible buzz of electricity. Blue sparks struck off the floor and surroundings, sending a tingle up my hooves as they arced up the sides of my legs. The robot gave a sad beep. Cautiously poking our heads over, we vaulted the table as we saw the robot had slumped against the frame, servos whirring as it tried to work out what just happened to it.

Bone started to shove the machine to one side with a grunt of effort. “If this is a slight problem, I can’t wait to see what you call a catastrophe, ghoul.”

“How many more do you have?” I asked as we pushed past, hearing the Trottingham cries of other robots echo from the corridors around.

“Not enough,” Bone replied, racing ahead without regard for the map. “One hundred for each one I use, by the way.”

“Do I look like I have any money?” I cried as the robotic cries turned to zaps of red energy being fired over our shoulders. A scream was bitten back as one grazed my shoulder, carbonising some of the flesh.

Bone skidded as she threw another grenade down the corridor, turning back as another burst of static took out more robots. I could faintly hear doubts of our bravery but ignored them in favour of living, dropping to the floor and sliding across the metal as Robopony whirled around a corner, metal tendrils flailing as it tried to grab at us.

“Sweet Luna, it fucking is a brain!” Bone half screamed as she rammed her spear at the glass housing, the shriek of serrated metal on toughened glass covering other expletives.

“Please stop dodging, I’m not very good at hitting a moving target,” the Robopony spoke with a worryingly child-like voice, firing a blast of magical energy at Bone as the tendril locked in place.

Red light glanced the armoured barding as another scratch appeared on the dome. I kicked uselessly against its legs, only making my own hooves sore as a reward, until the machine’s attention turned to me. The first tendril slammed into the floor, denting the metal enough to know that I did not want it anywhere near me, the second throwing Bone to the side with ease.

I rolled back to my hooves, dodging the first tendril’s second attempt to grab me. Another flash of red sailed past me, the groan of servos was drowned from the rumble of treads as the Sentinel began advancing towards us. The sight of a monstrous machine lumbering down a hallway froze me for a moment too long. Stars burst into my vision as I was flung from the Robopony, the child voice screaming.

“Not fair! I wasn’t done!” it shouted, firing a comparatively pathetic wash of red. The Sentinel grumbled a reply in machine, the minigun spinning up in response to the tantrum.

Bone pulled me away from the wall shouting something over the din before shoving us into a room, the hallway crumpling as it was hosed in gunfire. The door slammed shut as a chorus of “I say” came floating from another side. We sat panting in an abandoned canteen, Bone pressing a healing potion to my hooves.

“Where the fuck are they all coming from?” she spat, pulling herself to her hooves. “And why here? What’s here?”

“Perhaps I can help.”

We looked to each other, slowly turning our heads to the source of the robotic voice. In the middle of the room floated a single Spritebot, wings pattering over dusty tables. Feeling better from the various aches I had suffered, I stood up and looked at it warily.

“Bone, are you seeing this?”

“I can’t talk for long, but you need to get out of here. This room is pretty dangerous,” the bot continued as the torrent of bullets stopped outside. The Sentinel grumbled outside the door, which then bent in as the pneumatic arm began its work.

“Oh, right. My name is Watcher, and I think I know the-” the bot stopped still after Bone’s spear pinned it to the floor.

“Fucking robots!” she screamed, running towards the other doors.

We slammed against them, struggling with the heavy chains that had been wrapped around the handles. I looked through the port windows and could feel my irises shrink from fear. With a yell I yanked Bone away, the doors almost bursting open as something on the other side tried to force its way in. I saw a multicoloured tentacle push through the gaps in the door, the flesh rotting and scarred as it tried to grab what had disturbed its slumber.

Pinned to a scrap of clothing, a nametag that read Borealis.

Bone had run out of swears and simply look defeated, gripping her spear tightly. I moved behind, watching the canteen door’s dents grow deeper, the shutters buckling under each blow. Other than a few pans and a ladle, I had nothing to defend myself beyond a bag and my own hooves. The creature in the kitchen gave a hissing-gronk as Bone stabbed at the hunting limb, thick blood dribbling from the wound.

I honestly thought it was the end. A rather miserable way to go, but an end all the same. I thought about how little pain I felt on that fateful day and came to conclusion that being shot to pieces wouldn’t hurt as much as being eaten alive. I pawed the ground, focusing on my breathing and hoof placements instead of how I could see several Mister Handys waiting through the gaps in the door.

The speaker above crackled and popped. A mare’s voice roared through, tinny but angry, “You shut the fuck up now, unicorn. Oi, Bone, you get your sorry ass back here before I have to go find it!”

We both looked up, my face crumpled in confusion while Bone gave a triumphant cry. “Knew it! Ok ghoul, no dying today. Got a pegasus waiting for me!”

Everything happened at once. With a mighty crack, the lock holding the chains in place shot away and a mass of misshapen flesh spilled into the canteen. With a final bang, the metal door catapulted into the room, cartwheeling through several tables. The Sentinel’s minigun began to whir again and several Trottingham accents filled the room. In all the noise I could only feel a brief moment of stillness, a calm before the storm.

A bell jingled somewhere.

With a movement more fluid than anything I had ever done before, I grabbed Bone and threw us both over the counter we had hidden behind. The first bullet nicked my cheek, grazing past as we rolled over the wood. The others piled into the wall behind, tracking movement to the mutated creature. More cries of pain and a tentacle sought revenge, lashing out and driving a Mister Handy to the ground in a crash of metal.

“Right, that does it!” its compatriots announced, moving in with flamethrowers and saws. “We’ll have your legs off!”

Pushing Bone ahead of me, we dodged between the fight of machine and monster, scooting our way around the canteen until we could see salvation. All that stood in our way was the Sentinel once again. Bone pulled out another grenade, whispered something to it, and rolled it beneath the chassis.

What hairs remained stood on end as it depowered, beeping angrily. We sped past it and into the halls, never once looking back. The echoes of the fight were the only things that followed us.

Clean made a strange noise as he looked over the harnesses, studying them carefully. He slowly lifted each part up, putting it back down before rotating it and lifting it again. Another noise, followed by another examination.

“And these were just lyin’ there?”

“Third time, yes,” Bone replied, annoyed that her prize had been snatched immediately from her upon arrival. “Are we going to do something with them, or not?”

“Not until I’m done,” a voice called from behind the terminals, wings poking out either side of the screen. “Once this is rebooted, we’re good to go.”

I flicked the next page of my book over, a rescued copy of Guns and Bullets.In the two hours we were gone, six more survivors had managed to find their way to us. Bone’s companion, Rag, had arrived with another slave, called Wensleydale, along with a few interesting toys. Among them, a leg with a PipBuck still attached. The leg had been neatly placed in the corner, out of sight and mind while she worked on the device. I tried to ignore the blue jumpsuit that was still on it.

Warm had occupied himself with three foals that had somehow escaped unscathed. Turning Tide, who had guided them, was in resting in another room while her wounds healed. The four had come under attack by another tentacled monster that stalked the halls, escaping while it was occupied with the slaves they entered with. According to the Tide, it was less interested in eating her than something far worse.

I shuddered at the thought, and eyed up the salvaged weapons we had stockpiled. I had claimed a pistol should the worst happen, while Clean and the other firearm users had several shotguns in various states of repair. Nothing had come looking for us yet, which was either a blessing or a sign of worse things to come.

Our return was met with a mix of disbelief and joy. The foals were afraid of my appearance but that eventually turned to cautious avoidance rather than outright terror after Warm embraced me. I have no idea how he stomached the smell I must have given off after all the fun of the previous hours.

Rag, however, had her hooves around Bone before she even made it past the corridor. It was a wonderful sight, a side to Bone I hadn’t expected. I also began to wonder how much anger and fear she was actually repressing during the time we spent together, as she had a genuine smile on her face when they were finally reunited. The surprises continued after I offloaded the loot, when Rag approached me.

“Hard, right?”

“Copy actually, Hard Right was my neighbour.”

“Hilarious,” she replied, deadpan.

“You should’ve met his sister, Second Left,” I carefully placed the last potion on the worktop.

“You a comedian or something?” Rag caught herself, putting a hoof in front of my face. “Don’t answer. I just have something to say.”

“Something nice, I hope,” I turned to give her my full attention. “Getting a little bored of variations of ‘ghoul’ and ‘zombie’.”

“Yeah, know the feeling. Getting the name ‘feathers’ thrown at you a hundred times a day gets boring,” she sighed. “The thing is, thank you.”

The moment dragged on a little too long, so I tried to hurry it along with a hoof wave. “For?”

“Saving Bone. We only have each other, and she said you’ve saved her twice now. Even after earlier.”

I shrugged. “I’ve sided with several ponies who’ve threatened me before. Woke up to Clean pointing a shotgun to my face for example. We need to stick together, even if we end up shooting at each other a few days from now.”

“For what it’s worth, I owe you. Thanks again, Hard,” she smiled, something oddly familiar about the grin setting me on edge. I smiled it away.

“No worries, haven’t got much but we need to make the best of a bad situation,” I said.

“Yeah, ponies of a feather fly together, just like my old mare said. Just hope we actually fly and not flop.”

With a final noise, Clean dropped the harnesses and brought me back to my book. “Fine, if you can get them workin’ we’ll figure out a use. Ghoul, put down your book. Doin’ another check for Dom and Two, and you ain’t doin’ much.”

I did as I was told, following the squeaking wheels of Clean’s chair through the corridor. Wensleydale helped us through the barricade Warm and Clean had constructed out of what scrap metal they could make. We carefully picked our way across the route back towards the first room, staying as silent as the new corpses we came across. Most were more of the strange mutated dogs we came across earlier, but we found the occasional pony – both slave and slaver. The latter brought a bit of hope, which was quickly quelled when we realised that the slavers were searching for us as well now.

It had become an hourly ritual almost, Clean would take one of us and just stare at the screens for an age before we convinced him to come back. I could recognise a coping mechanism a mile away but was thankful he wasn’t trying to lie about his reasons, open and honest about who he wanted to save.

Yet still we sat watching the screens, looking for a familiar face or location. We’d occasionally see a fight between monsters and machines, even with a pony caught in the middle, but Clean would always refuse to leave. That said, there was nothing stopping me from leaving to rescue those in need, though deep down I was aware there was nothing a single ghoul could do in such a situation.

“Clean, I’m sure they’re alright,” I said again, staring at the screens. “They’re tough.”

“Ain’t believin’ it until I see ‘em,” he replied, eyes glazed over as he flicked from sight to sight. “You don’t know until you see a body.”

“The Ministry of Peace would have a field day with you,” I snorted.

“What’re you sayin’?” he turned, casting a wary eye on me.

“That you’re thinking too little of them, like you don’t trust them to survive. They’ve lasted this long, right?”

“Out there? Yeah, of course, but here? No, here’s worse,” his teeth ground against each other. “This fuckin’ place.”

“Seven Circles, Clean, what are you doing?” I gestured to the screens. “This brooding hero thing you’re trying just does not work, this isn’t you. You don’t sit in a wheelchair worrying, you do everything you can with what you have.”

“Don’t know shit, ghoul.”

“No, I don’t. I don’t know anything about you, and yet here I am in a death trap helping you chase after something I barely understand for reasons I don’t get,” I moved to block the screens.

“And that’s none of your damn business,” he growled, narrowing his eyes. “We ain’t doin’ this.”

“Yes we damn well are,” I shot back. “You have pushed Domino to the brink, Two Tone is killing himself over not helping you more, and I’m at my limits too. Now you’re sat here, guilting yourself up because you have no faith in either of them.”

“Fuck you!” Clean roared. “What are you expectin’? You have any idea about what’s on my fuckin’ plate? You know what happens if I lose them?”

“I lose them too!”

Dust trickled from the ceiling as the echo faded. Clean cleared his throat and opened his mouth a few times, his tongue searching for the words. I shook my head and looked away, panting the anger away. He cleared his throat a second time, but remained otherwise still.

“Stars above, I’m sick of this,” I finally said.

“Of what?”

“You being afraid. Ponies talk about you like some force of nature, unstoppable and immovable. Two Tone holds you like a beacon of hope and safety, Domino loves you like nothing else. Seven Circles, even Devil Luck was scared enough to pull an entire casino on us because of you. Snake Eyes sent his best killer to take you out!” I stomped. “I want to see that Clean Sweep, not this shifty and shady creature who hides from slavers and turns his head when somepony stands up to him.”

His eyes flashed anger as I talked, unbridled fury at the mention of Snake Eyes and the insults. It gave way to a slow dawning, Clean slowly taking the words in and understanding my stance. One more push.

“You’re supposed to be this wonder pony, yet all I see is an old bitter stallion. Where is the Clean who barbeques raiders for a shifty look? Why has he vanished?”

“I ain’t that pony anymore,” Clean replied, voice hard and cold. “I don’t want to be that pony ever again. You don’t even know what you’re askin’ for, ghoul.”

“Then tell me,” I stood against the stare. “We’re supposed to be friends, right?”

The scoff felt like a dagger to the heart. I fought back an urge to storm away and continued to stare. If I moved, the tears may have started.

“We ain’t friends, ghoul,” Clean replied. “Ain’t no fault of your own, just the way it is. Better that way. And there’s a good reason I ain’t keen on bein’ this… thing everyone else thinks I am.”

“I get that, but why aren’t you taking the fight to the right ponies?” I stepped up. “What’s stopping you?”

“All-out war,” he suddenly snarled, face pressed against me. “I have far too much blood on these hooves to allow my feelin’s take control. If Domino had it her way, Manehatten would be painted red years back. I ain’t bein’ responsible for somethin’ like that.”

I felt fear. Not the kind of tense fear of a threat to your life, where a quick dash might let you see another day, nor the slow fear of a horrific realisation. It was a base, animalistic fear, as if I was in a room with some giant predator with no hope of escape. Septic scared me, and I was frightened by the creatures and machines that roamed these halls, but, at that very moment, I was terrified of Clean Sweep.

Warm’s growl was similar, but it was far more focused and intimate. His anger was directed at us for a greater purpose, like how a firehose contains such immense pressure and applies it in one direction. Clean’s was more like a fire: chaotic and uncontrollable, waiting to gobble up the next weakening structure or victim.

His voice carried power that I could barely understand, one that suggested that he could indeed bring war and destruction to the battered city. His eyes burned a cold determination, as if he were holding himself in check for fear of letting this murderous creature loose upon the world. Two Tone’s words echoed in my head, and an image of Clean stood among the flames emerged from the depths.

“We all have shames,” I said after a long pause, finally collecting myself as Clean brought his look down to a simmer. “But we can’t let them define us.”

“Ghoul, I mean this in the politest way, fuck off. That never has, and never will define me. I am what I make of myself, that clear?”

“Crystal,” I hid the wince after I spoke the word, almost on reflex.

“Perfect, you’re gettin’ the hang of this now. I don’t know where you heard the name Snake Eyes, or what it means to me, but you’d best be forgettin’ it real fast,” he fixed me with a glare. “Understood?”

“I get the feeling this is more for my benefit than yours,” I said stiffly, agreeing with a nod.

“Think of it how you will, just lookin’ out for myself and those I care for.”

“And am I among them?”

“Can’t rightly say you are.”

“Then explain the slavers back in Fillydelphia.”

“I was against that, and you know it.”

“But you did it anyway!” I caught his eye, moving back so we were face to face. “You did it and you defended me when they moved against me, why?”

“Because you’re my damn responsibility!”

It took a few moments for me to find enough braincells to answer. “What?”

“I took you out of that damn pod, I brought you into this damn world, now I have to look after you,” Clean snorted and spat on the floor.

“Who do you think you are?” I couldn’t stop the anger in my voice. “Look after me? Why do I need looking after?”

“I don’t know!” he snapped back. “I don’t know and I don’t understand, but I look at you, ghoul, and I just feel like you’re the saddest excuse for a creature I ever laid eyes on. Don’t get me wrong, there are some days I just want to blow your rottin’ head clean off and spare me from those thoughts, but I just can’t do it.”

“Well what’s stopping you?”

“You damn well stayed, that’s what,” Clean’s expression shifted in the most minute of ways. “You waited for us when we went to Tenpony, or you came back, don’t matter which. You put your faith in a stranger, and you ain’t a stupid pony. You can be a fuckin’ idiot, but you ain’t stupid.”

“You expected me to leave? Why?”

“It’s what I would’ve done,” Clean sniffed, looking over the screens once again. “I would’ve ran and ran and ran, until my ghoulish legs fell right off. Ran from all this shit and hidden away. Wakin’ up in a hellhole with an asshole and his problems aimin’ a shotgun at you.”

I nodded slowly, trying to look behind what Clean was saying. “I wanted to.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“I think I wanted to stay, just long enough to show the wastes that things don’t have to be so bad. That there is laughter here, somewhere, you just need to dig it out first,” I smiled, catching the tiniest twitch from the corner of Clean’s mouth.

“Think I need to take some words back, you are a little stupid,” Clean suddenly snapped to attention, focusing on the third screen on the bottom. “Fuck me, that ain’t good.”

“What is it?”

“You see that slave there?” he pointed at the decapitated body of a pony, surrounded by several Mister Handys.

“Guess the robots got him.”

“No, not the robots,” Clean sucked in a breath. “His collar went off just before they got there.”

My reply was cut short by the squeal of the speaker above.

“Clean, Hard, get back here. We have a problem,” Warm’s voice belched into the room, the worry on his voice. In the background, I thought I could hear crying.

We picked up the pace through the metal halls, and I was unfortunately proved right as we approached our base of operations. Gore had splattered the front barricade, the twisted remains of a shotgun lay nearby. Wensleydale was nowhere to be seen.

We moved through the barricades and joined Warm as he looked into one of the side rooms. Inside, the corpse of Wensleydale had been placed on a cot. A wet, red mess was all that remained of his neck. The collar was nowhere to be seen.

“Did he try to take it off?” Clean asked, watching as Bone dragged a blanket over the body.

“No, it just went off,” she replied. “He was standing guard, three beeps and boom.”

I looked to Warm who shook his head. “This is the longest dive I’ve been on. Maybe they’re getting impatient.”

“Tryin’ to flush us out, shit,” Clean snorted. “We need to get out of here, and get this damn thing started if we’re gonna break out.”

“Then we better get this shitshow on the road,” Bone replied, moving over the hastily organised medical tools we had pooled together. “Deal’s a deal, ghoul, let’s get him on the table.”

“Beg your pardon?” Clean looked between me and Bone for a moment, then settled on me.

“I, uh, found something. Something that can make you better,” I started, seeing the shock on Clean’s face. “Bone said she can help, she can make sure it’s safe and that she’ll patch us all up at the end of this.”

“In exchange for?” Clean gestured a hoof.

“Breaking her and her friend out,” I noticed the slight smile on Clean’s face. “Well, and a favour down the line as well.”

“Clever pony, got off light,” he remarked. “There’s a wastelander inside there.”

“I have my moments,” I replied, walking alongside him to another cot. “You’re being surprisingly cooperative, I had a whole speech prepared and everything.”

“Well, ghoul, either you’re about to save me or kill me,” Clean replied. “And it’s that or wait until my collar goes pop.”

I watched as he detached himself from the chair, grunting as he collapsed to the bedding. He grimaced as magic hefted his legs to a more comfortable position, Bone moving over with everything needed to begin the work.

“You don’t want to hear this, but you won’t be asleep for it. Won’t be pleasant, but it’ll do the trick,” she raised an eyebrow. “You mare enough?”

“Are you gonna talk shit through all of this?” Clean replied, looking thoroughly annoyed.

“Oh yeah, you’ll be fine,” Bone grinned back, taking out the canister.

The frost had melted away, leaving a sealed metal container of what could be the greatest medical miracle ever known. My eyes lingered too long, mind reeling at the possibilities. Was I letting a chance slip away? Was it just a pipe dream? If it could restore even a completely destroyed back, make you like new again, how would that affect me?

“Hard.”

I blinked back into the room, Bone looking up at me. “I can’t work if you’re stinking up the place. Go somewhere else, alright?”

“Of course, sorry,” I moved towards the door, pausing for a just a moment. “Clean.”

He shifted from the makeshift bedding we had, staring up at me. “Quit lookin’ so serious, makes me doubt this mare’s skills.”

“That wasn’t the problem,” I replied, still not meeting his eye. “This… thing, Bone said it could restore anything nearly. Limbs, bones, so long as the user is still alive it’ll bring them back. Like new.”

I nodded, meeting his eye with a serious look. “Make the most of it.”

Level up!

New Perk: Zebra Martial Arts (Blue Belt) – It's a far cry from the wise old master in a mountain, but a teacher is a teacher. You're now proficient enough in Zebra Martial arts to be a challenge to an actual student of the style and deal extra damage when using unarmed weapons. Maybe ponies should have thought twice before mocking your choice in comics.

Chapter Twelve - Breakout!

Chapter Twelve – Breakout!

Sex and drugs and party horns

“You don’t suit the martyr,” Warm said as he removed his hoof from my neck.

A groan escaped as I slowly got back to my hooves and went back into the first stance he taught me, practicing the pattern as he watched. My body ached all over as it slowly tried to combat the bruises, consuming the radiation from a contaminated bottle of water. In the lab’s defence, it was part of an experiment to see the ongoing effects of radiation on liquid, but it was the perfect top up for training.

Clean had been under the careful eye of Bone for around three hours now, the others taking the opportunity to sleep while we rotated a watching guard. With my inability to sleep, I was always around as the back-up but Warm had volunteered to spend the time with me to continue the practice. It kept my mind focused on something other than worry, not that I doubted Bone’s skills.

A few more slaves had arrived. No-one had heard from Two Tone nor Domino yet which put my stomach in knots, but I pushed it down. They were tough, they would be here soon enough.

“I think you could sacrifice yourself for the herd, go beyond your duty,” Warm continued, correcting a kick. “But you’re too… smart for that. You take risks but not ones you cannot survive.”

“What a backhoofed compliment, thank you,” I replied flatly. “I don’t know what to make of that.”

“Take it how you please, I meant no disrespect. What you did for Clean was not some self-sacrificing act, it was the practical choice. He was the weak link in the herd, and you took an opportunity to be selfish and made it selfless. That takes impressive emotional control, what did you do in your past life?”

“Threw parties, raided the homes of my friends and neighbours, and took copious amounts of drugs to cope with the stress,” I hissed as Warm threw me off balance with a well-timed parry. “Or are you about to throw some more zebra nonsense about coming back as a lizard?”

Warm frowned. “I’m not sure what lizards have to do with it, but no. Though it explains your actions somewhat, and what I think you are in the herd. Unseen, yet seeing all. Quiet, yet well spoken. The unexpected. The silent hunter, Ibis.”

I choked as he listed the description. “Hang on, wise? Seeing all? Silent? I don’t see how that’s me, Warm.”

He shrugged, pacing around the room. “The Silent Hunter. On hooves quieter than whispers, they slip forwards and deliver a fatal strike to the hearts of the foe, returning the herd successful without triumph. I think that suits the insidious nature of an agent of Morale, no?”

“So how does all-seeing and that come into it?”

“That’s just metaphor, take it how you will. To be frank, Hard Copy, you’re a manipulator,” Warm held a hoof up before I could protest. “I do not mean that in the negative sense, you know how to make things better for you, and by extension better for the herd. You do not operate as part of the herd, but as the key strike to keep the world in motion.

“Consider this, had you not convinced your comrades to continue your journey, Clean Sweep would remain crippled for the rest of his days. Had you not saved the life of Bone, she would not had offered to heal your friends. Had you not trusted me, we would have died long before finding the others. Had you not taken that grenade so long ago, you would not be standing here ready to make a lot of lives better.”

“How do you know about that?” I could not keep the ice from my voice, glaring at Warm. “And I never talked about Morale.”

“I know many things,” once again, he shrugged but had a twinkle in his eye. “And your friends are rather chatty.”

“Clean? I think you have the wrong pony,” I snorted. “Besides, why would he tell you about me?”

“Have you thought about asking him?” Warm retorted. “Do not look for new enemies, Hard Copy, it is not a wise path to follow.”

“Well, they tend to keep finding me, I’m a bit of a magnet for it.”

“A remnant of your nature before you became a ghoul?” Warm asked, stretching out.

I shrugged. “I can’t say, I tried not to count who I ticked off on a day to day basis. The list would be far too long by the end of the week.”

“Just as well, I do not trust a pony who knows the names of all his enemies,” Warm spoke as if he was dispensing some form of great wisdom. “He has far too much time on his hooves and spends little of it in a positive way.”

“What would you consider a positive way to spend time then?”

Warm considered the question for a moment, smirking as he came to a conclusion. “I think, if I were in the past, I’d spend my days reading to amass knowledge. Though I’m uncertain how knowledgeable a comic book can be.”

I couldn’t help myself but laugh, deep and rich from the belly. Warm joined in, his voice crisp and clear, until he slammed a hoof into my jaw. He continued to laugh as I staggered dazed, coming back and bouncing on my hooves as we went back into sparring. I concentrated more on dodging, avoiding the bigger hits and taking the smaller taps and checks. I had come a fair way in the art of hoof to hoof combat since Fillydelphia, my combat experience showing in the brief sparring matches.

Warm was still decades ahead of me.

I thrust out a forehoof as a feint, swinging my hindlegs around to follow up as Warm blocked the blow. With terrifying strength, he lifted himself onto one forehoof and used his own hindlegs to pin mine, flipping me onto my front with a flick of his spare hoof and shoving me to the floor. I struggled for a moment before he pressed his hoof to the back of my bomb-collar and make a click with his tongue.

“Better. You won’t beat me, but that is expected. You learn fast, Hard,” he released me and let me get to my hooves. “Faster than expected for someone of your age.”

“You’re not great at the whole compliment sandwich thing, but I’ll take it,” I groaned, shaking myself. “So what does this Ibis style mean? What cool moves do I get to learn?”

Warm shrugged. “No idea.”

“Helpful.”

“I was never fast or quiet enough for such a style, I cannot teach you techniques. The tactics are simple enough however,” he moved around the room, looking me over. “It is all about biding your time for the perfect strike, then removing yourself from the situation. When the herd has the Manticore cornered, you deliver the distracting or fatal blow. When the enemy is asleep in their camp, you are as silent as the shadows and remove the head.”

“When the world is at its worst, I do my best from the dark,” I smiled a little at the thought. “That sounds a bit more like me, or at least my job. What about you? What’s your place in the herd?”

“Ah, when I was younger I thought myself the Warrior. I was taught many styles, but loved Fallen Caesar the most,” he sighed. “But no, that is not my real place. I belong as the defender, the Testudo.”

“You seem the type to be good with kids,” I smiled. “Reminds me of somepony I worked with, once.”

Warm nodded, when he suddenly looked at the door. “Something is wrong.”

I was about to follow on when I heard something on the edge of my hearing. Slow rumbling. I raced with Warm out of the room, seeing Rag with another slave ready themselves with shotguns at the chokepoint. The foals looked terrified once again, Warm quickly ushering them into our training room as Bone joined us.

“Reckon it’s the big fucker?” she asked, biting her lip as I nodded. “Shit. There’s no way we can take him out with what we have here.”

“Any more grenades?” I tried, smiling as she took out two.

“This is it though. That fucker already took two and kept rolling. These might stop it, but that’s assuming it’s alone.”

As if on cue, we heard the battlecries of Mister Handys coming from the same direction. I groaned and moved back to the security room, taking a shotgun for myself. Bone moved alongside, picking up ammo crates and moving them up. Thirty rounds to go between four shotguns, not ideal but better than knives on a stick or fire extinguishers.

“Are you sure you should be out here?” I asked, resting the shotgun against a barricade. “Is Clean alright?”

“I’ve done all I can, just need to let it work its magic,” Bone replied, placing a tin of ammo. “I mean that literally. Your friend is tough, I’ll give him that.”

“Like you could never know,” I smiled at the compliment. “Maybe you should take a backseat on this one, we need somepony to patch us up should the worst happen.”

“You say that like you expect some poor fucker to get shot to bits,” she raised an eyebrow. “Come to think of it, I’ve put you back together more than anypony else here. You ain’t planning on more heroics, right?”

“Who me? Nobly sacrificing myself in the line of duty? Where did you get that idea?” I grinned. “I’m too sensible to go like that.”

“I almost believe you,” Bone snorted, her eyes showing a little smile.

“From what I remember of Hope, you’re far from sensible,” Rag said behind her, kicking a reload into an improvised battlesaddle. “You two ready?”

“Do you want an honest answer, or the cool one?” I replied, wincing as I saw Rag’s leg. “Are you sure it’s sanitary to wear that?”

The PipBuck was a good fit on Rag, but the nagging feeling about who the previous owner could be was too much for me to ignore. Rag seemed nonplussed about the whole ordeal, even becoming rather excited over the features the machine had. I remember getting motion sick the first time I tried one and had sworn off ever using it again, even though I was assured the later models had removed the problem.

“It’s as safe as standing near you is,” Rag replied, trotting past before her comment sunk in.

“Hey!” I called out, Bone snorting as she moved away as well. I shook my head, sighing with a content smile. For all the problems that we had run into since meeting the two mares, things were looking somewhat bright. At the time, I wished that we weren’t going to part ways, assuming we’d end up at each other’s throats soon after.

The feeling dissipated along with an unfortunate slave at the front of the barricades.

As the ash from their body blew past and into my mouth, I could see the Mister Handy turn around the corner. Before I could react, the body dented inwards as Rag and Turning Tide fired their shotguns into the robot. The saw was torn away from the spherical body, an eye-stalk flew away as it crashed to the ground.

“Here they come!” Rag roared and came they did.

Two more Mister Handys flew around the corner, giving chase to the two mares as they fired another few rounds into them. Four shots brought one down and had crippled the other, which rested against the wall in a worryingly life-like manner. I could swear I almost heard it panting.

“And now it’s time for me to explode,” it calmly said, the sound of something powering up coming from it.

As the whine built up, I could see the grey steel slowly turning red, white in some places. The whine turned into a rumble and an eyestalk came up to stare at us. The rumble was drowned by the sounds of Rag’s rapid-fire shots pummelling it into the metal floor until the rumble grew into a deep roar. We ducked behind cover as white-hot metal was thrown everywhere, embedding itself in walls.

“Holy shit!” Bone roared beside me, arriving without me realising it. “Can they all do that?”

“I hope not,” I said as the rumble was replaced with another far more menacing. “Else we have a real disaster on our hooves.”

“What the fuck is that thing?!” Turning Tide shouted as the Sentinel leered around the corner, giving a celebratory beep.

Found you.

I barely heard the shouts of terror as the minigun opened up, the barricades little better than paper against the storm of bullets. Bone pulled me away from my cover as she threw a grenade over our heads at the robot. The buzz-snap of electricity crackled across the hallway, the Sentinel powering down with a whine and a grumble. We jumped back to our positions, firing round after round into the machine.

It did nothing.

Metal slabs, too thick to be called armour, took the punishment as if it were no more than leaves in a gust. What remained of a paintjob was simply scarred off until we all clicked empty and rushed to reload. The Sentinel bided its time as it rebooted itself, and I could swear I heard robotic laughter as it did so.

“Fucking hell, what does it take to kill this thing!” Rag shouted, her wings looked more ragged than before with torn feathers. “That’s almost everything we have and it’s done nothing!”

“What else do we have?” I shouted back, looking for a convenient missile launcher or something to arrive.

Turning Tide suddenly jolted up, her face an epiphany, “The terminal!”

“On it!” Rag turned and fled towards the security room. “Buy me time.”

“How long?” I kept a wary eye on the machine, daring it to move.

“As long as we can,” Warm replied, quiet yet somehow filling the room, as he leapt over us and charged the Sentinel alone.

Ignoring the protests of the others, he tackled into the machine with a shout and slammed his hooves into the minigun. The metal screamed as it was slowly bent out of shape, each blow denting the fragile metal a little more. I found it hard to believe that Warm was ever considered slow with the flurry of blows he unleashed.

The Sentinel made a honk of surprise as it came to with a red earth pony smashing its arm to bits, the minigun clunking as it failed to spin up. Realising what had happened, the torso span to pull the weapon out of Warm’s reach, bringing the dented metal back arching back to attack him. His hooves came up in perfect sync and slammed upwards into the bottom of the gun, arm sailing off and exposing the inner torso in a shower of robotic gore.

Someone shouted as the piston arm came on the follow through. Warm moved his hooves to block it just in time, crying in pain as his leg shattered from the blow. He skidded along the floor, the Sentinel slowly advancing as more shots were poured on it. I fired round after round into the torso, hoping that a stray shot might get inside and do some real damage.

Nothing had happened by the time my shotgun clicked empty, Warm trying to back away as the Sentinel advanced slowly from the weight of the shots. While they did no visible damage, they did help in pushing it back slightly, only buying time before the inevitable.

I took a slow breath and dropped my shotgun. From the corner of my eye, I could see Bone’s shocked face as I grabbed the last grenade and charged ahead. I couldn’t hear anything else beyond my heavy breathing, the clang of hoof on metal, and the jingle of a bell. I darted past Tide, face contorted in anger as she fired another shell into the face of the Sentinel. I could clearly see a path in my head, following the trail as I jumped off a barricade, kicked off a wall, and sailed into the Sentinel. The pin of the grenade came off in my teeth and I slammed the metal sphere into the remains of the Sentinel’s shoulder.

It gave an alarmed beep as I crashed to the floor. The haunting red eyes flashed blue, lightning caressed the whole frame and a trail of smoke rose from the head. I punched a hoof in the air and grinned.

“Get up from that!”

“Hard!” Warm shouted, my attention coming up just in time to see the saw blade whizz past me.

It tore along my face, blood spraying along the metal as the Mister Handy became stuck in the wall. The shout had turned a solid strike to the skull to a jagged slice along my cheek. I looked along the arm and smiled meekly. The three eye-stalks were less friendly in their robotic apathy.

“Cake or death sir? I’m afraid we ran out of cake a while ago,” a claw swung up and grabbed at my throat, slipping off the bomb collar.

I tried to get away, but the claw locked on my leg instead, dragging me up to my hindhooves and leaving me awkwardly stretched out. The saw clunked as it was pulled free and I felt the heat wash over me as the Mister Handy opened up with its flamethrower, forcing the others back. I could barely hear their shouts and arguments about what to do. If they opened fire, they could hit me, but nopony could brave the firestorm to attempt to close the distance.

I swung my hoof into the joint and grimaced as the jolt worked its way along my bones. That one hurt. I tried again and again, the efforts wasted as the metal refused to budge. The saw spun up again and slowly advanced towards me. I suddenly realised that the machine, while still being just a machine, must have had some kind of intelligence within it. It was almost enjoying the torment.

With a shout I batted the saw away at the last moment, wincing as I heard a shotgun go off. Nothing hurt, but it was far too close for comfort. Another shot went off, the wall scored with buckshot while the saw came back again with greater speed. I turned my head at the last moment, feeling oddly thankful I not longer had a coat to worry about as it skimmed my skin.

“Look, hold still and it’ll go much faster,” the Mister Handy said impatiently, as if it was helping me dress rather than disembowel me.

I felt the heat rise as it fired another stream of fire at the others, crying as it grew more intense. The saw came down once again, too fast for me to deflect it cleanly. I flinched, waiting for the inevitable rip as it chewed into me. The heat grew and grew, becoming intolerable, until it reached a crescendo.

Then it all stopped. The saw stopped still, the pilot light winked out, Mister Handy had just froze in place. A few beeps came from inside the intricate circuits and wires as if it was mulling something over. The eyestalks clicked a few times.

“Ghoul, down!”

There was a single bang and holes appeared in the chassis, rocking the body away enough for the claw to lose its grip – not without taking a decent clump of skin with it though. Bone jumped over me and rammed a spear into the bulbous body, crying in triumph as it slammed against a wall. Warm then jumped past and stamped on the pole with his good leg, the spear piercing through with a scream of metal.

“Alright, c-call i-i-i-it a draw-aw,” the Mister Handy managed before shutting down.

“You alright?” Bone asked, helping me to my hooves. I hissed as I put the injured leg down, nodding. “We’ll get that sorted. What was that about no noble sacrifices?”

“Apparently I’d make a terrible martyr,” I replied, smiling at Warm in thanks. “What happened with the robot? What did you guys do?”

“Took our sweet time,” replied a familiar voice. “That said, always wanted to play the big damn hero.”

Clean Sweep stood with his same cold smile, hindlegs looking slightly shaky as they took the weight. The magic from his horn slowly flittered away, a stream of smoke coming from the barrel of a shotgun as he approached me. I couldn’t help myself and matched his approach, smile and all, grasping his foreleg with mine in greeting.

We held it for a moment before my head realised what I just did. “That was the bad leg. Ow.”

“This is probably the stupidest plan I have ever heard,” Clean said, staring at the harnesses once again. “And I’ve come up with some stupid ideas.”

“Can say that again,” I whispered, earning a glare from him. The new scar throbbed as my cheek twitched in a smile.

“If you have anything better to suggest, I’m all ears,” Rag replied, gesturing to the mess on the table.

“I’m on the side of the saner pony,” Turning Tide added, shutting up as she became the new focus of Clean’s glare.

“Think she meant you, Clean,” I said.

“Yep, I know.”

“Just making sure you knew a compliment when you heard one.”

“Ain’t too keen to be takin’ on praise of a dweller who trotted right up to slaver camp.”

“I have a name you know,” Tide sniffed.

“I know, don’t care.”

“For the love of… will you two pack it in?” Rag exclaimed, wings flared in annoyance. “Honestly, you two are like foals.”

I put a rotting hoof over Tide’s mouth before the inevitable ‘he started it’ came out. “Right, perhaps we should work on tweaking the plan. So at least Clean will be on board.”

“Not like I have a choice in the matter,” he grumbled. “Go over it again.”

Rag sighed, but did as she was asked. “Right, our main job is taking out the antenna. With so many of us here, we can’t all escape without one of us being spotted and all of us being killed. We’re in this together. These harnesses are medical applicators, they should administer drugs to ponies wearing a PipBuck-”

“Mmmph mmmph,” said Tide, pushing my hoof down. “Hang on, I missed this the first time around. First, why does it need a PipBuck?”

“It works with the monitor system in the device, checks vitals, uses what it needs, carries on,” Rag spoke with an odd cadence, like she was trying her best not to talk down to us.

“Ok, second, you said should.”

“Yeah. It doesn’t work.”

“Fuckin’ hell,” Clean scoffed, walking around in a circle. “What’s the damn point in us havin’ the things?”

“Now hold on, they won’t work with the PipBuck but I can jury rig it with some help,” Rag hurriedly said before the harnesses ended up trashed. “From the looks of it, they were designed with outside help in mind as well. If the PipBuck failed, somepony else could activate the applicators if they were needed.”

“And you can set them up so we can do that on the fly, that it?” Clean replied, getting a nod in return. “Right, that aside, why ain’t we just opening all the doors and lettin’ that robot army of yours do all the work?”

“Because I need to be out there. They’re slaved to my PipBuck but there’s no way I can get out without some prick spotting me.”

“And the moment an unfriendly robot comes walking out, they’ll blow us all to hell,” Warm grumbled from the doorway, his skin pale as he hobbled inside.

“Fuck’s sake, does anypony listen to the damn doctor?” Bone shouted, shooing the injured stallion away. “I’d love to not give a fuck about your damn leg, but I wasted too many supplies fixing what I could. Get back in there.”

“That’s the other problem, these things,” I tapped the collar. “Have any more gone off?”

“Not that we know,” Tide replied. “But there’s still a lot of ponies in this place.”

“We need to shut them off, and that antenna outside is the key.”

“And there’s the problem,” Rag said. “The massive, heavily guarded, stuck in the open, antenna. And the moment someone sees one of us running up, they’ll have a lovely breeze on their neck.”

“So we’re back to square one, drawin’ straws for the suicide run,” Clean sniffed. “Again, stupid plan for the record.”

“I don’t see you suggesting something better! Better one or two of us than the foals,” Rag squared up to the unicorn. “I’m prepared to die, are you?”

“Shouldn’t come to that,” I said quietly as the pair slowly turned towards me, Tide scooting away from the crossfire. “Warm said earlier he’s learned how to disarm the collars, but we need tools and an explosives expert.”

“And the pony with a lit stick of dynamite for a cutie mark ain’t one, because…?” Clean raised an eyebrow.

“He’s better at the other end of explosives,” I replied.

Rag huffed, “Well, that’s just great.”

“Reckon I could do it,” Bone said as she re-entered. “I mean, I’ll need the parts and him talking me through it, but I can do it.”

“Ain’t that convenient,” Clean glared at me. “Anything else you want to reveal before we start arguin’ again?”

“Secret evil twin brother, the key to the doomsday device, and the location of the dragon’s cave where the salvation for the wastes lies,” I grinned and regretted it. “And smiling is going to be painful for a while.”

“Last one won’t bother me too much,” he replied, looking back at the harnesses. “So, feathers jury rigs those to work however, doc learns how to bust the collars, I’ll count up what we have left.”

“Who put you in charge?” Rag started.

“What would you do different?” Clean replied, eyeing her cautiously.

She stuttered for a moment before giving him a rather unpleasant pegasus gesture and storming off. I was partially impressed that she could do it with such damaged wings, but more that it had survived after all this time. Guess the lack of pegasi meant that they could get away with it.

“Thought so, stable’s with the foals and lookout, Warm’s restin’ up, ghoul… I’ve got nothing. Keep an ear out in case somepony needs help.”

“Glad you hold my talents in such high esteem,” I scuffed a hoof along the floor. “Guess I can finish that book.”

“Yeah, you do that,” Clean said as he walked away.

I swore he muttered something under his breath. It sounded like ‘you’ve earned it’, but that wouldn’t fit with his character. I smiled and trotted back to my reading spot.

The next hour, or so, slipped by with little action, beyond a few spouts of swearing from Rag as she worked on the harnesses. Clean’s stock take ended sooner than he thought, so he joined in on the repair work. I swapped guard duty with Tide twice to let her lend her horn to the work and ended up terrifying the foals once again. After a few foal’s jokes to calm them down, I told one of the more popular stories about the Ministry Mares.

“So Flutterfly shouted at the big dragon? But I thought she was scared all the time,” one of the fillies said: Lightning Dancer, the bolder of the three foals.

“Oh yes, she was scared. Terrified even! But, sometimes, we find courage deep inside us to do what’s right and save our friends.”

“What happened next?”

“The dragon was very scared by her shouting, and he told everyone he was very sorry. With a big flap of his huge wings, he flew into the sky and away from Equestria to look for somewhere else to sleep,” I twitched the corner of my mouth in an attempt at a smile. “The end.”

“But what happened next?” the colt, Rain Dancer, asked from behind.

“Well, the mares went home knowing that they saved Equestria, ready to do it again.”

“No, what happened to the dragon!”

I frowned, “You know, I don’t know! Maybe he’s still out there, waiting to be woken up from his nap. What do you think?”

“I think he’s awake and he’s flying around looking for another bed,” Lightning replied.

“I think he’s a zombie dragon and he’s looking for ponies to gobble up!” the colt roared, the smallest filly of the three squeaking.

“Rain! You’re scaring Thunder,” Lightning shouted, bringing another squeak from Thunder and a flurry of nods.

“Ah, there’s no need to worry,” I said, breaking the argument before it began again. “If real dragons eat real ponies, what do you think zombie dragons eat?”

There was a moment of silence before Thunder replied, “Zombie ponies?”

“Right! So you three are safe as stables, only I have to look out for any zombie dragons,” I gave a wink. “Of course, I could use some help from some brave friends of mine.”

Rain Dancer puffed his chest out, the face of a child’s idea of a warrior plastered on. Thunder looked terrified by the suggestion but nodded along with Lightning. I smiled at the sight, seeing a brief glimmer of hope in the three foals. My wounded leg tensed to distract from the pain in my face. Not the best of ideas, but anything for the audience.

The door slid open and Tide trotted back inside, “Thanks again, Hard. What have you been up to since I was gone?”

“We’re gonna kill the zombie dragon!” Rain announced, pointing a hoof at nothing in particular.

Tide sent a concerned look which I shrugged away, “They can tell you all about it.”

The door hissed behind me as I trotted back into the corridor. There wasn’t a clean bit of metal in the whole place, either littered with spent shells or blackened with soot. What remained of Wensleydale’s blood had dried up from the fire, turning to rusty brown or flaky black along the first barricade. A thing layer of ash lay across the floor, there wasn’t even a body to tie a name to.

It dawned on me just how lucky I was to survive the encounter with just a skinned leg and a few other minor wounds. I hoped that the luck would hold out until we were out of Appleloosa at least. From the security room I could hear Clean swearing at the terminal, either the microphone had died again or there was something wrong with the broadcast system in the labs. Either way, nopony was coming our way any time soon.

“Oi, Hard,” Bone’s head poked out from our medbay. “Get in here.”

“What for?” I asked, realising that I should’ve asked it before I walked into the room. “What is that?”

“Hm? Oh, Purge,” Bone replied, ignoring the bubbling flasks on two burners. “I need a test subject.”

“What?”

“For the bomb collars.”

“No, wait, two conversations. First, what is Purge?” I shook my head, trying to ignore the fumes. I had no idea how Warm could handle the heady vapours, but he seemed nonchalant about the whole situation. Oddly the most powerful scent was oranges, which made a pleasant change from the usual smells of a chem-lab.

“It’s like super Fixer, I guess. Purges the body of every contaminant in one fit burst, perfect for the pony who’s about to go on the bender of a lifetime and wants to survive most of it,” Bone grinned.

“Well, that answers why I suppose. One fit burst?”

“If I said explosively, it’s the wrong kind of idea,” Bone frowned. “Sort of. Put it this way, you’re gonna want a bathroom pretty fucking quick.”

“Charming,” I wrinkled my nose as the smell continued. “Test subject for the bomb collar?”

“Well, I ain’t trying the first go on myself, am I? I balls it up, we’re all fucked.”

“So you pick me?”

“Well, you’ve proven to not give a shit about what happens to your body,” Bone shrugged. “Figured you wouldn’t mind.”

“She has a point, Hard,” Warm slurred. “For the good of the herd.”

“Seven circles, Warm!” I trotted over to him, looking at the glazed expression I mistook for aloofness. “He’s up in Cloudsdale! How is he going to tell you what to do?”

“We’ll cope. Come on,” Bone moved to a less busy part of the room. “The only other pony that might agree is the Stable Dweller or maybe a foal. I think that’s a bit too cruel though.”

I grumbled, accepting the argument, and laid where she indicated. Various tools were placed ready for use. I closed my eyes as the work began, trying to ignore each tug on the collar as Bone carefully disassembled it. For all the finery of unicorn magic, earth ponies had grown to learn how to use their tongues incredibly effectively.

Take that how you will.

So, in theory, I was putting my faith more in the generations of ponies that came before instead of a spear wielding drug addict and a dosy student of zebra martial arts.

“You’re doing it again,” Bone mumbled around a screwdriver.

“What?”

“Smiling. That scar twitches when you do it.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“If you want it to open up again, yeah. It’ll be a while until that heals better, don’t overdo it,” she grumbled over a particularly tough screw. “And it’ll make the foals even more scared of you.”

“Think I’m pretty scary as it is, took them this long just to listen to me without somepony else in the room.”

“Think it’s less scary, more creepy. Think they haven’t seen a non-feral ghoul before.”

I frowned at the comment. “Am I that uncommon?”

“Oh yeah, you’re rarer than a clean raider. The walking talking spooky showpony.”

“Think the creepy clown might sound better,” I half joked. “At least it flows.”

The bells jingle.

“Shit, you ok?” Bone looked around, her face holding genuine concern.

“Yeah, why? What did you do?”

“You just flinched like you were about to take a sledgehammer to the face. Just thought I caught you,” Bone yanked on something and I felt a part fall off. “Warm, is this ok to take off?”

“Yeah?” came the reply.

“Cool,” Bone chucked the piece away. “I hate this kind of thing.”

“Saving a pony’s life?”

“Disarming bombs, such stupid work and it only works half the fucking time.”

I watched as something important flew away, “You fill me with such confidence, Bone.”

“I should do, I’m an expert at this. I was prepared to use the favour on you as well,” she laughed as I winced. “Aha! You forgot!”

“You’re awful,” I groaned.

“And you’re thicker than shit, but useful to have around.”

“Bone?” Warm said slowly, as if he was feeling for the word around his mouth.

“Yes lightweight?”

“Don’t forget, you only have three minutes once you start. Else… boom,” Warm giggled at the end, an odd sound from such a massive pony.

I felt Bone pause.

“Hard, how long have we been doing this?”

“I have no idea.”

“Ah. I’ll just pick up the pace a little.”

I heard a crunch of something in Bone’s mouth and the sweet scent of mint wafted across my nostrils. I could hardly blame her for choosing to do that. The tugging became a little more erratic, the tools dropped in a hurry instead of being neatly placed as wires were snipped and pruned. The plan was a little more intricate than just removing the collar: the decoys still needed to be wearing them to work, the slavers’ first instincts would be to blow the collars instead of shooting the wearers.

I closed my eyes and waited for the beep of my collar exploding. I can’t describe myself as a pious pony: I was never one for deities or real superstition. I prayed all the same, keeping it inside my head to not distract Bone from her grunt inducing work. A screwdriver landed on my face a few times, snatched up in the frenzy of work.

“Bone?” Warm mumbled from his corner. “Green wire.”

“On it,” Bone replied, bringing the wire cutters up.

“Yeah, don’t cut it.”

The cutters flew across the room and hit Warm right between the eyes, “Fuck’s sake, you dopey bastard!”

“Whose fault is that?” I grumbled, opening one eye. “Did you cut it?”

“No, but I was damn close.”

I sighed in relief, “How much more work?”

“Dunno, better ask the lightweight.”

“I resent that remark,” Warm replied, his voice coming back to its usual focus. “Should you be throwing important tools at an injured patient?”

“I’ll throw tools at whoever I want, especially the shit-for-brains stallions that nearly make me blow myself up!” Bone snorted, “Look at this and tell me what needs to be done.”

“Yourself?” I said with worry.

I felt one more tug on the collar followed by a single long beep. “There. We’ll need the control panel to take it off, but it won’t explode from the signal.”

“You say that like it can still explode,” I mumbled, looking up at the towering image of Warm. He was still unsteady on his hooves.

“Well, yes. The explosives are housed all around the collar, if they are ignited then,” Warm trailed off. “But I’m sure you’ll be able to protect your neck.”

“I’m good at saving it,” I replied, slowly getting to my hooves. “Who’s next then?”

“Only one other pony,” Bone sighed. “I panicked and trashed most of these tools, there’s no way I can use these more than once. Of course that wouldn’t have happened if somepony told me what to do when I was supposed to fucking do it!”

“I thought you knew medicine?” Warm replied, raising an eyebrow. “I’m still feeling pretty woozy from those painkillers.”

“Well how was I supposed to know you’d take to them so well?”

“Fuck!” Rag’s voice belted from the security room.

I slowly made my way out of room, “Guess I’ll take a look and see what’s going on.”

Rag and Warm did little to protest and continued to bicker between each other. Warm’s stance was far more agreeable and understandable, given how Rag had essentially doped him up and was now blaming him for being in that state. Hindsight is wonderful for pointing out what was wrong, but something told me that Bone lacked foresight as well. Perhaps even any common sense when it came to drugs.

I entered the room to see Rag and Clean scowling at each other over the harnesses. The two had butted heads repeatedly since Rag’s arrival, and I feared that this time it was reaching its peak. I slowly approached, trying to put forward a calming presence.

“What’s happened?”

“This fucking unicorn is what’s happened!” Rag shouted, wings flaring out.

“Me? You’re the genius that said I should fix ‘em any way I can, and I did just that,” Clean shot back. “I used up some damn good materials gettin’ ‘em into a workin’ state, and this is how I’m thanked?”

“Thanked! You’re gonna kill one of us!” Rag yelled back. “All of them are set to go at the same time, that’s suicide!”

“Let’s take a step back now, ok?” I tried to move between the two before it came to blows. “What exactly is the problem?”

“One of the harnesses is good to go, even have a mouth activated toggle for the different doses and drugs,” Rag sighed, throwing a hoof up in exasperation. “The other is an all or nothing shot. You pull the toggle and it dumps the entire load into the user’s system. We could reduce the doses to make things easier, but all those conflicting drugs will fuck you harder than… I can’t think of an analogy.”

“Didn’t know that’s how it’s supposed to operate, but ain’t like I understand that kind of thin’,” Clean sniffed, catching my eye. “What?”

“You can fix a self-powering cart and six shotguns from nothing,” I said with a lowered gaze.

“Yeah. Guns and carts are one thing, medical tech is far different. Totally different skill set,” he cleared his throat. “Point bein’, what do we do now?”

“We’re not using it, that’s final,” Rag stamped a hoof and pulled it off the makeshift workbench. “Nopony could survive it.”

“He could,” Bone said from the doorway. To my surprise, and horror, her hoof was directed straight at me.

“What?” I said, perhaps a little too flatly.

“Ghouls have a higher tolerance than other ponies to drugs, they can take two, three times the dose before it starts to affect them,” Bone continued, a strange look coming across her face. “I reckon he could take the cocktail.”

“You reckon?” I began before being cut off by Rag.

“Bone, that’s pretty risky. What if it doesn’t work? It could kill him.”

“Could, but so could’ve deactivating that collar,” Bone smirked. “Oh yeah, Hard’s the first to be freed.”

“Fuck’s sake,” Clean mumbled. “Of course you’re the first!”

“For the record, I almost died during the procedure,” I pointed a hoof at him. “I want that known.”

“Almost, but you didn’t,” Bone sang.

“Well, we’re out of options, aren’t we?” Rag sighed, shaking her head. “Guess you’re on the first wave, Hard.”

“Who else then?” Clean asked, double taking at the only pony with her hoof up. “Fuck off, why you?”

“Because I know my limits and I can control the dosage better,” Bone replied, looking rather smug. “And I’ve deactivated my collar as well.”

“Already?” I bit my lip to stop the eyebrow rise.

“Yes.”

“Then how…?”

“Trade secret,” Bone winked. “If there’s enough of a distraction, I get can get to the antenna no trouble. Fuck it, I know I can get there with what I have brewing.”

“Alright, so how does the ghoul cause a big enough scene for you to do what you need to?” Clean asked, following everyone else’s eyes to the door as Warm cleared his throat.

“I might have the answer to that.”

“You ok?” Bone asked, rolling her shoulders as the door appeared in the gloom.

“Considering everything that’s about to happen, I can’t really say yes,” I replied gloomily. “But I don’t really have a say in the matter now.”

“Ah come on, it’ll be fun.”

“Fun? The last time I went on a bender like this it did not end up well for anypony involved,” I huffed, shaking my head as a memory popped into my head like a swamp bubble.

“Well, it’s that or we end up the only fuckers left alive in this place,” Bone glared at me. “So get rid of those shitty thoughts and get your head in the game.”

“And here I was hoping that your language had improved. Remember what to do?”

“Please, I’ve been playing the mare in distress for years. Don’t pull that toggle until you’re out of the tunnel, ok? Even I’m not sure what’ll happen when all that Stampede hits you,” Bone put a hoof on my side, just avoiding the harness. “Good luck, Hard. See you on the other side, yeah?”

She turned and bounced ahead, her own harness hidden under the security barding. I carefully skulked behind her, keeping to shadows as we approached the sealed door. Bone took a few moments to control her breathing, taking in a few deep breaths before slamming a hoof into her nose.

With a crunch, blood began to run from a nostril and stain her white coat. She reared up and began to hammer on the door, screaming like the Pony of Shadows was at her tail. The light above the door flicked from red to green and the lock slid open with a squeal of metal.

“Help me! Goddesses help me-e-e!” she wailed, the door swinging outwards to a confused slaver.

Without missing a beat, Bone hurled herself at the slaver and continued to thrash and wail, avoiding the slaver’s attempts to hold her still. The stallion shouted for quiet, only to be drowned out by her screams for salvation. Eventually, he pushed her away and back towards the door.

“The fuck is wrong with you?”

“He’s gonna kill me!”

“Who? The slaver brought up the stun baton in his magic, making my job that much easier.

“He went feral!” Bone screamed, scrabbling to get to her hooves and to the control panel.

The slaver, thankfully being too stupid to think beyond an immediate threat, slowly moved towards the entrance. He managed to squeak before I pulled him into the hall, his neck snapping as I swung and twisted it in one cruel move. I threw the stun baton out and up to Bone, the other slaver falling onto the floor from the terminal with a new hole in her neck.

“You ready to go?” Bone called as I trotted out. “That went almost too well.”

“Don’t tempt fate,” I replied, smiling. “Oh, and if you see a feral ghoul, don’t forget to scream.”

Bone grinned and took off towards the antenna, crying bloody murder. I gave her a few seconds headstart before giving chase, pulling on the toggle of the harness. I felt an icy chill as a blend of combat drugs were injected straight into my system. To her credit, as much as I don’t want to admit it, Bone could rival even the greatest of party animals of my time for getting the perfect drug cocktail ready.

She happily called the mixture Raider’s Punch: combining the effects of Stampede for combat prowess, additional painkillers to assist with injury ignorance, Mint-Als for heightened awareness through it all. What she didn’t mention, and what I noticed immediately, was the spice of Dash to boost my reaction time through all the relaxants.

It felt like every muscle in my body had suddenly bulked at twice their size and then vanish. Sensation was stripped away beyond what I could see and hear, though even then it felt like I was in a swimming pool. Everything cranked into high gear, my heart thrashing inside my chest as the adrenaline hit on top of everything else, colours blurring into one another as my head tried to keep up with everything else.

The Dash hit. My world slowed to a reasonable speed, like a movie being played in slow motion. More than enough time to soak in every detail and plot a route for the most carnage. I continued after Bone for a while, turning off once enough slavers had noticed my presence. The camp was too far for me to invade directly, plus being rather suicidal for such an attempt, but there was a resting area of some sort which had just enough slavers for a feral ghoul to be tempted by.

The world sat still for just a breath, but to me it felt like an eternity. In front of me, the horrifying mask of the harlequin appeared and bowed. I watched, partially in amazement and partially in grotesque joy, as it performed a dance across each of the six slavers that had just taken notice of me. There was an animalistic grace to the kills it made, all the beauty of a predator toying with its play.

I decided to play copycat.

I have no idea how quickly I moved, nor in the manner I did. Each hoofstep was barely felt, even as I swerved to and fro to dodge the muzzle flashes of gunfire, only the growing detail I saw told me I moved closer. The first slaver, who came at me with a tire iron, ended with the weapon jammed into his skull. I threw the body towards the others, seeing splotches of red thrown into the air as he took the brunt of the gunfire.

Five left. Slaver number two came at me with a battered looking pistol, firing a shot too close to avoid. I barely felt it tear its way through my leg and ricochet off the bone, instead seeing my terrifying visage in her eyes. My right hoof came up and slammed the underside of her jaw, teeth shattering on the metal mouth piece of the gun.

Shards of white fell as did the weapon, her scream cutting short as I felt an urge to clamp my own jaw onto her throat. There was no blood like with the harlequin, but I earned the same heady warmth from crushing her windpipe and throwing her to one side. The body slammed into the table she was sat at moments before, something beneath it applauding the throw.

I was enjoying this far too much to give a damn.

Three and four attacked the same time, now realising the danger of going alone. A baseball bat slammed into my ribs as another went for my head. I brought my head under the blow slowly, like I was avoiding a clothes line, and leapt over number four. The fifth slaver was halfway through reloading a familiar double-barrelled shotgun before I swept her off her hooves.

Her head cracked on the solid table, hard enough to take her out of the fight for the time being. Number three took another swing at my unguarded flank and I felt my leg wrench in a way it shouldn’t. He earned a solid kick to the face followed up by being pinned to the floor. The first blow had broken his nose, the next five pulverised the rest of his face.

Four squeaked as I grabbed the bat, shoving the thinner end into her eye. A quick turn around sent her spinning with a hefty blow to the temple. I threw the weapon at number six who said something about me not being feral. I could barely understand what was being said as I killed him, watching as his coat was slowly stained red with both of our wounds.

My ear twitched as I heard more shouts from the camp, ten more slavers pouring out as Rusty appeared from above. She barked orders, pointing with her one good talon as underlings did as they were bid. For a brief moment, she hung in perfectly clarity: the off white facial feathers clashing with the ashen grey body, metal claw brown with blood.

Three more slavers came at me, jeering and cheering as my collar fell from my neck. One deep breath and the rain poured down the empty street. Three zebra assassins raced towards me, one drawing a rusted pistol, the shots cracking through the air. I raced to meet them, letting loose an involuntary growl as my lungs wheezed for air.

I met the first zebra, throwing their cloak back and slamming a hoof into their face. The second came from behind as I span and drove their short sword into my side. The blow was mistimed, slicing instead of piercing and giving me an opportunity to counter. Two swift blows to the head, their skull bouncing off the ground as the slaver’s jaw broke.

“That ain’t feral!” a zebra assassin shouted, turning tail from the fight back into the dwindling night of Manehatten.

“In the name of Equestria, halt!” I yelled, stomping as the other two lay bleeding on the floor.

The sound of sirens wailed in the night, telling me help was on the way. Only, it wasn’t help for me. I looked back at the two assassins, and found them to be just party-goers – now beaten within an inch of their lives. I gasped and rasped at the burn in my throat, the acrid taste of Dash still on my taste buds.

The image was rapidly replaced with the floor as I took a blow to the head, my whole body suddenly sending me into a spin. I fought back an urge to vomit a realised something else about ghouls. It took a great deal of drugs to get us to a usable high, but that meant the comedown arrived that much faster and that much harder.

I swung back around to avoid the next blow, the fifth slaver slamming the bat down on me again and again in place of Clean’s shotgun. I took a few hits to the legs, knowing that I could bear the pain there more than a blow to the face. A moment appeared, and I wrenched the weapon away, headbutting the mare and flipping the pin over. I brought my hooves down on her, a small part in the back of my head suddenly audible and begging me to stop for a moment and realise what was going on.

It distracted me long enough to feel the ice in my stomach. I looked down and saw a knife in my gut. It slowly slid out and I fell to one side, suddenly unable to keep myself upright. My eyes hazed over as I tried to focus on the form slowly walking towards me. The slaver began to say something before taking a single shot to the head, body twitching once.

“I told your boss after that collar fiasco, this one is mine. Even if he has gone feral, he’s still my prey. Good afternoon, ghoul, how are we today?”

I gurgled a reply, tasting copper. His voice sounded like it was underwater, yet strangely clear as it bubbled through the pain. I tried to focus on my breathing, to push warmth towards the aching hole in my torso, but it all failed against the pull of the drugs still being pumped around my system. It all hurt so good.

“You know, I heard a funny story the other day,” Septic’s blurry form began to pace around me. “I heard about a ghoul in Fillydelphia who took on a tin can and, against all odds, lived. He talked his way out of being shot by selling out a casino nearby, promising the tin can riches they could only imagine. Apparently, the ghoul called himself The Sparking Ghost, which is a fantastic name in my opinion.

“I wish more ponies took on dramatic names like that. I’ve heard of a few old legends: Sentinel, the Ghost Herd, Watcher, the Mysterious Mare-do-Well. Those are names that will echo through the centuries, just like those old stories. They’re just like balloons, remember how I like balloons? They’re always sailing high in the sky, close but far out of reach.

“I like them because they give me a goal to achieve. I’ve killed many things, but I’ve never killed a legend before. Let alone a Ghost,” I felt the heat of his breath on my ear, making me shiver from the invasiveness of the action. “Goodbye, ghoul, I’d say it was fun but you’ve really disappointed on this turn out.”

A klaxon wailed, taking Septic’s attention. He moved out of my line of sight, shouting something muffled to a blurry nopony. I tried to crawl away while my body screamed from the effort, feeling dirt stick to my torso as more fluids were pumped out. I couldn’t feel anything from the cold now, only the surrounding sensations.

Something in the distance exploded, and a body fell in front of me. I tried to wipe away at the imaginary blur, my vision suddenly bursting into crystal clear focus as I saw the face of an unfamiliar pony, their face locked in a silent scream of terror. Their body lay a few inches away. I tried to crawl past them, and then realised where the explosion had come from. They were wearing an outfit similar to the skin-tight under-barding of a Steel Ranger, though with a damaged battle saddle attached to their back.

My ribs were in agony, threatening to puncture something vital after they had cracked. I heard Septic reload and fire another round. This one burrowed into my back, ripping and tearing its way through my body until it exited the undead flesh. This one I felt.

This one made me scream.

“Oh shut up,” Septic groaned. “Well, now I know why you took those slavers on, you little shit. Distracting us from the real problem, keeping my attention all on a stupid ghoul. Clever pony, not clever enough though. Stop squirming!”

Another scream as something white hot burst into my shoulder, taking a spray of blood with it. I could barely think past the pain, and prayed that the painkillers had already worn off. Else it was only going to get worse once they did. I gurgled as Septic dragged me up, staring me in the eye as I bled and feebly tried to break free.

“Look at you. You’re a disappointment, ghoul, a failure. Good for one thing and you can’t even do that right. I wanted a fight, a real fight, but this was a pathetic display. So I’m going to leave you here, in your own piss and blood, and let you reflect on what a disappointment you’ve been,” his face was a mask of disgust, looking down on me. “Die slowly, filth.”

“Wastelander!” a tinny voice barked, somewhat familiar. “Step away from the ghoul and drop your weapons. I do not want to-”

The Ranger never finished their sentence. There was a brief scream of metal followed by a broadcast of the Ranger choking on their own blood, the armour that was supposed to protect them preventing their hooves from pushing the claw-blade from their neck. Septic made strange shushing noises as the choking slowed to gargling and finally silence, like a father putting a child to rest.

“I suppose I should make an exit. All the protagonists make a daring escape when things seem bleakest,” my eyes rattled as Septic kicked my head. “Goodbye, Hard Copy. May you find peace in wherever you end up, it’s only fair time finally catches up with you.”

I gasped as he walked away, reaching out a hoof. I never wanted to kill another pony before. I never had such an intense desire to see another pony dead, but I would have given my life there and then to give me one shot at killing him. To not leave the fight where it ended. Instead I lost out to the fading ebbs of the brew, and let out one last breath.

In those final moments, where all sensation was lost to a warm comfort, the faint sounds of battle echoed into the distance. I felt something curl around me. The world turned to blurry shapes and vague ideas of what there was, eventually melting into nothingness as tears rolled. All the anger and exhaustion from this entire ordeal was slowly stripped away until only Hard Copy remained.

Somewhere, bells jingled.

I needed to sleep.

Chapter Eight - A Hero's Return

Chapter Eight – A Hero’s Return

Come back with your shield, or upon it

The first time I came home, I had an overwhelming feeling of disappointment.

I had been living in Canterlot for two years, the first as an intern and the second as a freelance writer. I came home after realising that freelancing sounds great when you’re in work and is hell once you’re out of it. After adjusting myself to the nature of living in a city with no money, I then had to learn how to live in a tiny textile town with debt.

There were two things that put Fetlock Fields on the map. One was the longest running family business of the town: Needle’s Threads. The Needle family came from a long line of tailors, dressmakers, designers, and business-mares who had built a clothing empire. While it was nothing compared to the highs of fashion in Canterlot, it was perfect for the pony who wanted to dress up a little more every now and then.

Most, if not all, families had a relative who worked for Sewing Needle, the head of the family. It was a tight knit community, pun unintended, built on generations of trust and innovation. While a Needle sat at the top, as always, the board was made of ponies of all walks of life. They squabbled over decisions like any other family would, even a few arguments that stained a reputation or two, but it ultimately brought everyone together.

You may think you’ve never heard of them, but if you see a pony out there wearing combat armour with a quick release knife sheath then you’re looking at Needle’s Threads’ greatest contribution to the war. There’s more to it than that, but I never found out what exactly. Loose lips ruin friendships, as well as get our side killed, so it was need to know. A supply grunt did not need to know.

There’s something about how the mighty fall, and all that nonsense, but that’s the path life took. From gossiping with high society and having afternoon tea with Prince Blueblood, to hefting crates of clothes and armour onto chariots eight hours a day. On the plus side, I certainly lost the weight I had gained from my less than stellar diet in Canterlot.

Of course, that was a far cry from sorry state I was in now.

We had been on the road for ten days in total. Just as Two Tone said, he wasn’t a miracle worker and Clean was having a great difficulty in walking let alone keeping his old pace. In pain, on a steady supply of Buck, and exhaustion made him more cantankerous than ever: snarling at anyone who did anything he slightly disagreed with. It only made the days pass by even slower.

However, he did admit my route was much faster. The roads were less travelled back in my day and the tradition had continued. Cracked but unworn, the pavement still showed the way to Fetlock Fields. I remember racing down these lanes once upon a time when I was younger, dodging the mail chariots coming in the other direction.

No chariot had made tracks here in a long time, husks of long dead mail ponies still dangled in the harnesses. Most of the cargo had long rotted away or was too burnt to be of any use, what remained I used to top up my radiation levels. It wasn’t awful tasting, I’m far too thankful I hadn’t lost that sense, but there are better things for a hungry ghoul to eat out there,

Domino had stayed quiet during the long walk, meaning I only had Two Tone to speak to if I wanted a conversation. The topic was mostly centred on him, but I didn’t mind that too much. I could tell that nerves were getting to him as he constantly checked on Clean every moment he had. Keeping him distracted kept us all sane.

“Is it much further, swinger?” he murmured for the tenth time that day.

Again, I shook my head. “We’ll be there by the end of the day. Look here.”

I took out my DC-pad for him to read, bringing up the map function. The marker for Fetlock Fields had slowly grown closer and closer. It wasn’t close enough for the group’s liking.

“Two Tone wants to be there before sundown, know what I’m saying? Swingers are tired, need to rest those weary heads,” he tried avoiding using a certain name as much as possible.

“And we’ll be there. Just a hop, skip, and jump, so move that little rump.”

“Catchy tune.”

“Don’t start,” Clean grumbled.

True to my word, we arrived an hour later. The approach had a helpful view of Needle’s Threads’ main factory, which lorded over the town. I felt my heart catch as I saw the familiar sights, now dilapidated and unloved for so long. The only comfort was that home appeared abandoned. The last thing we needed was a fight.

We made camp in an old café, that belonged to an elderly stallion named Flapjack, sweeping away the ancient shards of window from the only solid bed that remained. The years hadn’t been unkind to the small place, though there was little to scavenge from the pantry. Most of it was the standard preservative jammed food from the war. A few surviving cans of something more nutritious were devoured by the others so I settled for a bottle of Sparkle Cola.

Dinner was eaten in silence, each of us exhausted from the long walk. As normal, I volunteered for the night watch and let the others get their rest. It was almost an expectation now, but the others had no energy to contest it any more. Clean was worn to the bone with pain and drugged marching, Domino had a tired look in her eyes that betrayed her frayed nerves, and Two Tone’s morale still hadn’t recovered from the surgery.

While the others slept in a small room downstairs, I took a position in the upstairs bedroom. Looking out over the town with just the skeleton of Flapjack’s son for company, I rested my head against my hoof. Beyond the endless march of time taking its toll, very little had changed in Fetlock Fields. I could recognise certain houses and landmarks, sighing at the darkness.

I tried to bring the faces of the ponies who lived here to mind, the thousand faces I grew up seeing every day and then casually threw to one side when I sped away into a new world. By the time I was old enough to begin considering the idea, it was rare for ponies to choose to stay in their hometowns. Many set out to make something of themselves, other did it to escape.

Only a painful few seeped into sight, making me shudder until I forced them down. The horrendous feeling of guilt and my discomfort just being in the town again wasn’t something I could bring up with the others. They were all in various states of breaking down, while I had kept it all bottled up. Guess that’s the biggest difference between training and living a certain way. You know how to throw that switch, and when to flick it back.

That’s not to say that I am better at handling situations, not at all. It took months of training and hardening my mind to put myself in high stress situations and remain as cool as I could. Of course, that still cracked from time to time, but it was because I knew what the soft life was like. Clean, Domino, Two, Blue Bobbin, all of them had suffered at the whims of the wastes and lived this stress constantly. Now they were starting to crack.

It wasn’t surprising when, three hours after they had retired for the night, I heard a creak from the stairs.

“Hey Two,” I said as I felt the air move.

“That’s a good trick, swinger, they teach you that at Hoofbeats?” he joined me in staring out the window.

“No, just learned to listen. Domino would call for me, Clean would announce his arrival, you’re the only one who would leave the room,” I managed a wry smile. “That’s real magic.”

“Anything unexplained, swinger, anything unexplained,” I heard the slosh of his hip flask. It was running low. “Couldn’t sleep, thought you could use the company for a while.”

“Thanks Two, it’s better than being alone.”

There was more weight to it than that. Even as he sat there, I could see ghostly figures walking along the streets. Part of me hoped he would comment on them, proving that I wasn’t going mad, but I couldn’t point it out to him. That would be admitting I was.

“Know the feelin’ swinger, Two Tone spent many a year on the lonesome road, know what I’m sayin’?” he offered the flask, which I took with a nod. “Get all wrapped up in all kinds of nasty thoughts.”

“Yeah,” I replied half-heartedly.

“Like ponies we used to know, things we used to do,” he paused. “Homes we haven’t seen.”

I slowly set the flask down and stared at one building in particular. I could just make out the rusted shape of a telescope on the roof.

“What gave it away?”

“Written on your face, swinger, you really don’t want to be here. There’s two reasons for that kind of feelin’: you lost somepony here, or somepony lost you,” Two Tone took his flask back. “Two Tone gets the feelin’ you’ve been hit by both?”

“Yeah,” the pause lasted a little too long for him to give up there. “My dad when I moved to Canterlot, and I guess my mom and sister now.”

“Rough swinger, real rough.”

We sat in silence for a while, only marred by the occasional sip of the flask. I soon realised I was drinking far larger sips than Two, and I was sure he knew it too. If he did, he didn’t show any signs of caring.

“Swinger, Two Tone won’t push, but sitting on this won’t help nopony,” he finally said with a fatherly tone. “He’s here to listen, here to help you go home, but he won’t take another week of gloom, know what I’m sayin’? He has one pony on the edge of dependency, one pony on the edge of panic, and he’s stressin’ like there’s another Last Day comin’. You’re the only pony that’s holdin’ on, swinger, so let’s sort this out before this thing explodes.”

He had made it to the door before I responded. “A deal.”

“Hmm?”

“Tomorrow, after we search this place, I’ll go there and do it. But, I want to know something tomorrow too,” I turned my head to meet Two Tone’s eyes. “Tell me about Clean before he met Domino.”

Two Tone smiled and gave me a short nod. “Deal, swinger. See you in the morning.”

I smiled back until he left, then returned my gaze to the street. Some figures still meandered their way along the roads, one or two looking worringly real. They took no interest in the houses, making their way towards the factory in the distance.

I gritted my teeth, grinding them as I watched the shapes go about their business. How I wanted Two Tone to comment on them, to acknowledge what was happening. The Craterside ghouls had joked about seeing ghosts, but this was more than just seeing one or two tricks of light. There were things out there, and only I could see them. I spent the night watching the ponies walk through the streets I used to know.

I ignored the colourful pony looking through my telescope, and the bells that it wore.

“Something’s been here,” Clean sniffed at the ground, his eyes narrowing. “You see anything last night?”

We were stood a few houses from the café; the streets had emptied with the rising sun. Rather than the images melting with the changing of darkness to dull light, the ghosts had vanished into their homes – whether they still stood or not. There was a strange melancholy to the action, like watching them return after a long day’s work.

“Nothing worth waking you up over. They weren’t interested in the buildings,” I replied, looking at the nothing that Clean saw.

“You didn’t wake us?”

“They didn’t look threatening to me,” it wasn’t a complete lie. The things I saw last night could have all been in my head, but there was no way of telling without all hell breaking loose last night. I couldn’t risk the group’s safety because my marbles were slipping.

“That’s not the fuckin’ point, zombie,” Clean growled. “There’s somepony here. Don’t know who they are, where they are, or what they want. Should’ve woken us up so we could have a fightin’ chance.”

“We’re in no condition to fight,” Domino replied softly. We all knew who she meant by ‘we’.

Clean dismissed it with a snort but had no answer to give. Domino was right even if he didn’t want to admit it, we were hungry, thirsty and low on ammo. Not to mention how low our morale was right now – we would break like twigs in a combat situation right now.

“What are we looking for, Clean?” Domino continued, seeing how Clean and I were staring down at each other.

“No clue, just know the last pieces were sent here. Didn’t say why, but Needle’s Threads was real important,” he was sharp with his response, earning a frown from Domino. “Just gotta get in there and have a look.”

“I’d make a joke about needles in a haystack, but I think it’s a little too obvious.”

“Not wrong though, swinger,” Two Tone chimed, sighing after. “Sure there ain’t any more information? This is all a li’l too vague, know what I’m sayin’?”

“Again, that’s all I know. Mind gettin’ off my case, Two?” Clean snorted as he took the lead, the strange movements of his legs in their braces making me wince as I watched. “There’s somethin’ in there that’ll give us the next step, I know it.”

It’s strange, being a stranger in your own town. I can’t truly describe how it feels to be walking through somewhere that should feel so familiar but struck no chord of nostalgia. It was more like walking through a museum and examining the curiosities of ponies long past rather than a hero’s return.

I barely recognised the homes of my childhood friends and felt very little towards them. Like myself, most had escaped Fetlock Fields at the first opportunity that came. Some managed to find work that worked with their calling, others believed their life was worth throwing away in the millstone of war. Ultimately, I was the only one who ever came back – even if it was for a short while.

Needles’ Threads had slowly turned from landmark to colossus, towering over us all in its dilapidated splendour. Two Tone gave me a quick look, eyes full of understanding, and Clean led us into the shadow and towards the entrance.

The door made a near-silent woosh as it opened. Dust flew into the air, angry at the new arrivals. Whoever was in town hadn’t come this way. Nopony had been here any time recently: skeletons littered the floor, while the remains of display outfits rotted away on yellowed mannequins. The light from outside did little to penetrate the darkness, forcing Two Tone to light our way past the entrance hall. I tried to ignore the skeleton slumped at the welcome desk as I removed the ammo from its pistol.

There was a rattle from the corner, making me jump out of what little skin remained. Two Tone shook his head from the corner, tapping at the door on one side of the room.

“Locked, ain’t goin’ this way any time soon.”

“Doesn’t matter, this way,” Clean replied, walking towards a set of double doors. They groaned in protest as we opened them to still air. A corridor loomed ahead, grimy doors and windows sat watching the bones of other ponies. I felt a pang of guilt as I looked at the bones, while Clean snorted at the sight.

“Need to search these rooms, find some sort of paperwork.”

“Not the manager’s office?” Domino asked, looking at the stencilled writing on frosted glass. “It’s always in the last office in the building anyway.”

“Sounds about right, ain’t like I have somethin’ that’ll tell us where it is though.”

Two Tone trotted past Clean. “Just keep openin’ these doors until we find what we need, right swinger?”

The door swung out towards him, only to rapidly close again. The speed slowed at the last second, closing with a whisper quiet click. Two Tone’s wore an expression that had been caught between terror and amusement. He turned and looked at a nearby set of bones, eyes growing wider, before he nodded once.

“Well, swingers, looks like we ain’t alone here,” he said in a distant voice. He threw a bone to Clean, which was caught neatly in his magic. Clean carefully examined the yellowed remains, sucking in a breath. I could see teeth marks.

“Ferals,” Clean hissed. “Stay quiet, don’t open anythin’ without really thinkin’ about it.”

Images of Craterside feasting on the residents of Manehatten gave chase to the sickening realisation in my head. This wasn’t a removed idea, something that happened to another pony in another time in another place. This atrocity took place in a building I was far too familiar with, in the town I grew up in, to the ponies I knew. That thought along was almost impossible to understand, to wrap my mind around.

“Ponies don’t eat other ponies!” Tarlung’s voice shrieked.

That was enough for me to come back to the corridor. They weren’t ponies, they were ferals. They weren’t the mutated, insane, twisted neighbours I used to have. They were some foul by-product of megaspells that now infested Equestria. That was the mantra I used.

“Clean, here.”

Domino motioned for us to join her, pointed at a sign for the manager’s office, and made a swift movement for the doors. We returned to the lobby and made for the locked door, Two Tone grumbling as he studied the lock with Domino.

“Can’t do this blind, swinger, know what I’m sayin’? Two Tone needs somethin’ to pick it with.”

“Sorry Two, fresh out of lock picking sets,” I kicked a loose tile and looked around. “Anything else you can use?”

“Clean, do we still have that screwdriver? And Two, I need a bobby pin,” Domino moved the singer to one side, examining the lock in great detail.

Lockpicking was never my forte, it was the unicorn agents’ job. If there was a locked door with somepony like me around, we knew a way around or we didn’t require subtlety. If Morale was knocking, they knocked hard. A few minutes, and a little swearing, later the door clicked open. Beyond, a rusted metal staircase loomed with arrows pointing for the assembly line and our goal.

“Guess boss mare wanted to show off,” Clean said as he took the lead.

The staircase wound around and into the gloomy assembly area. We carefully shifted across the groaning metal, freezing at any sudden movements or unexpected noise. I felt greater terror at our slowed breathing, my raspy wheeze far louder than any of the others. Beneath us, something stirred and made a similar noise.

A cluster of feral ghouls stood, staring vacantly at ancient combat armour on rusted lines. A few sniffed the air and growled at the scent, but none made a move. Domino gave me a worried look but motioned for us to keep up with Clean, who had taken a considerable lead. Either he hadn’t noticed what was standing below or had chosen to ignore it.

We carefully made out way across the gangways, keeping an eye on the feral ghouls that lurked in the darkness below. They seemed to be uninterested in our presence, which suited us just fine, but the thought of what might happen if we disturb them wasn’t pleasant. I saw the office up ahead, sighing at the memories of years long gone. I had my interview in there, which was a strange thought.

As we approached the door, I picked out the sound of somepony talking. They sounded distressed, but also other-worldly, like they were from some strange radio show as the alien character. Something else set me on edge as he reached the wooden door.

I held out a hoof, stopping the others in their tracks. “Something’s… wrong.”

“What do you mean?” Domino whispered.

“Radiation. I can feel it,” rather I could feel something. On the other side of the door lurked a worryingly high level of radiation, enough for me to absorb, but it felt different some how. I crept closer, taking in the tingle and loving the feeling.

Opening the door, the flow grew suddenly. It wasn’t as powerful as my time in Craterside but it was leaps and bounds above what I had experience in Fillydelphia. The office was bathed in a sickly green light, my head span as thoughts of the drinks we had in my dream surfaced and I forced myself to stand up straight. At the centre of the glow stood a unicorn, dallying to and fro as she muttered to herself.

“Another late shipment, this is ridiculous, what on earth is going on?” she paced the floor, glaring at a dead clock. “Said they’d be here three hours ago, unacceptable, truly.”

“Hello?” I tried, wincing as she turned towards me. The glow was intense, almost mesmerising. I found myself unable to move my eyes away from her form, taking in the whole view as a site more lovely and hellish than any before.

She was like me – a ghoul. Yet while the others of my kind had a pallid, near death look about them, she stood with more life within her than I had ever seen before. Where I had rotted and become corpse like, she shone with an in-equine power that took form in that green light. She took a moment to compose herself after the sudden interruption and gave me a smile.

“Ah, a visitor! Well, this is most unexpected. I do apologise sir, I have been busy of late. How may I help you, Mr…?”

“Copy, Hard Copy,” I said, my voice faint compared to hers. It filled the room with an unearthly noise, like a chorus talking at once.

“Mr. Copy? My stars, no, it can’t be! Why, I haven’t seen you in years!” she exclaimed and pulled me into a close hug. “I thought you were in Manehatten, what are you doing back here now?”

“I thought it was time for a visit, a short one at least,” I found my hooves and stood against the glow.

“Well, please make yourself at home. I’m waiting on a shipment from Fillydelphia, new reinforced plates for the armour, but they’re terribly late. I would ask if you want tea but I’m afraid dearest Rain Drop hasn’t come in today, I do hope she’s alright,” she began to potter around the room as I sat down, trying to wrap my head around the whole situation. I then remembered that Rain Drop worked at the front desk.

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the others crouched at the door. I gave them a nod and let them filter in, much to the mare’s surprise. The surprise increased as Clean entered the room.

“Fuck me sideways, that’s a glowin’ one!” he looked to me in horror. “The hell are you doin’?”

“A what? Where?” she said, looking around in terror.

“Clean, wait. This is the head office for Needle’s Threads, right?”

The glowing one nodded. “Of course, mom interviewed you here all those years ago.”

“So that makes you Knit, right? Knitting Needle?”

“You didn’t recognise me? We went to school together Hard! And it hasn’t been that long since then, I can assure you,” Knitting Needle pouted, which is a tricky thing to describe with her condition. “Why, just the other week your mother came in to visit.”

“Holy shit,” Domino muttered, looking at me with wide eyes. “You used to live here?”

“Missin’ the point, swinger,” Two Tone replied quietly.

“What’s the date today?” I asked, my voice low.

“Th-that’s a strange question, why do you need to know?” Knitting Needle looked a little panicked, pained even. She furrowed her brow.

“Answer the question, little miss,” Two Tone said softly. “Just checkin’ our calendars, know what I’m sayin’?”

“It-it’s the fifth of the seventh moon, but what does that matter?” Knit frowned harder, her voice strained.

“The year, what happened this year?” I said, trying to keep her calm.

Knitting Needle’s face scrunched in concentration. “So much! We’ve just been commissioned for another year by the Ministry of Wartime Technology, oh and there was that hullabaloo about those ponies disappearing into the Stables early, though I’m sure you remember that. It was in Manehatten after all.”

“Bullshit,” Clean whispered, making all of us flinch.

“You seem worried about something, what’s wrong?” Knitting Needle hesitantly asked, looking at Clean the same way a rabbit looks at a manticore.

“It’s ok, just making sure,” I said, standing up with a smile on my face. “Clean, Dom, mind giving us some space? You’ll be ok if Two stays, right, Knit?”

“S-sure,” she took a seat on an ancient couch as the others left the room. “What is this about, Mr. Copy? It’s been years since we last saw one another, you arrive out of nowhere with these strangers, it’s all rather distressing really.”

“Hard, call me Hard. I’m sorry for the sudden arrival, can’t let ponies know where I am all the time,” I gently patted her hoof. “Isn’t that right Two Tone?”

“Sure is swinger, can’t have you gettin’ caught up in another’s mess. He’s real important back in Manehatten, big writer, know what I’m sayin’?”

Knitting Needle nodded slowly. “I did hear something about new work, you’re writing again?”

“Yeah, comics and a few articles when I can,” I frowned at the still active terminal on her desk, feeling rather amazed that she could have afforded the model. “Odd question, can I use your terminal? Need to check my watch is synced. But I’m not the famous one here, let me introduce you to my good friend – Two Tone.”

“Of course, of course. Now, Two Tone?” she asked, looking expectantly at the stallion. I could feel the heat from his glare on my back as he realised what part I wanted him to play.

“That’s me, li’l miss, King of the Swing at your service,” he took a seat next to her on the couch. “Two Tone’s just back from Tenpony Tower, new album.”

“Tenpony? Where’s that?”

“Just the name we give the record studios in Manehatten,” Two Tone replied, cool as a breeze. “Can fit ten ponies in the booth they’re so big!”

I let the conversation fade in the background and focused on tapping away at the terminal. If Two Tone could hold the attention of several waitresses with a few songs, he could certainly keep Knitting Needle entertained for a few minutes. Thankfully, it wasn’t locked, and I was able to access the last few messages. From my little experience of Stable-Tech machines, I figured one mystery out already. The date hadn’t changed since the end of Equestria – in fact, it said that wasn’t due to happen for another two days. It explained how Knitting Needle could fool herself into thinking nothing has changed.

It didn’t explain how she had never come across a mirror. I looked over at the glowing mare and sighed at the thought. She was mentally locked in the week just before the world around her crumbled, blocking out the stress and trauma of turning into a ghoul through sheer willpower and denial.

If there was one thing Knitting Needle had, it was willpower.

I scrolled through the various messages and internal memos, wincing at the references to names long gone. My mind began to ponder if any of these names belonged to the growling creatures a storey or two below, but I shut the thought out quickly. If the worst happened, if I denied what they were now, I would be dead very quickly.

More messages flew by, until something caught my eye. The name made me frown for a moment, the message itself bringing a smile. Finally, a lead.

“Knit, can I ask you about something?” I said slowly, choosing my words very carefully.

“Of course, Mr Tone here was just telling me about his latest tour, a tour in Fillydelphia sounds just divine!” Knit beamed, while Two wiped away imaginary sweat.

“Yeah, it was something. I think I clicked on something, sorry about that!” I chuckled, waving my hooves. “Four left hooves!”

Knit nickered. “Still causing trouble? That inquisitive nose will be the death of you, Hard.”

“You can say that again,” I murmured. “Still, I thought I saw a famous name here, maybe six months ago. Now what would a Ministry Mare be doing here?”

“Hmm? Oh! Yes, I remember now, Wartime Technology… oh, what’s her name?”

“Applejack?” Two Tone offered, catching my eye and smiling.

“Yes! Lovely mare, lovely family actually, just finished designing some wonderful alternative designs for her sister. Those Stable jumpsuits are just so drab! Why does that matter? You’re not one of those stalker ponies, right? Still?” she said with a coy look. As coy as you can get with half a face.

“Stalker?! Come on now Knit, that’s just mean!” I spluttered as Two Tone began to chuckle. “I follow you home one time…”

“He wanted to ask me to the fall dance,” she explained to Two. “Of course, rather than go to my house and ask me there, he follows me all over town. Such a strange pony back then, hiding away in his comics when he wanted to ask something, but the first to take to the stage when it came to the school play.”

“Don’t bring comics into this,” I mumbled.

“Don’t you worry swinger, Two Tone won’t be lettin’ you live this down for a while,” the singer laughed, bringing a smile to my face as well. “Now, what did Miss Applejack want here? Seems a bit out of the way for her, know what I’m sayin’?”

“Well, she was bringing something along to be fixed. She said that it was originally designed by the Rarity, but that poor dear is so over worked with her own businesses that Applejack came to me. Said it was frightfully important.”

The trail of thought was interrupted by a sharp rap on the door. Two Tone nodded to me and slipped outside, closing the door back on us two ghouls. I moved over to Knitting Needle and took Two’s place on the couch.

“What was it?” I shifted, feeling a surge of confidence. The feeling faded as Knitting Needle hesitated.

“I honestly can’t remember… I’m very sorry Hard,” she sighed, the sound strange with the effects on her voice.

“Do you know where it is?” I pressed, hoping for something to push forwards with.

“No,” she calmly shook her head. “No idea I’m afraid, is it important?”

“Y-yeah, just a pet project. Favourite things, that sort of article. Keeps morale up,” I gave her my greatest fake grin. As always, it was bought.

“I am sorry, but I do know who might be able to help you.”

The next line was cut short but the sound of Clean’s shotgun going off, the door being kicked open, and shouting from the main assembly area. Domino supported Clean as he came in, Two Tone shielding both as he slammed the door shut. Knitting Needle cried out in fear at the sight of the smoking barrels.

“Bounty hunters, not sure how they followed us, but they did,” Domino spoke quickly, the sound of bullets slamming into the door sending us all to the floor. “Think they’re Devil’s ponies too.”

“Stars above, how many?” I hissed back, readying my pistol.

“Enough for it to be hard,” Clean replied. His voice was gruff, edged against the pain in his back.

“Sweet Celestia, what is going on?” Knitting cried. “Why are you all carrying weapons? What is this?!”

“Knit, you need to listen to me very carefully,” I began when a bullet managed to smash the glass on her door, opening us to the sounds of fighting below. “These ponies are here for us, not you. Do not worry about us, worry about yourself. You need to get out of here and hide, alright?”

“But the workers! Hard, I need to get them!”

“Don’t worry about them, you need to go, get out of here!”

There was a sickening scream, followed by shouts at the workers woke up. Someone cried out for help as they were eaten alive, gunfire showering the attackers. We all hesitated at the sound for moment too long.

“What was that?” Knitting Needle asked, her voice and expression distant. I could see that she knew exactly what it was but did not want to remember. Her eyes were empty, the life behind them slowly fading as she lost to the realisation that something was very, very wrong.

“Fuckin’ hell, they’re gone lady. They’re fuckin’ ghouls, abominations. You want to see what’s happenin’ to them? Ask the poor bastards they’re eatin’,” Clean snarled, shoving me out of the way. “Wake up already, else you’re dead.”

He didn’t expect to be flung to one side with such ease, though no-one else expected Knitting to them burst out of the room and throw herself off the railing. We could hear the screaming as the invaders were beset by a glowing horror. Two Tone shot a glare at Clean as he scarpered out of the room, Domino giving chase after helping Clean to his hooves. I watched Clean move towards the door, glowering at the sight.

“You comin’ or dyin’? She just gave us a ticket out of this mess, make the most of it,” he fired a shot at an unseen enemy before I grabbed him.

“Watch yourself, Clean,” I said through clenched teeth, barely audible over the fighting. “There are a lot of bullets flying right now.”

“And whose fuckin’ fault is that? Neglectin’ to tell us about these pricks has royally ruined this, ghoul. You have a problem with my methods, then bitch later. Right now, I want us out of here alive. That ain’t happenin’ with you chit chattin’ with a time bomb and mercs shootin’ the place up,” he shoved me back. “She’s gone, zombie, just a matter a time.”

“Then what about me?” I hissed at him.

Gunfire prevent an answer, sending us both back inside the office. Clean slammed the door shut again, throwing an ancient filing cabinet across as a barricade. I could head the snapping of bone and the animalistic shrieks as a feral met its end, as well as the terrified cries as a mercenary met hers. Pushing the images of what was happening outside out of my head, I dragged Clean towards the connecting office door, hoping there was another way out.

My luck held, but it was precarious. In the next room there was an emergency escape at the back, rows of designer desks sitting undisturbed for over a century. The door was being slammed repeatedly by something on the other side, the movements imprecise and harried. We split up, looking for a way to open the door without going anywhere near it.

It was the wrong moment to hear bells.

I glared at the harlequin as it sat on a desk, not unlike a dog. It patted at a document, looked up at me expectantly, and vanished the moment I looked away. With a growl, I swiped the document and upturned the desk. Clean shouted a countdown as I bit into my pistol, his magic gripping the door’s handle. It swung open with a loud clatter, bringing the noise of an angry feral ghoul as it burst into the room.

Now seeing it hungry the first time, I understood why they had taken the name. I tried to remember what Pirouette had said, all those weeks ago, but there wasn’t a pony left any more. There was no spark left in those mindless, colourless eyes. No song or word would escape its drooling maw, teeth snapping as it hungered for flesh. It was the utter opposite of a pony, a true creation of the wastes.

It made my blood boil.

Clean, true to his talent, made quick work of the feral. He slammed the stock of one of his shotguns into its jaw and stunned the creature. The other swung around, turning the feral’s head into chunks of long dead flesh. Its body crashed to the floor after, lying there as what fluid remain dribbled out. I felt a wave of guilt crash over me, wondering if I once knew who that was, but the thought left when we heard the growls of another coming galloping up the stairs.

As it entered the room, I let the desk I was hiding behind fly through the air and straight into the ghoul. I heard its spine snap as it was pinned to the wall, forehooves scrabbling at the desk in an attempt to free itself. Approaching the creature, I could only feel a deep sadness inside me. I finished the job with a single shot to the head and hurried as fast as Clean could move.

I wanted to scream at him. I wanted to throw down and let out all the anger at his careless remarks, beat him to a pulp if it would put some sense into him, show him how much damage he had done with his actions. This wasn’t the place, nor the time, but the pressure was building. Somehow, some way, it was going to snap.

The staircase placed us near the main factory floor, the air deathly silent. One side had certainly won, we were just round two. It didn’t take long to see the remains of battle, the first appearance being a dirtied mare staring with terrified eyes. Her face was misshapen from the stomps it had received, and her left foreleg had been torn away. We wasted no time in searching the corpse for anything worth taking. A few shotgun shells and a potion were our reward.

Her attacker lay a little further, still biting down on the leg. There was a considerable distance between the head and the body, making Clean sniff as he examined the work.

“Somepony’s got themselves a real nice blade,” he muttered. “Cleanest cut I’ve seen in all my life.”

“Who do you think is still alive?” I whispered, jumping at the sound of gunfire in the distance.

“Won’t be them for much longer,” Clean visibly fought back the urge to gallop. We moved as fast we could, Clean trying not to grunt every other step.

The scene was a mess. Three mercs were panting as a fourth decapitated the last attacking ghoul. All of them were wounded and had begun to patch themselves up. So they didn’t realise we were there until one of them was filled with buckshot and slumped against the machinery.

The sword wielder leapt at Clean with a holler, but I met her before she could build enough momentum. The blade sung in the air as I knocked her slightly off course, following up with another strike of my forehoof. My mind scrambled for the zebra methods of fighting an opponent with a weapon. They came just in time.

The weapon scythed down towards my neck but came away hungry for my blood, managing to nick it as a reward for its efforts. The roll was imperfect, but it had done a fantastic job all the same. I bounced back to my hooves and bucked the mare with both hindlegs: the dat-placers not having enough oomph to activate yet. It worked nonetheless, as she skidded onto the floor and tried to get back onto her hooves.

The victory was short lived, as a brute of an earth pony joined the fray. His weapon was long gone in the firefight with Clean but that didn’t stop him from stepping into my space and delivering a hammer-like blow with a hoof. I slammed against an ancient machine, slipping underneath the next blow which made a loud metallic bong.

I could swear there was a hoof shaped imprint left behind.

As soon as I kicked the mass of muscle away, the sword came swinging back. The ancient machine gave a loud shriek as it was rent open, exposing the sliced innards. I looked at the mare, then to the damage.

“You could hurt somepony with that,” I remarked as my hoof managed to find her chin.

The impact sent her head over hooves, letting her give a soft grunt as she landed. My attention then returned to the second combatant as he shouldered me to the ground. There wasn’t time to recover as he stomped downwards, leaving me only time to roll away with just enough space. He didn’t find his mark but was rewarded with a loud rip as his hoof caught my jacket and tore it open.

With his weight down on the leg, I span on my back to swing mine into the joint. Both hooves drove into his knee and caved it inwards, bringing him crashing to the floor. He cried out in pain as I followed the next step in the pattern. Placing both hindlegs either side of his neck, I shifted my weight so I was reared up over his exposed head. All it took was a twist and the snap followed.

Something slammed into something else behind me without warning, some inner sense telling me to sprawl on the ground to avoid the follow up blow. Above my head, Two Tone’s riot shield blocked a few more stabs from the merc, until Domino took over. Domino’s knives were torn apart in sudden sparks but she pressed the attack, searching for a quick stab or kick. Her opportunity came after a mis-timed sidestep, the world slowing to a crawl as she drove her knife into the neck of the merc. The sword fell with a clatter, kicked away into the dark by our deadly mare.

A twist of her head, and the sword wielder fell dead.

“And where did you two disappear to?” I asked with a smile, getting to my hooves.

“Chased by a few of these fools and ghouls. We heard gunfire and thought it would be best to head there first,” Domino smiled as Clean joined us. “Sorry it took a while.”

Two Tone trotted, giving me a pat down. “Lost part of your fancy jacket there, swinger. Shame.”

A growl interrupted us. On the other side of the room, I could see a glowing form slowly make her way towards us. In the dim, green light, I could see the rotting faces of several other ghouls snap and heard the sound of monsters breaking into a lolloping gallop. The movements were unsteady, the ghouls falling over each other like newborn foals but with a ceaseless determination. We looked to each other, then to Clean. He was out of breath, face contorted in pain from the extended fight.

“For the love of… run!”

We broke into a mad dash, Domino leading the way as I shouted directions, while Two Tone and I held the rear. Every ten feet, I spun to fire a shot or two off at the small horde. The flashes of light illuminated the dreary corridors, giving our position away but also showing how much damage we were doing. It wasn’t enough.

Even with Two Tone using his shield as an improvised bat, we had barely put a dent in the number of ferals chasing us through the halls. I had put a few holes into the leading creatures, maybe even killed one or two, but I was now out of ammo and had no way of reloading without stopping. It was a really, really bad day to not be a unicorn.

I fired my last shot and cursed internally as the pistol clicked in hunger for ammo. A feral leapt from the pack but came to a sudden halt as it slammed into the battered riot shield, Two Tone throwing the creature back at the crowd with a shout of effort. It bounced and gave a strange squealing hiss as it was pounded flat by the other hooves. He pulled me back around, holding the shield behind us to deter any other creatures.

“Hard, end of the corridor! What way, left or right?” Domino yelled from the front, dragging Clean behind her.

“Left then look for a door. It was never locked when I was here, doubt that would have changed recently!” I shouted back.

I saw the others round the corner, Two Tone moving just a little faster than me, when I felt teeth sink into my leg. That hurt. I gave a very un-stallion scream, feeling the flat grinding teeth of another pony bite into my flesh. The ghoul pulled at my leg in jerking motions, having broken ahead of the pack in its mad dash hunger for pony flesh.

Two Tone yelled as he slammed the shield into the ghoul’s head, twice, thrice, until it let go. He threw the shield into the creature for good measure, retrieving it and me with another yell. The feral was stunned long enough for us to get away, the others finding purchase on the floor to keep up with us.

We joined the others in the room, which was still kept unlocked after all this time. The door to the locker room slammed shut behind us, Clean wrenching a locker set across it as the monsters outside piled against it. Hooves and bodies began to test the wood, hammering again and again on it.

“There’s no way out,” Two Tone cried, looking around in a panic. “Swinger, don’t mean to doubt your tactical abilities, but we’re dead in here!”

“I bought us time, we can work out our next move. What’s our ammo count?” I slammed a fresh reload into my pistol.

“Not enough,” Domino replied, searching as well. “There’s a vent, but Clean won’t fit in there.”

“Lockers!” Clean ordered, pulling a few open. “Look inside the lockers. Might be somethin’.”

We did as commanded, finding ancient clothing mostly, until Two gave a shout. The door made uncomfortable sounding cracks as we rushed over. In his hooves, a slightly tarnished, but other wise working, combat shotgun. I blinked at the weapon, looking to the others.

“Seen stranger. Ghoul, take that if you know how to use it. How many rounds, Two?” Clean had already moved to another locker, tearing out the contents.

“All full, eight shots, swinger,” he replied, throwing the weapon to me.

I looked at the device in my hooves, unable to process. “Why is there a fully loaded shotgun in a clothing factory?! Who? What?!”

“Doesn’t matter, it’ll help,” Clean shouted back, pulling another locker set down as the door began to splinter.

“You’ll be amazed at what you can find, Hard,” Domino chimed in. “Bombs, books, copious amounts of drugs, a briefcase full of grenades.”

“Some ponies,” I sighed, double taking as Domino brought forward said briefcase. “Oh come on!”

The small, apple-shaped explosives were at odds to the casual clothes they rested on. Three in total, enough to turn the tide if used correctly. Domino took two of them, hefting one and readying a solid buck.

“Two, keep them back and away from us. Domino, one grenade out as soon as that door caves. Ghoul, fire at the meat of the pack. I’ll take care of the flanks, got it?”

We all gave a grunt of acknowledgement, the door cracking once more. Clean floated Lock and Stock out, checking they were both fully loaded, and aimed them at the gaps. A rotting snout replaced a rotting hoof, growling at the inability to get inside.

“I ain’t dyin’ here.”

The door broke, and hell swarmed us. The shotgun felt uncomfortable in my mouth, dust and rust bringing new taste sensations that weren’t overly welcome. It was too heavy, and it had been years since I last used something bigger than a pistol. Braced against the locker, I fired the first roar into the maw of a feral.

Ichor sprayed across the faces of the horde as the feral fell to the floor, another quickly taking its place. The second shot wasn’t as well placed, slamming in the torso of the creature. It screeched in agony, trying to get back to its hooves as two more raced in. I fired another two shots, tearing the forelegs off of one and the lower jaw of the other.

“DOWN!” Two bellowed, his enhanced voice ringing over the damage to my ears. I obeyed as his shield came over me, the krump of a grenade going off just on the other side of the door. Fragments found their way through the broken plastic despite it slowly regrowing. I hissed as something sliced into me, realising that it was a shard of bone rather than hot metal as white stuck out from my side.

The doorway was now caked in ancient ghoul blood, the few that remained dragged themselves on what limbs still worked. Entrails followed them like grotesque streamers, leaking chunks of gory confetti. The comparison troubled me far more than the image itself, so I set to work putting it out of my mind by putting a bullet in theirs.

The last of the combat shotgun ammo was put to good use, a single shot to the back of the head made short work of the ferals. Without the adrenaline of combat keeping me going, I could feel every ache and wound. At some point, I had been shot. I hadn’t even registered the bullet slicing my leg but now I could barely shift my weight without a spark of pain.

The last feral looked up at me with its pale, undead eyes. it gave a choking gurgle, snapping teeth as I lined the shot up. A memory wobbled inside my head, and I wondered if I knew this pony. Did I go to school with them? Their relative? Did I work with them here? See them every morning? Who were they? What did they do?

I threw the switch. The shotgun fell, emptied of its rounds, next to the corpse of the feral.

“Ponies don’t try to eat other ponies!” Tarlung’s words, her tears, came to mind. She had witnessed the change of a loved one and had killed her. In the end, this was more of a mercy for their memory than a battle for survival. I fought back the tears.

“Is that the last of them?” Domino said, hesitant to tempt fate. “I’m exhausted.”

“Same here, swinger, this ain’t a good place to be,” Two Tone muttered, watching as his riot shield slowly regrew. “We need to get out of here.”

“If there’s nopony left, it’s a quick trot to the exit. Come on,” I led the group out of the room, moving towards the docking bays. My eyes were heavy, exhaustion had taken its toll on me. I hadn’t slept since Fillydelphia and the excitement wasn’t helping, bringing my non-existent energy levels to near zero.

I didn’t see her hiding in the darkness. All I felt was the explosion of pain as the pipe was slammed into my nose, and the taste of copper burst into my mouth. I fell to the ground in agony, only hearing the scuffle afterwards. The pipe let out a few more thuds, several banging against Two’s shield. Then came the worst one.

It sounded like a branch snapping. Only, branches don’t scream afterwards. One of Clean’s shotguns went off twice, following by dull thuds as it hit something over and over again. It then clattered to the floor.

“What’s wrong?” I slurred through my broken nose.

“Don’t move swinger, Clean, don’t move!” I could hear the panic in Two Tone’s voice.

Domino was saying something, but it was unintelligible over Clean’s screams of agony. The gentle tingle of somepony’s magic could just be made out as something was carried over me. Looking up, I could see it was someone.

And their hindlegs were completely motionless.

The last thing I heard was the jingling of bells as somepony laughed. Then everything went black.

Clipping from Manehatten Today.

Police Continue Appeal For Mystery Killer

Manehatten Police Department are continuing their appeal for witnesses of a fatal stabbing that occurred last Friday, as nothing conclusive has been found in the early stages of the investigation.

The attack took place in a public lavatory just one block away from the famous nightclub Hoofbeats, where police believe the attacker attended that evening. Officers arrived on the scene just past midnight, after receiving a call from a bystander who stumbled upon the scene. The victim was pronounced dead at the scene, having suffered multiple stab wounds.

“He was a true hero, never provoked anyone and wanted the best for the world,” the victim’s mother said in an appeal. “All we want is justice for our son, there is enough killing out in the world these days.”

Police are looking for a stallion, most likely an earth pony, who was seen fleeing the scene. They have announced that they found multiple drug applicators at the scene, including several Dash inhalers, and are considering the crime to be a result of hallucination. Police have stated that they do not believe it to be racially motivated, and caution that such vigilantism towards the zebra populace will be not be tolerated.

The Ministries of Peace and Morale have released a comment on the tragedy, pleading for such drug takers to admit themselves to the nearest Ministry of Peace clinic for assistance in coming clean. The Ministry of Morale have also offered a reward for any information regarding the distribution of the drug.

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