Author's Note

A very special thanks to the talented Kydois. Who had fixed my writing and gave it life.

And to those who have helped in making this a reality!

Chapter 1: Conundrum

My eyes fluttered open.

I shivered violently on the muddy ground. The rags I wore were of little protection against the cold winds blowing over me. A horrible smell stung my nostrils, an acerbic mix of unused diesel and copper.

I groaned as I laboriously leaned my head over. A couple of meters out, a vehicle was engulfed by a roaring blaze, charcoal smoke billowing into the somber morning sky. Dead ponies were strewn across the field, unmoving, their identities unknown to me. Their clothes mirrored my tattered and ragged outfit, and I assumed that I had been one of them before whatever happened... happened.

Where was I? Was I part of a battle that I managed to live through? Had I been violently flung from that truck?

I caught a lone figure poking and prodding around the bodies, completely hidden under a worn cloak. A survivor? Or perhaps just a looter. They turned towards me briefly, and I saw a few of their features, though only enough to recognize it as she.

I reached up with my hooves and rubbed my sore eyes, slumping back into the mud. My brain hurt as if someone had beaten me to a pulp with a sledgehammer. I racked my brains trying to think of how this whole dream started, but I found little to remember. Neither who I was nor how I came here popped to mind, and I soon found myself drifting off into unconsciousness again.

I woke with a start, staring at an unfamiliar ceiling. The warmth of a scratchy blanket and the uncomfortable spring mattress reassured me that I was in relative safety. I breathed a sigh of relief, but even then, it was hard to completely loosen up. I may be safer now, but there was still too much that was unknown.

It was a bunker of some kind. That much was evident by the stone enclosing me on all sides. There were cans of old food and candy wrappers decoratively placed on the floor, while old furniture, mostly beds and tables, appeared to have been used recently by the residents, wherever they were.

What I wouldn’t do for a bottle of Daisy Vodka right now. It would’ve taken this horrendous pain away, helped ease my aching head, and let me celebrate the fact I was still alive. I heaved a defeated sigh as I stared up at the cracks in the concrete ceiling.

“Rise and shine!” A voice echoed from the doorway across the room.

It was a mare. She wore a familiar cloak, except this time, her face wasn’t hidden in a giant hood. She was a unicorn of average build, her golden harvest coat and blonde mane blemished with a few dirt stains. She had a peculiar scar across her left eyelid, which I realized, upon further inspection, took the shape of an “F” whenever she blinked. Her yellow eyes were tired. Weary.

“Are you alright?” she said, stepping towards me.

“I… I guess,” I rasped out, coughing as I made an effort to sit up.

“I see.” The mare stopped a respectable distance away from me. Her horn glowed a soft orange as she floated an old luggage case into my view.

“My name is Pathfinder. What’s yours?”

I stared at her in awkward silence, massaging my sore foreleg. My name… What a question. What was I supposed to say?

I sighed. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

She breathed out in exasperation. “Okay. That’s off the table.” She floated out a slim, pocket-sized rectangle from one of her pockets. “You know what this is?”

At first, I didn’t recognize what she showed me, but once I saw the acronym “PDA” etched into the side of the silver rectangle and the worn scratches over it, I knew. It was a PDA, and not only that, it was my PDA. I lunged at Pathfinder and snatched it from her aura, startling her. I stared at the device in my hooves, relieved that I got it back again.

There was a quick motion, and I looked back up at Pathfinder. She was pointing another object at me. A gun.

“Start talking,” Pathfinder growled quietly.

I swallowed, clutching my PDA to my breast. “I-I don’t remember anything,” was all I could say.

“Bullshit,” she snarled, her eyes boring into me. “You clearly know what’s on that PDA.”

“I don’t!” I tried to wriggle further away on the bed.

“Stop playing around. I know what I saw on there. You want to kill a pony named Gray Steel.” She snorted. “You mercenaries never stop amazing me.”

Great.

I fidgeted, squirming back into the wall as I continued to look down the barrel of her gun. She was still staring at me intensely, unflinching. Her pistol was unwaveringly still in the silence.

“Whatever. Pull a fast one on me, and you’re going to catch one of my bullets,” Pathfinder grumbled as she let her gun settle along her side. She composed herself with a heavy sigh. “I’m calling you Dossier.”

My brow furrowed. “Dossier? Why?”

She raised an eyebrow at me. “You want to tell me your real name?”

I didn’t answer and quickly came to terms with my new name. Dossier… It was a little catchy when I repeated it back to myself.

Pathfinder set the luggage case next to my bed. “You can keep the items in that case. Try to get along here in Rookie Haven,” she ordered before she left the bunker.

I was finally alone. My mind was overwhelmed with vague information and new outstanding questions, yet I was too afraid to ask Pathfinder just now for help, too afraid to even ask a simple question out of fear she would shoot me in the head.

I shook my head. I couldn’t linger on such thoughts, or I’d be here all evening.

I looked down at the device in my hooves. My eyes closed and I concentrated on the PDA, drawing on a basic, instinctive spell. Telekinesis. Every unicorn was a natural with this fundamental spell, and even I couldn’t mess it up that badly. I opened my eyes and saw my brilliant white aura levitating the device in front of my face.

It didn’t take long for me to figure out how to operate my PDA with a few probing button presses along the black glossy surface. The little piece of technology whirred to life and the black was soon replaced with a basic interface with four tabs: Map, Tasks, Encyclopedia, and Diary. I started with the Tasks tab. The device chimed with my selection, and the four tabs were replaced with another separate interface.

There it was. The aforementioned task with my supposed target.

ELIMINATE GRAY STEEL

I stared blankly at the screen of my PDA. That name… it looked familiar. The letters were burned into my shattered memory. I knew this pony, but at the same time, I didn’t.

I knew for a fact I needed answers to my questions, and Gray Steel was likely the pony to answer most of my questions for me. It was the best plan I could come up with on short notice, though it was impossible to tell if they were going to be hostile or indifferent to me.

I continued on with my PDA, looking through the Diary and Encyclopedia. There were no entries in either of those tabs that could’ve been of use to me, so I nonchalantly opened up the Map tab. The screen turned black for a moment, and the map of the area loaded slowly, piece-by-piece like a puzzle until it displayed the entire area.

I was in the Undiscovered West. Upon closer inspection of the screen, I realized there were small yellow dots nearby. I counted at least seven, including a dot for myself.

Interesting, those yellow dots must’ve been the residents of the bunker.

I put my PDA to sleep and set it aside. I already learned what I needed to about it, and I couldn’t help but smile at the peculiar piece of tech.

I concentrated on the luggage case next, levitating it over to a free spot on my bed and popping the latches open. I didn’t expect Pathfinder to give me any life-saving items, so I kept my expectations low as I opened the case.

I was surprised when I found there was actually a decent number of items inside.

I pulled them out one by one, starting with the thick cotton jacket, a Telogreika. One of those coats the communists wore back in the war. It came with fall weather fatigues to wear. Though old, they were much better suited to my current circumstances and certainly much better than running around in rags. I folded the pieces of clothing and laid them on another free spot on my bed and continued pulling more items out.

At the bottom of the case sat an old military pistol, which I identified as a PM. The old piece was caked with rust and had pitting along the slide and frame. It might still be functional. Might.

I pulled the remainder of the items out: a dull silver bayonet, cans of food and water, a pouch of machine bolts, and a strange yellow device. I lifted it closer, turning it around. It was crafted with very old durable plastic with bits of exposed metal here and there. There was a screen with some sort of readings on it, though none of it made sense to me when I looked at it.

I set it aside. Though I didn’t want to gloss over it, I also didn’t want to spend a whole lot of time on it, so I moved on.

As I started undressing myself to slip into my new clothing, the thought of Gray Steel came back to taunt me. Why Gray Steel? Why? Why the hell does your name make me want to scream until my voice was gone? I grumbled quietly to myself as I zipped the cotton coat closed. The outfit was uncomfortably scratchy in a few places and hooked into my fur like velcro, but it was cozy, at least.

I heaved another sigh and stored most of my items away into my pockets. My knife and firearm went into their respective holsters, and I fancied that I looked like an able soldier now.

Finally, I got out of bed, though I nearly collapsed when my wobbly legs came in contact with the concrete floor. I instinctively widened my stance and breathed in slowly. Nice and easy.

Slowly, but surely, I inched my way to the exit of the bunker, limping pathetically until I reached the first step of the staircase.

I glared at the stairs before me, seemly extending far into the distance. I took a deep breath to steel myself and began my ascent, leaning on the wall for support as I took step by step. The cold breeze seeped its way into the stairwell, brushing past me, and the clammy air filled my nostrils as I neared the outside world.

I emerged from the bunker. The rain was still present, just as chilly as it was when I was lying on the muddy ground. An icy gust of wind blew my mane into my face as I walked out of the bunker to have a better look at my surroundings. I was in a village. The houses appeared to have been abandoned a long time ago. Age had already taken its toll on many of them. Some houses were simple skeletal frames with the barest of brick to show they were once complete while others leaned to the side, ready to give in to gravity at any moment.

Rookie Haven.

Laughter and distant voices caught my attention, making me wonder if the ponies of this place were friendly. Even Pathfinder was only at best apprehensive towards me. In a small community such as this, her assumption that I was a mercenary could have carried over to a lot of ponies very quickly. Uncertain, I continued on anyways, approaching a nearby group huddled around a campfire with a bit of hope that they were at least somewhat friendly.

A beefy mare laughed loudly in unison with a group of six others. “What do you think of that new pony Pathfinder brought? Looked pretty nimble, eh? You think border patrol blew her up or something?”

“Hell yeah. Those damn ponies at Islet Equestria never learn about staying on their own island. The Zone ain’t no place for a little girl.”

“Uh… you know we’re all pretty much Islet folk, right?”

They fell silent for a moment before one of them chuckled. “I keep forgetting, but still, we have these chumps coming in every day.”

“Quit talking all that crap. You’re a fucking ‘chump’ too. Remember when you got shot in the ass? You were crying the entire time we were trying to find help for you!”

They burst into laughter, one of them clapping the embarrassed mare around the shoulders heartily. I took a few more steps forward, and one of them finally noticed me.

“Hey, look. It's the new meat,” a yellow pegasus said aloud.

The group fell silent as they peered over at me, their faces a mix of disgust and surprise. My ears instinctively folded back against my head, and I backed a few steps away, looking around for friendlier faces.

I caught sight of Pathfinder, who idled near a dilapidated house. She motioned with her hoof, signaling me to make my way over. I limped over to where she stood and kept my ears folded flat against my head, still feeling the disapproving stare of the group of ponies behind me.

I stopped next to Pathfinder, and she chuckled under her breath. “I’m surprised.”

“What for?” I frowned. “The fact I’m treated like a freak?”

“No no no, I don’t want to wish that on you, Doss. I’m more surprised you hadn’t tried to massacre everypony here.”

My frown only deepened. “What do you mean by that?”

She shrugged. “We don’t know anything about you. You came from a death truck. You’re the only known survivor of a death truck.”

Death truck. That name was strange to me, just like any other phrase. The Zone. Gray Steel. None of it made sense, but I know there was a connection between all of this.

“Me surviving a death truck is strange to you ponies?” I rolled my eyes. “You have my word I won’t try to ‘massacre’ everypony here.”

“I don’t know, Doss,” she said evenly. “Trust is a rarity.”

I let out a defeated sigh. This was going to be too much of a headache to pursue further, so I decided on trying to figure out where to go from here. I didn’t want to dump most of the questions I had on Pathfinder, but one mystery that needed to be answered was the pony named Gray Steel.

“Pathfinder, I need your help. Or, at least, just partial help.”

Her jaw shifted slightly and her eyes flickered briefly to look somewhere to the right, presumably at the group of ponies behind me, though I could tell from her ears that she was still listening.

“Please,” I said in a hushed voice. “You’re the only pony who might know where I can start my search for Gray Steel—”

“Okay, stop. Before you make me feel horrible.” She looked over my shoulders one more time before she rested her hooves on my back and pulled me uncomfortably close to her. “My boss Money Bags calls the shots here in Rookie Haven. Go talk to her for solid info. Don’t get on her bad side, or she’ll have one of us kill you.”

Pathfinder let me go and pointed her hoof at a bunker across from the one I emerged from. “She’s down there.”

My shoulders slumped a little more. Another pony to meet here as if the ones I had already met were welcoming enough. I tried to clear the lump that had grown in my throat and turned around. With another steadying breath, I forced myself forward and limped my way over to Money Bags’s bunker entrance.

Making my way down into the depths of her bunker, the smell of body odor, cigarette smoke, and alcohol combined into something truly revolting. My gut turned and I nearly fell into a fit of dry heaving, but it only became worse and worse as I went further down.

I found the source of the smell. A fat, dirty, unkempt mare sat behind a makeshift safety gate. She grinned at me, her hooves resting on her bulging belly as if expecting me.

“Welcome to my humble shop,” the fat mare delightfully said. “What can I do for you, girl?”

Right. Get on her good side.

I stood there like a fool as I tried to structure the words in my head carefully. Of course, the first thing I needed to tell her was my peculiar new name.

I cleared my throat, trying not to inhale too much of the toxic air. “I’m Dossier. I have a question to ask you if you have the time to answer it.”

She held a hoof up. “Hold on, Dossier. First, you’re going to retract that statement of yours. Second, we’re going to discuss my plan. Lastly, help doesn’t come ‘free.’ You work your ass off for it.”

Damn it. I knew this wasn’t going to be a cake walk. I hoped there were other options later on, but for now, I had to roll with Money Bags and see if she would give me a boost in my search.

“Okay…” I said cautiously. “Do you want money?”

She let out a barking laugh. “Oh, hell no. I need physical work done, but let’s discuss the gritty details now.”

I remained composed, though I knew when I was about to be royally fucked.

“What is it that you’re after?” she said, narrowing her eyes at me. “Gotta know before I send your pretty little tush out there.”

“I want info about where I could find a pony named Gray Steel.”

Money Bags grinned at me, leaning forward a bit. “Yeah, I know her.”

My eyes widened a touch. “You do?”

“Yeah. I’ll tell you more once you do a fun little mission for me,” she said, leaning back with her biggest grin yet.

I groaned and rolled my eyes. Of course. “What is it?”

She chuckled, amused at my disappointment. “Some low life punks calling themselves the Bandits nabbed one of my couriers, Fox Meat, while she was traveling here. She carried some precious cargo. Bring that package safe and sound here, and I’ll see what can be done about the Gray Steel situation.”

What have I gotten myself into? I felt anger boil up into my chest, but I couldn’t tell what I was supposed to be angry at. Was I supposed to accomplish all this by myself?

“Dossier?”

I jumped a bit, yanked back into reality. “Oh! I’m sorry. Yes, I’ll agree to the mission.”

“Perfect!” Money Bags clapped her hooves together. “Now get out of here.”

The order caught me off guard, but I turned and hightailed it out of there as soon as I could.

Behind me, I heard her voice echo up after me. “Good hunting, stalker!”