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                         Tuesdays                          
                         -by Q-22-                         
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            Chapter The First: Atypical Tuesday            
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Chapter The First: Atypical Tuesday
Dodge Junction  
Tuesday  
7:48 AM
There's something to be said about the duality of Tuesday. A day oh-so perfectly balanced between Monday and Wednesday, the two, in my own opinion, worst days of any given week. A typical Tuesday would usually consist of daily day-to-day wasteland life. Nothing unexpected or over-the-top horrible. Absolutely nothing that would purge the dopamine from your system faster than you could cry about it. The average Tuesday, in my experience, was and is perhaps the best day of the week.
However, there is just a teeny, tiny drawback.
Every now and then- and really, this is just a small, inconvenient thing -a Tuesday so horribly FUBAR rolls around and stains the sacred name of Tuesday for years to come. Or, if you're me, just the rest of the week.
My first one began with a caffeine overdose and a headache.
To say I was looking at myself in a mirror would have been glossing it over. Realistically, my forehead was bumping into it over and over until I finally brought myself to stare into my own eyes. My bright, vibrant, almost glowing reddish-pink eyes. Centered between the two nicest parts of me was a slim, raven-like beak, black as night and starkly contrasting the dirty, pale-white feathers of my head. And everywhere else, really. Albinism tends to do that to one's appearance, 'specially to gryphons (griffins, griffons? Whatever works).
Keeping an orange packet of Rad-away nearby, I flicked the tap in the sink on, the warm, dirty, and slightly radioactive water trickling out the spout. I splashed some into my face, shaking myself about all the while. Honestly, I needed to stop drinking so much before bed.
Coffee, I mean. I had a bit of an addiction to the caffeinated beverage. Still do. Made for a great campfire drink, and I drank at a lot of campfires. And bars. And inns. You get the idea.
Slugging down the orange-ish juice and feeling my insides become just a little less unpleasant, I bonked my forehead against the gritty glass one last time before leaving the tiny bathroom. Dodge Junction, backwater as it was, had plumbing that worked occasionally. That in and of itself was far more than most of post-war Equestria could claim.
Making my way out of the bathroom and into the room I had been residing in, I was promptly hit in the face with a pillow. Several pillows, in fact. In rapid succession. Followed by a sheet.
"Lucent! I'm changing! Get out!" cried a scratchy, baritone voice.
Tile- earth pony stallion, proud powerarmor wearer, and a spectacularly self conscious friend of mine - had bucked everything but the bed at me at that point.
"Actually, just don't move," he said shortly after. Hydraulic hisses and metallic clicking signaled his re-embarking as he donned his steel suit once more. I didn't understand why he always wore it around, even casually. Not yet anyway. I'd only ever seen his face on occasion. Usually while we were out in the wilds, resting in some hidey-hole in between delivery runs.
It was hard to tell how old he was, for more than one reason. Firstly, his velvety-red mane grew in a rather wolfish manner, hanging low over his face, almost poofing around his neck and effectively obscuring most of his visage. His coat, hard to see behind his veil of a 'do, was a deep purple, almost black. I had yet to see his eyes.
Then there was his voice. Sounded like an odd blend of a middle-aged stallion and a prepubescent Hellhound. That doesn't really describe it in full, but it's hard to remember exactly what he actually sounded like. 'Specially since he was always wearing that chartreuse armor of his. Helmet had a voice synth installed to the speaker, made everything he said deeper and more authoritative. To further push that little detail, the helmet was deigned with an EVA look to it. Reminded me of a helmet I saw a DJ wearing way over in Hoofington a few years before, only Tile's had functionality AND vanity going for it.
The "visor" consisted of a two thick glass covers over a dark sheet of metal and tech. Small cameras and LEDs studded the outside layer of the metal, displaying the world to Tile on the inside and gracing everyone else with a series of shifting red dots in a hexagonal pattern. Why it did any of that, I still don't know. Tile mentioned something about "improving punchy effectiveness" when I first asked him about it, and every other time anyone brought it up.
Post-apocalypse Equestria still had need for a mail service, and damn if it didn't pay well. That's what we thought. "We" being Tile, another friend of ours, and myself. Said friend was likely already downstairs at the bar, looking for clients.
"You can shuck all that off y'know," came Tile's mechanized voice, intentionally stating the obvious. Grinning, I sat back on my haunches and crossed my forelimbs, my talons tucked cozily into the fluff resting just above my elbows.
"I know."
I didn't say a word after that, sitting there and staring, presumably, where he was standing. Presumably, he was staring back at me, pondering whether or not he would cave or stand stubborn. We were like that for thirty minutes before we heard the door slam open. The only reason we didn't immediately attack our subtle newcomer? We expected her.
I used to think eggheads were on the less intimidating side of things. Smaller-ish, dorky, smart, more brain than brawn, non-violent and generally meek. That sort of stereotype. Aphelion took that idea I had, magically nuked it with her forehead, and pounded the metaphorical ashes into the metaphorical ground with four lanky hooves. The gal knew her science, knew how to manipulate the world around her with that knowledge, and had the power available to do so. Only thing about her old life that she ever shared was that she was from a Stable. Never told any of us which one, or where it was, or why she left. If I were to guess why, I wouldn't.
In addition to her lethal smarts, she was tall. Not quite as tall as the occasional pseudo-alicorn, but tall enough to give her the advantage in any staredown. Her name was heavily dependant on her appearance, seeing as her lil' scheme was primarily dark colors.
I never understood why ponies wound up being so many colors. Still don't. Probably never will.
Anyway, with that tangent out of the way, her coat was coal black with a bit of a sheen to it. Maybe they were just bright silver streaks. Hard to remember. Her mane was an ashen grey, kept short and slicked back down her neck. Unlike Tile, she couldn't stand it in her face all the time. Broke her concentration, she would say. At first glance, it looked like her eyes were pure white. It'd be scary as hell when she'd start casting spells. Much to the dismay of my interest, that wasn't the case. As it was, each visible part of her eye was a tone of white. Other than her iris, which took to a more silvery color. One would only perceive any of this while staring directly into her eyes at a close distance.
Right then, here eyes were darting back and forth between Tile and I. Being the "mage" of our trio, her clothing usually consisted of light clothing and magically imbued trinkets. She had likely been about to say something before seeing the two of us in our presumed staring contest, presumably staring at each other. Now, we were presumably staring at her, as if she'd interrupted something important. She really hadn't.
She was quick to her point, likely seeing that if she didn't get out now, she'd be stuck there a while, basking in the awkward presence of two idiots.
"We've got a job. Small package to Mountainpass. Client's paying well. Chop chop, you two."
And with that out of the way, she promptly flicked her hood back up and trotted back down into the bar on the first level. Ah, she had the voice of a disappointed mother. Reminded me of my own, back when she was still around. I was glad she hadn't yelled. The last time she yelled while I had a headache, it took shoving my face into a snowdrift to get it down to a manageable throb.
The creaking stomps of Tile's armored hooves clunking on out the door was a good wake-up call. Had to get dressed, had to eat, had to prep. A delivery to Mountainpass meant a trek up north to the eastern side of the Yaket Mountain range, generally. Paranoia and the occasional avalanche meant that the mountain town would be in a different place every year. From what I've heard, they just kinda push everything somewhere safe. Can't explain how it works.
Sadly for us "couriers", the only recognizable landmark around Dodge Junction was the single rail line leading away from the town's old train station. From there, we'd follow it east until we reached Manehatten, stop by the markets in Tenpony Tower, and promptly haul ass north. From there? It'd likely be guesswork, unless Aphelion worked out where Mountainpass was.
Now. My stuff. I considered myself to be a bird of simple tastes- still do, mind you -so none of my belongings were particularly interesting or consistent, other than my guns. My usual attire consisted of drab, hole-ridden dusters, joint padding, a grey scarf my pa gave me before he stopped coming back from deliveries- don't ask, I'll explain later -at least two belts with utility pouches for the holding of small inventory, and a knapsack that had to be replaced or stitched up after every trip. Loot plus firefights equals lots of wear-and-tear.
After dragging Tile's bedstuff back to his bed, I flexed my wings, gave 'em a flap, and flopped over onto my own disheveled bedding. I lied there for a good minute, facedown and limp as a ramen noodle, before rolling off and landing in front of a long, short box placed just next to the rickety old bed and against the wall. I flipped it open with my digits and began suiting up for something I was ultimately unprepared for.
The In-between  
Tuesday  
9:27 AM
If you've ever had to travel from any given point A to a point B that's miles away, and you had to travel at a walking pace, then the concept of The In-between isn't hard to grasp. Our lovely In-between usually consisted of mud, dead grass, and an ominous drizzle. Today, however, it was the first two things and a downpour. In addition to the extra wetness? The mud was muddier and the dead grass deadier. Er...deader? More-dead? You get the point. Wet, dead, and muddy as far as the eye could see.
If the rain hadn't been slugging down like hell, I would've been in the front of the group, flying and keeping an eye out for trouble. As things were, Aphelion had taken point and Tile and I were keeping pace with one another. We stayed close to each other along the rail line, mindfully avoiding the deep muck on either side of the tracks. I had heard rather nasty stories about ignorant travelers wading into pits of especially fluid mud and never surfacing, usually from traveling merchants or caravaners. If Tile were to take an unexpected dunk, he'd drop to the bottom like a rock and eventually suffocate. Me? I'd sink all the same, but I'd be drowning in it.
Listening to the constant splats and splashes of the rain was actually kinda soothing! It would have lulled me to sleep had I not been moving, soaking wet, and in mild pain from caffeine withdrawal. The first two couldn't be helped, but the last little problem was something I was set on correcting. It took a few days for the immediate withdrawal effects to subside, and it hadn't been more than one since they started. At least my headache was dying down a smidge. Kudos to the terrible weather for actually doing something nice for once by making me feel slightly less terrible in the head.
"THIS RAIN FUCKING SUCKS." boomed a certain, vocally enhanced, mech-suit user right next to my head. My headache went from a smidge lower to many smidges higher. The upper front part of my skull felt like it was slowly pushing outward, primed and ready to burst. To top it all off, the throb from earlier was back, and I didn't have a mirror to headbutt. With my face contorting into a pained grimace, eyes all squinty-like and everything, I shot Tile a dirty look. He stared back, his visor lights just...blinking at me. I may not have had a mirror, but I did have Tile's face.
All in all, maybe smacking my head against a rock-hard chunk of reinforced glass wasn't such a good idea. It wasn't like I could have known such an action would provoke a reaction. Definitely not. There was no way I could have known Tile would return the blunt action with the celerity of a thick-skulled god and promptly render me unconscious. Truth be told: I wasn't expecting to be knocked out cold. Much the opposite, in fact! A nice, gentle bonk to my head might've woken me up a bit more, maybe.
I groaned as I came-to, getting the immediate impression that I was lying on something hard, flat, and cold. The air was still, too. A little dank (though, considering it's always raining, that wasn't much of a surprise.)
"You're an idiot, Lucent!" Aphelion snapped at me from somewhere to my left. Swift to follow the sound of her voice was the sound of the rain, pattering mildly against some tinny-sounding roof. "Honest to Luna, I know you have thin bones, but you're so thickheaded sometimes." She sounded tired, punctuating her brief chastisement with a sigh. "You snore when you're asleep. You aren't snoring now. You're fine, so get up. I know we allow for delays on this stretch of the trip, but we've been here for hours and the rain's let up." Thunder boomed nearby, the shack we were in rattling. "A little." Groaning, I rolled over onto my stomach and proceeded to stretch in a feline manner, fully intending to whine about this later.
I sat up and rubbed my eyes, taking a brief look around the tiny shack we were in. Four metal sheet walls, a slanted roof made of the same material, and a door that looked like someone simply cut the thin metal sheet with a combat knife. Surprisingly enough, the ground wasn't mud nor dirt. I seemed to have "napped" on concrete. Sitting in the corner of the shack, Tile stared at me. I looked over to where Aphelion was standing with her back to the two of us. She was peering out of what looked like a bullet hole or two, checking the area without putting herself in the open doorway.
"I've already been chewed out, hotshot," Tile said, answering an unspoken question that they both knew I was going to ask. With how often this happened, which was at least three other times, I wasn't surprised he answered so quickly. "But, for what it's worth, sorry for yellin' earlier. Mud was gettin' on my suit and all." I took a few seconds to both process what he said and to measure my words.
"Understandable. I'm not angry, but I'm still feeling pissy. Headache an' all." I tapped my forehead with a single claw to emphasize my words, wincing at the tender pain I was still feeling. While I wasn't upset with Tile, I still felt bitter, like someone took my insides and made everything 42% more grouchy. Mental note: don't headbutt Tile anymore. At least, not while lacking coffee. The concussions were starting to outweigh the satisfaction. It was the best I could do. I thonked his face. He whammed mine in return. There was nothing to be said there, as far as either of us were concerned.
With that out of the way, I quietly shuffled over next to Aphelion, standing a few heads shorter than her. Looking up at the side of her hooded face, I asked a really, really dumb question. "So, what's it look like out there?"
She peered for a moment longer, eyes squinting slightly. Without moving her eyes from the hole, she answered, her tone dead serious despite the heavily implied sarcasm.
"Sunshine and rainbows. The sky is blue and the grass is green. Quite wonderful, really."
"C'mon, you know what I mean."
"Indeed. It's raining, as usual. Despite the earlier lightning, it hasn't grown any worse. There was movement along the rail earlier, but it was unclear if it was trouble, or just a small band of travelers."
"Nothing but trouble travels in this kinda weather, Aphs."
"WE travel in 'this kinda weather'."
Tile chose then to step over and interject.
"Implying we aren't trouble?" he asked, sounding like he was smiling under his helmet.
"Implying we don't want any," she curtly replied. "We have a package to deliver and getting caught in gunfights takes valuable time."
"If we don't have time for words," I started, "Then I'll keep Laconic readied. If there're any last words to be had, I'd prefer it be theirs and not ours." The others didn't get my joke, but agreed with me anyway. I sat back on my haunches, unstrapping the holsters on my left side and right hip, swapping them. The two revolvers I carried everywhere had significant differences and roles. While the purpose of each was to rend targets to bloody chunks, the means of doing so differed. The previously mentioned gun, Laconic, was a bull-barreled hunk of a canon suited to fire eight staggeringly large rifle rounds per cylinder. Adding to the absurdity of the gun, it was custom made to fire fastest by fanning the hammer lightly. The grip, textured and weighted just so, dramatically decreased its recoil. My other revolver, one I had yet to name, fired ten .38 rounds per cylinder. I used it more than Laconic, mostly because its ammo cost less.
We were off on the 'road' again soon after I had finished prepping Laconic for a quick draw, the sky rumbling above us as the rain continued its hissing descent.
Author's Note
Hello hello, welcome to my mess of a story! Hopefully this goes well. :raritydespair: https://static.fimfiction.net/images/emoticons/raritydespair.png

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            Chapter The Second: Concrete Delay             
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Chapter The Second: Concrete Delay
On the road, it wasn't entirely unheard of that certain conditions- take constant rain as an example -would obscure details about the scenery. Details such as, but in no way limited to: forks in the path, landmines, cracks in the road, ravines that you swore weren't there a second ago, craters filled with radioactive bog-fog, eldritch horrors, swarms of ghouls, and other unpleasantness best left unspoken.
I was doing my best to convince myself it was totally fine to encounter an entirely new pre-war ruin along a well traveled route. Really, what were the odds that an entirely new building would just show up on a dark and stormy night? The cliche didn't escape me, and I groaned at the thought of it.
It was a few minutes travel-by-wing off the main rail we were following, standing tall and wide. The structure was windowless and looked like it was made solely out of concrete, jutting out of the ground like a smooth pyramid with a flat, square top. A rusted, metallic rod stood in the center of the roof, charred and blackened like something had burnt it. I chalked it up to lightning.
When Aphelion and Tile were close to the building, I stopped my circling and swooped down to meet them, flapping my wings and hovering above the ground. I wasn't keen on landing just to get stuck in the mud. Aphelion, much to my surprise, was levitating both herself and Tile. Her pained scowl was enough to keep me from asking...well, anything. She needed to concentrate, and while just talking probably wouldn't break her focus, I didn't want to chance it.
A stone patio extended from the building's only doorway, giving the three of us stable ground to land on. Aphelion exhaled sharply when her and Tile's hooves touched solid ground, dropping the telekinetic fields she had been holding. I turned away while she took a few seconds to recover, eyeing the empty expanse behind us and keeping a talon on Laconic's grip. The rain had lightened to a mild pitter-patter, barely noticeable after what it had been not an hour ago.
All three of us knew we were exposed, standing out in the open, right in front of a large stone hunk of creepy. When Aphelion lifted her head again, the three of us exchanged looks, deciding unanimously to move our little break inside.
"We're wasting time," I offered, taking up the back of the group.
"Eeyup," Tile said, leading from the front.
"It's probably a death trap."
Aphelion replied, mildly sardonic , "We know."
"So, why're we doing more than just marking it on our map?" I asked, taking another quick glance behind us. Nothing but the rain, as usual.
"Loot."
"Information."
"Adventure."
"Shelter."
"Supplies."
"And more. Never know what you'll find."
"Oh, would you look at that. Someone opened the can for us."
I sighed, looking forward to find the two standing in front of the door. The very pried-open door. I tentatively stepped past them, eyeing the dark interior of the building before looking at the twisted and splintered steel. Observing more carefully, it looked like someone, or something, had blown their way out from the inside. The constant rain would have washed out any tracks left by...whatever it was that decided to leave.
The scent of burnt flesh and cooked metal stung my nostrils as I leaned closer.
I could feel my nerves twinging.
"Something's cooking in there," I said, my voice monotone with just a drop of venomous sarcasm. Really, just a teeny drop.
"Or someone," Tile supplied informatively.
"Not helping."
Inside wasn't wet. That was nice. In every other regard, it was less nice. We were cramped together, almost bumping into one another in the narrow space before us. The burning, fleshy, metallic stench that had been wafting out near the entrance grew- might I add, unsurprisingly -much stronger the further in we went.
Tile's helmet lamp and Aphelion's horn were the only things lighting the tunnel, casting conflicting shadows and illuminating just how empty the hallway was. The entire area was practically screaming at us to go away. Creepy cramped tunnel, smell of death, eerie ambiance, etc. Exactly the kind of place I would definitely avoid on solo-runs.
Several minutes later we hit the end of the hall, staring at an inconveniently intact, closed door.
"Why the hell," began Tile, "would the first door be blown open, and this one not? That doesn't make any sense!"
He was speaking rhetorically, as both Aphelion and I knew very, very well. An answer was neither needed nor wanted.
We- Aphelion and I -shared a brief glance while Tile continued staring at the door.
Should we? my expression conveyed.
Not yet. her eyes stated. Wait for later. Answering seriously in this situation isn't going to be THAT funny. Not much to say or reference.
We nodded, both of us returning our attention to the closed door.
"Perhaps we should...knock?" Aphelion suggested. "I don't see an access terminal, and melting through would take time AND announce our presence rather aggressively."
"Not the worst idea..." I mused, exhaling sharply through my nostrils. "With the air like it is, I'm guessing the smell's coming from further inside. There was nothing in the hall, so, must be something past this door, right?"
I was liking this less and less.
"What do you mean by 'smell'? The air's plain and dusty."
Less and less and less and less.
If the question had come from Tile, I would have been fine. He was enclosed in a suit of metal and tech with an air filtration system and emergency oxygen supply. He didn't have to smell the outside. He wouldn't be exposed to the horrid stench permeating the air.
But no. Aphelion said it. I turned to look at her, my head tilted as I resisted the growing urge to cough. I was starting to taste it.
"You...don't smell it? That acrid, meaty, burnt smell of a decayed, toasted corpse?"
Her eyes narrowed. She didn't.
"No, I don't. I'm guessing it's what you were talking about earlier, and not the door."
"Which door?"
"First one."
"Ah."
"I can't smell anything," Tile blurted.
"We know," Aphelion and I said simultaneously.
Aphelion sat down, magically producing two heavy scarves and a water canteen from her saddlebags. I could see where she was going with this. She soaked the two lengths of cloth thoroughly, floating one to me afterwards. I grabbed it out of her glowy telekinetic field and promptly wrapped it around my head, tugging it up over my beak and tucking in the lower bits. She had already done the same.
"We still knocking? This place is giving me vibes and I'd rather be going in than sitting here all day." Tile asked, having moved to the door while Aphelion and I were prepping. Aphelion was quick to answer.
"Use your head, Tile. What does it look like we're doing?"
She really should have been more careful with her words. Tile reared himself back, hydraulics hissing and metaphorical gears metaphorically turning as he rose like a bear striking down a fish in a river. He brought his armored forehooves down with a crunch, cracking the concrete and slamming his forehead into the door, leaving a respectably large dent. Aphelion hardly had time to protest before he rose again, repeating the process.
I sat back and watched, drawing Laconic with a little spin. The weight of the barrel and the fit of the grip made it so much easier to do the little spinny, and it made a delightful little swishy sound whenever I spun it!
Tile was rearing up for a third headbutt. Or maybe fourth, I wasn't paying attention. Spinny gun plus minor concussion equals stupid bird hours. He brought himself down, slamming into ground and door alike once more. The door, once a proud staple of the distant past, untouched and ever-standing, crumpled inward as something somewhere broke. There was a resounding metal clang further inward, echoing briefly.
"Knock knock, yah motha' fuckin' door!" Tile huffed triumphantly, trotting in place.
Behind us, heavy metal sheets thundered down in rapid succession, reaching from the entrance to not far from where we were sitting. A shrill, bone-chilling scream sung out not a moment later, which was soon joined by an echoing chorus.
"Fuck you, Tile," I said, monotone and dry.
"Yes, fuck you," Aphelion agreed.
Often I wondered what would do me in one day. I never really imagined growing old and kicking the can to age, 'cause that'd be boring. Maybe I'd get rad-poisoning and hemorrhage to death. Maybe I'd be shot down by some crack-shot on the ground, only to plummet straight at them and take 'em with me. Or, maybe I'd trip on a crack in the road and set off a megaspell.
While dying was on my mind a lot, I never really appreciated what it felt like to be faced with a situation where I was genuinely worried about being killed in a horrible, painful, disgusting manner. Sure, being a courier meant running into bandits and raiders, but both were easy enough to dispatch (especially with the help of a metal death machine and an atomic pyromaniac.)
Stepping into a vast room of darkness, screeches, and assorted screams was rather disheartening. The only thing keeping me from losing my cool was that the screams weren't getting closer. From the furious metallic banging, I surmised that whatever was making all the commotion was, as of the moment, unable to fling itself at us in a wild frenzy. Yay for small victories.
Aphelion grimaced as she gazed into the dark, charging a spell. With a flash, she sent a pale orb of light from her horn into the center of the room. At first, it only glowed faintly, pulsing in an almost tentative manner before flaring brightly, illuminating the area.
It was some sort of reception room, made up of the same material as everything else had been. Grey walls, grey ceiling, and another steel door at the far end of the large room. A metal desk sat to the side of the door, a dead terminal and some well-preserved pencils sitting on it. Long observation windows ran along the left and right sides of the room, metal shutters closed down over top them. The distant banging was coming from them, and I could see them shutter and quake with every round of dull thunks. Unlike most ruins we'd come across in the past, there was a complete lack of dust, rust, or other natural signs of abandonment.
I tentatively entered the room, craning my neck around in wide sweeps. "Must've been sealed tight. 'Till recently, anyway," I thought aloud to myself, my voice barely a whisper.
"You know, I'm startin' to agree with ya'll," Tile started to say as he took a few very loud steps in. His armor was great for protection and all, but it had zero subtlety.
As if on cue, the close screaming started up again, and I jumped back toward the sealed entrance, panicked. The distant screams were still echoing from somewhere behind the metal shutters. Looking over to where the screams actually in the room were coming from, I saw what first looked like an irradiated ghoul-pony trapped under a metal sheet. The longer I looked at it, the more wrong my initial assumption became.
Two long forelegs jutted out of half a fleshy, pink, equine torso- the other half was stuck under the big chunk of metal floor panel -and each ended in a darkened, spherical, pulsating blob. It was thrashing them around, smearing a fizzy, dark liquid around on the smooth stone floor in front of it. I really, really hoped it was just blood. Attached to the torso was a neck. A long, limp, noodly neck that screamed and smacked into the floor repeatedly. The skin near the top where a head would normally be was darkened, like it's oozing hoof-blobs. It was like looking at a small, decapitated meat-giraffe.
Aphelion and I slowly approached it while Tile trailed behind, his gaze flowing over the long barricaded windows along the sides of the room. Upon closer inspection, from a "safe" distance, the "head" area of the neck was coated with a porous layer of that dark purple skin material. The ethereal scream was coming from the holes near the center, which were disturbingly riddled with shiny, blackened teeth. It was like staring down a bundle of tubes that were chock-full of ebony knives.
Aphelion stepped around it, standing to my left and charging her horn. "I'm not seeing any recognizable weak spots. If these things run at us, go for the legs and I'll clean up from there." And with a flash, she sent a focused jet of arcane flame roaring over the pinned monstrosity. It's screams rose in pitch as it smacked it's burning limbs down against the heating floor, which sent the dark ooze splattering out in front of it. The flame spread to it, much to our surprise, and quickly burned. Aphelion cut off her spell, and we watched in morbid fascination as the fleshy hunk of screaming meat was reduced to a roasted, pulpy mass of carbon and teeth. In total, the process was over under a minute. Embers licked the air from beneath the crust of what was left.
Tile clunked over to the husk's side, reaching out with a forehoof and poking it. "So, they bur-"
The next two seconds hit me like a sky carriage. Tile had crunched the side of the sizzling corpse, then everything went white and red as it exploded. Any sound- aside from an earsplitting ringing -was damned to double hell and tossed out the window. I felt my limp body hit the table, roll off of it, bounce once off the floor, and smack into the wall. The taste of zinc sizzled on my tongue while I rolled over, groaning all the while. Well, I thought I was groaning. Couldn't actually hear it.
I flexed my talons and wings first, slowly trying to get a bead on the damage the little toss did. Muscles were sore, tendons functional but complaining. Alright, alright. So far so good. Legs operational, good. Tail still attached, yay. Beak not snapped off, check. Organs all in place? Bah, I could worry about that later, so long as they're all inside. I wiggled my midsection, testing for pain. Pain feedback came back as "mostly bruises, but you're still a dumbass." Great! My brain was still working. How dandy. Mr. Headache, too. Absolutely delicious. Really.
Now came for the most unpleasant part of making sure everything was working: opening my eyes and getting up. Waking up every day never made it any easier, which I made sure to add to the mumble-grumble list of things to complain about when we're not in mortal peril.
With eyes opened, I truly began to understand how sucky it is to have organic eyeballs. The bottom halves of my eyes were burning and cold, while the upper halves were dry but otherwise fine. The overall sensation was like an arid sting with a subtle undertone of "screw you, that's why it hurts." I really needed some coffee.
I was not surprised to find Tile standing exactly where he had been before, his front half blackened and sooty from the explosion. If I knew Tile, I knew he'd probably be trying to keep himself from laughing. Not because it'd be awkward or uncalled for, but because he'd probably piss himself. Sure, his magical power armor had a filtration talisman and recycling system, but it gave him the heebie jeebies. Personally, I'd be psyched about having an almost never ending supply of questionably clean water.
"Okay," Aphelion started, "they explode. Good and bad, I suppose." She had been blasted back across the room. I thought her lucky, having been thrown over open space and onto a single smooth surface until rolling to a stop instead of being slammed into a bunch of stuff. She was trotting over to the two of us- I had been meandering over toward Tile to peer into the fresh crater in the floor -and joined our transfixed gazing into the gaping hole in the metal.
I leaned forward and sniffed and- aw, hells below that reeked! Bad idea. The rancid odor was almost physical at that point. "So, uh, is the door by the desk open?"
Tile huffed, probably trying to sound amused. It came across as a metallic 'fwoosh', like someone breathing into a speaker system. "Locked, and reinforced. I checked while you two were poking around with the, ah, thing."
"Any chance either one of you wants to shrink a little bit and crawl through scary-stinky death vents?" My smile was so fake it could have passed as a frown. Both of them looked at me, the exposed ventilation shaft, and then back at me.
We knew this wasn't going to end well. I sighed, and went down anyway.