Pizza, Liquor & Lead

Chapters

Pizza buddies!
Back in The Day
Late Night Liaison
A New Deal
Brewing Trouble
The Night of Liquor Nightmares
Inferno
Leaving it all Behind

Pizza buddies!

Saturdays were great days.

The end of each school week was an institution for all students. It didn’t matter if you wanted nothing more than to lay around until noon, were off on a fun weekend activity, or to simply use the two free days to catch up on late homework, everyone had some plan for the weekend. And with spring having been officially sprung thanks to the previous week’s Winter Wrap-Up, there were now many more outdoor activities to explore. But even on the weekend the S.o.F still had plenty of students hanging around the campus, and two of them were hard at work tending to the school’s newest club.

One of them was a blue feathered griffon wearing an equally blue old hoodie with torn-off sleeves and a black short sleeved undershirt to somewhat make up for it. His blue sports pants had a few minor tears in them and the black sneakers protecting his hind paws had some scuffs all around. On his beltline was his trusty tape player pumping out good beats to the headphones covering his ear holes. Headphones which he pulled down around his neck when it came time to focus.

The Amimmodore PAL was an impressive computer for its time and was a mainstay in educational applications, but in the modern era it was getting a bit long in the tooth. The one before the griffon certainly showed its age with some oxidation of the plastic, but apart from that it was in functional order and struck a presence with its angular monitor housing that was incorporated into the chassis along with the keyboard. The design was also incredibly easy to perform any maintenance on due to its clamshell top, which had been propped open by its integrated proprod as the griffon poked around inside with a screwdriver.

As the griffon removed the mainboard and prepped it for desoldering, his lime colored pony companion was already applying his iron to the solder joints of a row of memory modules that needed replacing on an identical board. His combination of green tee, green sweatpants, and green sneakers were lightly dusted by dirt and a little grime from a few of the machines he’d already worked on. His much newer Memarex cassette player was tucked securely into his pocket and one of his turtle shaped headphone drivers was in its rightful place on his left ear while the right was pulled back to allow him to hear his environment as well.

Unlike the griffon who easily used his talons to undo and solder components, the pony used circuit board clamps along with a combination of a little soldering iron holder that could be slid around on his working surface and a bracer which could secure the iron to a free hoof. He wasn’t sure which method would be ultimately faster, but he preferred the slower holder as it gave him more precision in tight spots. He may not finish as fast as his friend, but not having to redo any joints later on was far more palatable.

The big room they were working in was originally a workshop, but over its few years of service it had evolved to suit another need. When the school first started out, computers weren't considered to be a factor in the curriculum. Personal computers were fine, but everything else was analog. But with the sheer number of computers being brought in and students interested in them, a computer club had been formed. The space they were allotted was in the back of the general workshop, well away from the woodworks and any sawdust.

A whole bunch of older desktop PC's were set upon a long row of desks which completely spanned the allotted space. They were a mismatch of machines which had been scrounged up by club members to learn and play on without worry of harming their own rigs.

Things had popped off nicely with that arrangement, but with growth came notoriety and the administration had started to accept computers as viable tools on campus. They had finally agreed to a modernization of the typing class and the club would be responsible for helping to make that a reality.

On the floor in front of the desks was a row of identical computers. They were all bulky desktop machines with integrated displays and would serve a good purpose, but only when they were ready. And in every other area not designated for a computer were shelves and bins full of old but still functional components and wires being kept as spares, along with many books related to the computers and computing in general. The pony shot a quick glance at the row of PAL's waiting in the wings and for a second he wished he had a few more sets of hooves to just make things go a little faster.

"It's a shame the others couldn't help us out," Sandbar almost mumbled as he gently removed a motherboard from the clamps. "Even though this is delicate work, Yona and Silverstream could have easily helped us move things around. And Ocellus would have probably finished the whole row by now"

Gallus had finished working on his motherboard and had just set it back into its parent machine. “I hear ya, but they had plans.”

He grunted a bit as he plugged some of the more fiddly connections back in. “Nngh. Besides, once we get these all upgraded we’ll finally be allowed computers in typing class. Just imagine it, once we’re done with our assignments we can play games or check out the latest web pages instead of sitting around bored. A-and it will also be much more comfortable for our claws and hooves and whatnot.”

Sandbar had gotten the next board clamped up with delicate precision, and with a free hoof he pulled a couple of replacement memory modules out of a small cardboard box which still had a shipping label slapped to its side. “I’m pretty sure comfort and efficiency were the first reasons you gave the headmare for upgrading. But do we really need this much memory? QuillStar only needs eight KB.”

Gallus could only groan at that. “Because we want to only have to be in this position once. Better to go whole hog now with the full sixty-four than constantly upgrading.”

The memory was a mild point of contention between the two. Sandbar wanted to minimize costs by only upgrading what was necessary for their needs while Gallus wanted to spend a bit more as he felt the much higher capacity would benefit them in the long run. Sandbar had ultimately agreed with Gallus, but the amount of extra work still weighed on him.

After a minute or so of silence, Sandbar brought up another thing that had been in the back of his mind as of late.

“You know, I may have a way to help make up for the holiday.”

Gallus was testing one the upgraded machines to see if all the new modules were functional, but that didn’t stop him from becoming completely distracted by the prospects he’d just been given. “Is that so?”

“Yeah. One of my distant relatives passed on. I never knew him, but I was given a key to a storage unit just outside town.”

“A storage unit you say?” Gallus asked while getting to work on another machine. “What’s in it?”

Sandbar shrugged. “That’s the thing. From what I’ve been told, nopony knows what’s inside.”

“And you were going to tell me about this when…?”

It was now Sandbar’s turn to check over the machine he was working on, and with the memcheck running its test he carried on the conversation.

“Well, I kinda had a hard time finding the spot. The guy was supposedly rather secretive so I guess he chose a place on the outskirts.”

“So we have an old locker full of mysteries, left behind by your dead relative who didn’t want ponies snooping around, and you got the key?”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

“You know what?” Gallus grunted as he picked up the next computer in line and shuttled it over to the workspace. “I like those odds!”

Sandbar was a bit confused by that. He knew Gallus to be an exceptionally good haggler, able to snag great deals from pawn shops and other outfits like them, but gambling was something the griffon steered clear of.

“Really now? I never took you for a betting type.”

“Don’t go thinking I’m gonna start hanging around the casino. Thing is, back home we have plenty of old units chock-full of stuff, but it’s usually worth jackshit as all the good stuff gets hoarded like crazy. But here? I have better hopes that things of worth could be found. And given that it's only a few minutes away, why not roll the dice, right?”

“Well that’s good to hear. Wasn’t sure you’d bite on this or not.”

“Given our circumstances, any opportunity is a good one. And if things don’t pan out, then there’s always an afternoon at the arcade and pizza.”

Gallus looked down the line of computers they had yet to touch, and he guessed that they had a good couple hours of upgrading before heading out for the day. “Speaking of pizza, we’re gonna need something to fuel us as we check out that unit. Think you could swing some Tiny Toppers and soda?”

“Sure thing. I think I have some One Two Three Bit Store coupons floating around in my room.” Sandbar chuckled. “Somewhere.”

“Just make sure to get the freshest ones you can as that’s the only time they’re good. I mean, for a five bit pie you 'd think they’d find a way to make them better cold.”

Two hours of work later…

The block of old storage units was a bit of a surprise to Gallus. He'd seen plenty of similar places back home, sure, but somehow he'd expected something which was at least a bit cleaner. No, this one was like all the others; rusty roll up doors, cracking brickwork, and despite Ponyville having virtually no crime, the taggers had had their way with it in quite a few places. The Griffon did crack a grin at this as it reminded him that no society was free of chaos, even ones built around harmony.

Without a Sandbar in sight, Gallus found a seat in the form of a short divider wall and passed the time with his aptly named Game and Time. It was a far cry from a Game Colt, but considering it had come out of a cereal box, he'd found enjoyment in its free nature. As the little hoofheld beeped and booped with each button press as he fought for the high score, his thoughts drifted to the warm midday sun bearing down on the nape of his neck. Having come from a location known for its treacherous winters, the balmier weather of Equestria was more than welcome even though her summers could be sweltering at times. Even though most snow in the area had melted, it would have been another month or two before weather even remotely similar graced Griffonstone, and that would be the only time he’d ever consider visiting.

Clopping hooves brought him out of the game in short order, and Gallus watched with mild amusement as the pizza pony trotted up the side street. He was laden with two brown and orange trimmed boxes and two bottles of soda in liter capacity, and that made his movement a bit slow and awkward. A bit like a sea turtle on land, Gallus thought snidely as he lost the ball in-game.

Sandbar slowed when he saw his friend, but was still huffing when he crossed the final few yards. "Sorry for taking so long." He gasped. "Long line at the pizza joint."

"Eh, don’t worry about it."

Gallus clicked off his handheld and stuffed it into his pocket. He then hopped off the wall and arched his back in a stretch. "So, which one is yours?"

Sandbar took a quick glance down the row. "It's, ah, thirty-two. That's pretty far down, wanna eat first?"

While Gallus had heard -- and understood -- the hopeful tone, fifteen minutes was far too long for a bird like himself to be sitting around. He wanted to move, to pounce upon the opportunity presented, and a colder slice of an already cool pizza was a worthy sacrifice, to him at least.

Sandbar wasn't so keen on that philosophy, brows knitting together. "As far as I know that unit hasn't been opened in over fifty years, I'm sure it can wait another five minutes."

For a moment, Gallus was nonplussed. But with a goofy curl in his beak, he hefted one of the bottles off of Sandbar's back and tucked it into his elbow and snatched up one of the pizzas.

"Why not both?"

Without any more conversation, Gallus took off towards the gate at a fair clip. Even on hind legs, the griffon still moved quick enough for Sandbar to have to canter pretty good to keep pace. Moreover, he was able to both unscrew the cap from his soda and take a drink, then open the lid on his pizza and start snacking on a slice, all with his free talon. Sandbar was nowhere near as dexterous, so he'd just have to find a table or something to eat on inside.

The low numbered units were quite small, no more than closet sized at best, just big enough for some personal belongings. They got bigger in the middle, roughly the size of a garden shed and could house some big appliances and tools. Thirty-four was six places away from the end of the row, and with it being the size of a garage there was excitement over what was within.

"This is it, Gallus."

Sandbar produced an ancient looking key out of his pocket and jammed it into the lock. It was beefy, and the locking mechanism was just as. Whoever this relative was, they clearly did not want unauthorized access to their things, which was a good sign in their case. It also meant that disuse had taken its toll if the way the key had to be wiggled to finally catch was any indication. With the assistance of hoof and claw, the old door rattled upward, and an interior which hadn't seen the light of day in ages was revealed.

The first thing the duo could note was the fact that this wasn't a bum deal. There were plenty of things in view -- most of which were wooden crates with dry straw poking out between the boards and bulging cardboard boxes -- but there were a few outliers. Half a table stuck out from a pile of clothes fit for an older generation and an old wardrobe was partially obscured by a canvas tarp. And just to the side of the door was some type of workbench with a large toolbox atop it.

The second thing being Sandbar's assertion that the unit hadn't been opened in at least half a century. A thick layer of dust coated all things and there was a distinct aroma emanating from the space. It smelled like the very air within had been preserved for an entire generation, but it wasn't musty or rancid so they had that bonus going.

"Now let's see what we got here!"

Gallus was the first to venture forth, and he headed right for the half-exposed table. Sandbar briefly wondered why of all things the griffon was drawn to a pile of old clothes, but when he unceremoniously shoved them onto the floor he got a good clue. A nice, dust free half of the table had been exposed, and Gallus was already putting his meal down there.

"See?" Gallus laughed. "This place is already paying off."

"Wow," Sandbar remarked as he trod in. "He sure kept a collection."

For the next few minutes, the duo took time to enjoy their meal while taking a look at some nearby boxes. It was mostly very old toys with some books mixed in, and those didn't hold much value. One of them however did contain an old toaster and some cookware. That was a little better, but they still held hope for better finds. While searching through an old milk crate layered up with straw, Sandbar came across the first item of note.

"I found a Polarak, the first instant camera."

At first glance, the exceptionally old camera was in good shape for its age. There was visible wear on the edges and he could feel imperfections under his hoof, but otherwise it was cosmetically fine. What mattered more was its internal condition, so he pulled out the lens block to see that things looked okay there too with no tears in the boot or metallic corrosion.

"Looks alright, but I can't vouch for its functionality."

Gallus stared at the find for a few seconds, then nodded. "Sweet. That'll fetch some bits from the right buyer. Maybe one of the art guys at school or a camera geek online."

So far, the boxes within Gallus's reach held nothing interesting. He would have to dig deeper, so with a bellyful of pizza and a final glug off his soda he did just that. There was better luck in searching the bigger boxes, which occasionally held some old interesting electronic devices to examine. It was a crystal radio first, followed by a crank-up phonograph missing its horn, and then a chest full of its records.

When Gallus opened the wardrobe he didn’t expect too much. A few shirts here, a few jackets there, but when he parted those to the sides his pulse quickened. He had spotted the vague outline of a pull out cover in the green velvet back wall and he immediately set to work getting it open. It wasn’t unheard of to have secret compartments in furniture for things like liquor, drugs, or money, but what he found hanging from two hooks within surpassed the value of any of those things.

“Stars above don’t let my eyes fuck with me! Let this be real!”

Sandbar knew that Gallus would eventually find something to his liking, but the way the dude started shrieking like a schoolfilly going on a date with her crush wasn’t the reaction he had been expecting. The pony quickly swallowed down his bite of pizza, and then went over to try and see what had the griffon up in arms.

“What is it?”

“A blunderbuss.”

Gallus’s answer was short, to the point, and so far out of left field that Sandbar was left sputtering in response.

“A blunderbuss?! You can’t be serious.”

“I am. Double-barrel, too.”

The pony was miffed at Gallus’s assertion. As far as he knew, no members of his family possessed, or felt the need to possess something as serious as a firearm. The closest thing to a firearm he’d ever come across was Professor Pie’s party cannon and the howitzer Counselor Trixie liked to fire herself out of on weekends, but personal firearms were beyond his league. His mind made itself up; this was just another of the griffon’s practical jokes. Either that or his buddy was just being too optimistic.

“C’mon dude, you’re shitting me.”

Gallus unlatched what he’d found from the wardrobe and brought it out to see, his beak curled up in a hearty grin. “Does that look like I shit you?”

Sandbar gaped at what Gallus held within his claws. He’d at least expected something basic and utilitarian, but even with his limited knowledge he could tell that the weapon was none of those things. The first thing his eyes focused on were the gigantic, gold plated double barrels which flared out aggressively and the intricate engravings that encircled them. Next was the mechanism which allowed loading and the two-headed hydra statue which lived there. The little details carried on throughout all the other metal parts which were cradled in a combined stained wooden stock and foregrip that despite its age still held a muted sheen. And adding credence to it being owned by a pony, the disproportionately large trigger guard and accompanying paddle shaped trigger were tailored for hooves, but those with claws, hands, or in Gallus’s case, talons could certainly operate it as well.

The pony was in awe of the whole package and any misgivings about firearms in the family had been quickly forgotten. “Wow… that’s impressive.”

Gallus chuckled. “I know, right? It’s cool as shit. Whoever your old-old man was, he had great taste as this is far more than just a looker.”

The griffon grabbed onto the heads of the hydra and pulled it up and forward to open the action.
“See.” A claw was pointed at the exposed chambers. “It’s a breechloader. Not too spectacular but super cool nonetheless.”

The claw moved to the area of the flintlock just aft and to the side. “And this also has a self-filling charging pan which means whoever fires this thing only has to reload before firing again. Way faster than any traditional blunderbuss!”

Sandbar didn’t know what was more concerning. The fact that the blunderbuss was very real or Gallus’s expertise surrounding such weapons in the first place. Of course, the griffon wasn’t finished yet.

He placed the big, nasty weapon on the table and went back to the wardrobe. He returned with a tarnished tin and pulled the lid off to reveal several rolled paper tubes within. “Just as I thought.” He plucked one of the tubes out for inspection. “He kept a few pre-made ammo packs around. All you have to do is stuff one of these bad boys into the breech and drop the trapdoor. It’ll automatically cut the tail off and everything!”

For a brief moment of trepidation, Sandbar thought Gallus was going to do exactly as described. But in spite of his excitement, the griffon put the single round back with its brethren and relidded the tin. Breathing a (mental) sigh of relief at not having a loaded gun sitting around, his mind started to wonder why Gallus was getting so excited.

“Why are you going so wild over this? Even if we can legally pawn it, who’s seriously going to buy it?”

With all the energy of nightmare night foal with a sackful of free candy, Gallus fervently carried on. “Because this thing is worth more than all of my and most of your possessions combined! It’s worth maybe eight, possibly ten grand to a museum, given something like this today is incredibly rare. I mean, it's spotless. Probably only ever fired a few times.”

“Is it seriously worth that much?”

Sandbar was gobsmacked at just how much the blunderbuss was worth, and felt that Gallus might have been pulling his leg. But the bird did have an eye for value and he was always very close in his staking. So, Sandbar nodded along.

“Well, if that’s here there might be more like it.”

Now filled with an abundance of energy, Sandbar began to search in earnest for valuables. While he still picked through crates in a normal fashion, the same could hardly be said of Gallus. True to his partial feline nature, the griffon had turned his search into a reenactment of all the spy movies he’d watched with Smolder and the gang whenever they’d pay the local cinema a visit. He ducked, rolled, and dove all over the place, sticking to cover and concealment while pointing the business end of the unloaded blunderbuss into corners and ordering baddies to come out with their talons up.

It was hard to ignore the antics happening around him, but Sandbar still made efficient work of sifting through the last few crates on the floor for items of note even though he had nothing to show for it. All that was left to check was the wall of boxes at the back of the unit. It was a bizarre choice to have stacked cardboard boxes in that one area with all the other places which could have been occupied, but it wasn’t his place to judge the mentality of deceased relatives. What he could complain about was not quite being tall enough to reach the highest boxes. Even on the tips of his hind hooves it was just out of reach and one of the wooden crates didn’t help matters much. He even tried hopping once, but once the stability of his perch came into question that was given up real fast.

“Oh come on,” Sandbar groused. “Why can’t I be just a little taller.”

Things would have been much easier if his assistant wasn’t gallivanting around with a gun, so he called out. “Hey, Con Mane! Think you could put that thing down for a sec and – Whoa!”

With a splintering crack, the lid of the milk crate Sandbar was standing on gave way. Loss of balance forced him to latch onto one of the stacked boxes to regain it, which only resulted in the entire wall collapsing upon him.

Gallus was quick to cease his shenanigans and deposit his new toy onto the table before bounding over to dig Sandbar out.

“Hey! You okay dude?!”

With a muffled groan as the only response, Gallus began pulling boxes away. Fortunately, whoever had created the stack had the insight to place the lightest objects on top as all that had toppled out were old clothes and bedding, so the pile was very easy to shift to the side. The griffon then helped Sandbar to his hooves, with the pony being quick to wave off any concerns.

“I’m fine, I’m fine.” He sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck. “Just… fell on my ass is all.”

Sandbar formulated concerns of his own concerning Gallus’s typical remarks, or lack thereof. The silly bird usually had some snarky thing to say after such an occurrence, but this time he stared ahead with beak agape. Fast to the understanding that the griffon’s gaze went past himself, the pony looked to where the box stack used to be and experienced the same reaction as his companion.

It was a wheeled carriage for certain, but it was unlike anything he’d ever seen around Ponyville. The sedan body shape was recognisable if not very high-end, but in the front where one would expect provisions for a team to pull it there was a cowled nose which vaguely resembled a locomotive boiler. Most of the body had been painted a deep forest green with fenders and running boards an inky black. Metal rimmed, wood spoked wheels wrapped with some crusty flat tires held it proudly up, and all the special chrome bits and bobs still shone as though it had just rolled out of the showroom.

Sandbar knew what he was looking at, but Gallus truly knew what it was.

“It's a Stallion Steamer!”

If the blunderbuss hadn’t stoked a fire in the griffon’s soul, then the literal biggest find of all certainly did. First he bounced in place on giddy heels, then he danced around for a fashion, as though he’d hit a motherlode of gold.

Sandbar could only shake his head. I am so glad I didn’t just sell the unit off.

Now truly smitten with his luck that day, the pony happily got close to the steamer in order to peek through the glass. He tried the door, and to his pleasant surprise it was unlocked. The interior was so well preserved that it felt like entering a time capsule and it even retained a new furniture smell. The seats looked bulbous and plush, and indeed they were under a curious hoof. Any other thoughts on the condition of the sedan were whisked away however when he spotted something peculiar on one of the front seats.

It was a photograph and an old one at that. Whenever it was taken it most certainly would have been in black and white, but through the years it had yellowed considerably. He wondered if it had been taken with the old Polarak he’d found as it would have fit the era of everything else in the unit, but when he truly examined the content of the photo his eyebrows shot up in surprise.

Gallus’s spurt of energy had died down enough for him to stop dancing and go back to snacking on the remaining pizza. With the unbelievable fortune that had befallen him and his friends by extension, things were looking bright for a change. There were many big things which could be had with such coin, but one of the smaller things was that the griffon wouldn’t have to suffer the soggy cardboard which tried to pass for pizza any longer. He wasn’t able to think on that further as Sandbar approached with something in hoof and an excited glint in eye.

“You won’t believe what I found in that steamer.”

Gallus had just taken a big gulp of soda when the photograph was flashed before his eyes, and he did best not to spit-take directly onto it. The similarities were just too close to ignore.

“I know, right? He looks just like me.”

Sandbar was hardly wrong in that regard. The grinning earth stallion pictured may have been monochromatic but his facial features and mane were a near match to his own even with the time that separated the distant relatives. His foreleg was wrapped behind the shoulders of a taller griffon who was happily returning the gesture. They must have been good friends as the duo were standing in what appeared to be an old Appaloosan style saloon with the decor expected of such a place.

“Wow,” Gallus crowed. “No wonder you and I hit it off so well. Your family’s got griffon blood in it. Not the pushovers I had thought they were.”

“Hey now, no need for any of that,” Sandbar chuckled.

The griffon may have been quick to humor, but a bizarre thought had simultaneously planted itself in the back of his mind. Somehow, he knew that bird. It was unlikely they’d ever crossed paths physically, but maybe it was some bird he’d heard of through Grampa Gruff or Gilda even though he couldn’t recall such a conversation.

“Hm, I wonder what those two would have done for fun back in the day?”

Sandbar’s musing brought everything back to the present. Gallus took a moment to get a proper drink of his soda before wondering what their association was.

“Well, judging by that, they were quite close. Maybe, I don’t know, they’re hunting buddies.”

Sandbar rolled his eyes and didn’t bother to mask his skepticism. “Really. Hunting buddies.”

“Okay,” Gallus relented. “Bit of a stretch, but maybe he was into meat or simply enjoyed the hunt.”

Back in The Day

Author's Note

Story now split into shorter chapters for easier reading.

Back in The Day

Around eighty years ago…

The rain drove down hard upon the streets of Barrel Bay.

The frigid gale which had blown in from the east was nothing new to the city, and at such a late hour most residents were sleeping through it without much fuss. Those who did brave the storm were either essential workers in municipal wagons which slowly clattered down the many concrete roads and cobblestone streets in order to keep the port city running, or others who were participating in more nefarious activities.

Underneath the brilliant thunderclaps and howling wind, the rhythmic chugging of steam engines reverberated off the brownstone buildings. Furthermore, the occasional squeal of tires and a whistle competed to be heard by whoever was listening, and the beams of two pairs of headlights bounced and reflected off the slicked street, just like the mixture of gas powered lamps on poles and electric lights on buildings and the mouths of alley which lined it.

Then, a steam wagon blasted around a street corner, sliding on the pavement as its driver struggled to keep control. While that one fishtailed all over the road and almost clipped some steamers parked at the curb, another wagon took the turn with far more grace, and carried on down the boulevard at a more cautious pace.

“Come on, Snapper! We gotta stop that rat!”

The driver of the second wagon took a hoof off the wheel to jab it at his rain-streaked windshield. “I can hardly see his taillights let alone the road, and with the way Weenie’s drivin’ he’s guaranteed to wreck!”

The griffon riding shotgun grumbled but didn’t raise any more fuss. Through the tiny triangle spot on the glass the wiper struggled to keep clear, he could see the dim red lamps doing their best to travel straight and he had to agree with his partner’s observations. He knew that they were close to the bridge and that Weenie would most likely take it to escape the borough. The turn for it was just ahead, and the brakelights flaring to life showed the intent.

The wagon in front had completely locked its brakes, and on the wet pavement that was its downfall. With wheels cranked hard left, it oversteered heavily, the driver lifting off the brake and attempting to countersteer. All that earned him was an uncontrollable snap in the opposite direction and a one way slide past the turn and down the shallow embankment on the far side of the intersection..

Snapper had already been riding his brakes, and he was able to bring things to a controlled halt just before the curb. With a ratchet and a clank, the parking brake was pulled and the only sounds remaining were the storm, the whump of the wipers, and the muted whoosh of the boiler.

“Looks like the road didn’t like him too much,” the griffon, Kure, remarked as he stared ahead.

“His boiler hasn’t exploded,” Snapper started with an air of caution. “Yet...”

“He could still get away, and it wouldn’t be the first time.”

Kure lifted his weapon up off his lap with scaly yellow talons and pointed its muzzle towards the windshield. He checked over the drum magazine – loaded with a belt full of lead balls – to make sure it was seated properly. He then checked the action to see that it was indeed still loaded, his talons dimly illuminated by several gem tubes plugged into the receiver.

Snapper also had taken the opportunity to ready his weapon, but his process was a bit more involved. From under his coat he'd produced his preferred means of dispensing justice and aimed its twin barrels at the floorboards. With a deliberate pull on the top of the weapon, the breech cover was slid forward to expose the empty chambers. He filled those with paper cartridges pulled from a side saddle strapped to the stock and then snapped the cover shut. The priming tubes pierced the paper tubes and a small measure of powder drained into the pan, ready to ignite at a moments notice.

“You ready?”

Snapper answered his partner in crime by pulling the flintlocks back to full-cock, the weapon now ready to fire. “Yup.”

Kure stared at the exposed pan of the blunderbuss while reaching for his door handle. “I hope that thing can fire in the rain.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll only have to fire twice, if it comes down to it.”

With that, Kure pressed his flat gray cap down onto his head of white feathers with gold fringes, and snapper did the same with his trillby which obscured most of his short, light blue mane. Then they swiftly departed the wagon.

Gale force winds were quick to accost the duo, with Snapper having to endure the annoyance of his suit jacket worn over a white shirt and dark green necktie flopping around and intermittently slapping into his face. Kure’s attire of a gray button-up shirt and black pants held up by equally black suspenders handled a stiff wind far better, but the slanted rain was already wetting the fabric only after a few seconds of exposure. Both struggled to charge down the grassy and slippery slope between them and their quarry, with Kure muddying up his star-sided sneakers and a knee of his pants as he helped himself along with a free hand, and Snapper’s slacks and dress shoes weren’t faring any better. The only saving grace was the superstructure of the nearby bridge which impeded some of the wind by the shore, but any concerns were solely levied upon the wreck before them.

With headlights to their backs, they could immediately see that the wagon had rolled on its way over, and its tattered remains now rested in the shallow shore of the river. A mixture of wheels, bumpers and loose panels had been strewn about, and white-capped waves lapped at the exposed and cracked boiler, vaporizing into pufts of steam whenever the two met. For a moment, the duo wondered if anypony could have survived, but movement at a position near where the driver’s door had once been dashed such thoughts.

An earth stallion, white in fur and green in mane, extricated himself from the crushed sedan body. His very generic white shirt and brown pants were crumpled and torn in several places, and one of his worn work boots had become untied. He stumbled towards shore in a daze, cursing about his rotten luck. He then froze, as though remembering his situation at large. With a hoof to his brow, he squinted up at the silhouettes of two you never wanted to cross and hastily reached behind his back.

As the hoof-pistol was brought into play, Snapper and Kure trained their weapons on the threat. Kure had snidely hoped that their mere presence would quell opposition, but whatever the rat did to piss off the boss was bad enough to warrant going out in a blaze of stupidity.

“Lose that piece, Weenie!” Kure cautioned the pony in his sights. “It’s over!”

Weenie Buns failed to comply, and the only thing keeping him alive was the fact that he hadn’t pointed his revolver at his pursuers. He used that time to his advantage to try and come up with a workable alibi.

“Come on guys,” He tried to grin, but it was more of a grimace. “Y-you got the wrong guy! I got nothing to do wit it!”

Snapper didn’t buy that for a second, and he aggressively squared up his stance, leaning into the stock of his blunderbuss.

“Fuck that! We saw you trot right out of the dog’s hideout, you lyin’ shtbag!”

Snapper may have been ready to end things right then and there, but Kure knew that any information would be beneficial for business, so he lowered his sights ever so slightly and to be a bit more reasonable.

“And what were you doing there?!”

A bark of laughter was unexpected. “Ha ha! Very funny, because guess what? I wasn’t there!”

Kure could feel the more functional side of his beak curl up into a sneer. He’d figured that Weenie would do his best to blow off the treachery, but he knew what the bigger fish in this case was. He would have inquired, but his partner had read his mind.

“Then what were you doing at SeaMoon brewery!”

That got his attention. Whatever bravado Weenie had been trying to display evaporated in an instant, and he started to visibly shake. It wasn’t from the cold rain.

“Nothin’, I wasn’t doin’ nothin’ I swear!”

Kure lifted his gun back up.

“Alright! I was lookin’ over the place, t-to make sure that-!”

“To make sure what?!”

Patience had already been wearing thin long before Kure had been ordered to track down a potential snitch, and he made sure that snitch knew that by absolutely lunching his syllables. And if that wasn’t enough, he figured that stating things with boneheaded clarity couldn’t hurt either.

“If you were up to nothin’ as you say, then prove it and we’ll be off. But if you are double dealin’ then you are going to pay for it. Do you understand me?!”

Knowing that there was no way out and fully understanding the implications if he refused to cooperate, Weenie finally caved. He held his hooves out in a submissive manner but still grasped the pistol in his right, its metal brace barely keeping purchase on the hoof it was attached to.

“Yeah! Yeah! I know! I know!”

“Then talk!”

At the brewery…

Five ponies of various colors and all wearing similar suits were congregated around four wooden crates pushed together to form a table. The cloth draped over it made things a bit more presentable, but it was only there to provide a workable gaming surface. Each player had a hoof of cards, and some kind of bottled beverage or snack was next to them. But most importantly, there was a sizable stack of bits and paper currency in the center of it all, and one of the players had just added a thin stack of coins to it.

“Alright, I raise you.”

The three other players were weary of the one with a wry grin who had just raised. He was always good at calling his shots and nopony wanted to lose on that round, but only one called in the end. And just like that, their best player laid down the winning hoof. Groans circled the table from the losers as the winner raked in his bits and the unicorn acting as sharp grabbed up the cards for a shuffle.

“So,” he intoned through the stub of a cigar clenched in his yellowing teeth. “What do you boys think of that new filly Coleslaw?”

For a moment, the game was forgotten as something a bit more important took its place. There were a few dreamy sighs from the younger stallions at the table who’d seen the enrapturing beauty of the newest showmare working nights at The Windigo. They may have not been able to touch, but they sure could fantasize about a potential liaison with the beautiful mare.

They were unable to voice their thoughts as a sharp crash out in the rainstorm drew their attention. A bulky earth stallion who had been munching on a box of coleslaw almost spat out a mouthful when he slammed a hoof down on the table.

“Celestia damn it! If that cat is snooping around again I’m gonna shoot the damn thing! Just keep playing guys, I’ll be back in a bit.”

With a grumbling huff, the large pony grabbed his snack and waddled off to deal with the pest. The distillery area was a bit removed from the loading dock so by the time he got there he’d cooled enough to not want to outright kill the intruder but he still rapped his free hoof against a metal pipe to scare it off.

“Get out cat!” He beat on the pipe again. “Get out and I won’t hurt ya’! Come on cat, stop wastin’ my time!”

Another crash drew his attention to a spot behind a boiler where the brickwork had degraded to the point of allowing wildlife into the building. When he got there, things got interesting. The small hole had expanded to the point of easily allowing larger animals through, and he gripped his gun tighter when the realization that a small pony or other species could be hiding inside struck him.

Suddenly, something furry dropped on his head and dug its claws into his ear. The box of coleslaw was tossed to the wind as he peeled the cat off his head and threw it at the hole, which it fearfully scampered through.

“Damn it! There goes my-!”

The box of coleslaw hadn’t flown far, but the bundle of red rods and wires it had splattered upon took all his bluster away. He could see the face of a clock slowly ticking away, and as it hit twelve the last word he’d ever speak trickled out his maw.

“... Coleslaw…”

A thunderous explosion rocked the midnight world. Two looked over their shoulders and one stared ahead at the fireball which could be seen peeking above a warehouse roof, shock written into all their faces. They all could see the remains of whatever had been destroyed, chunks of brick, metal, and wood sailing into the sky to join the storm and come back to earth in a dangerous downfall.

Snapper and Kure were flabbergasted at what they’d just witnessed. Their jaws hung open in shock, neither having seen such a thing before in their lives. Then rational thoughts started flowing, and almost as one, they realized just what had blown up. With faces twisting up in rage they rounded on the one whom they believed to be responsible.

All Weenie could respond with was a goofy grin and a shrug. Maybe he thought it was just business and that he’d somehow walk away with most of his limbs. This time, he wouldn’t be granted such mercy.

With an almighty bang, Snapper opened fire, a wad of shot flying from one of the blunderbuss barrels and striking his target square in the guts. He doubled over, but that single shot was the least of his worries when Kure joined in.

His air-powered submachine gun worked a bit differently than typical firearms, but when he held the trigger down many of the same things happened. The shallow water around Weenie’s hooves erupted into erratic splashes as little lead balls struck the surface at supersonic speeds, emitting loud snaps the moment they left the barrel. Kure hadn’t bothered to use his sights, opting to simply tuck the gun into his side and get shots off as fast as possible.

As the round flew and Weenie staggered back from the ones which hit home , he heard Snapper fire off his second barrel, another wad of shot striking in the upper chest. That caused their target to lifelessly flop onto his back. Knowing that there was no way the rat had survived, Kure let off the trigger and his gun fell silent.

They both stared into the water at the carnage they’d wrought. Weenie’s body lay just off the shore, and the water was already taking on a red tinge. Then, some debris from the explosion splashed down further offshore, kicking up a fountain of spray and sending some extra waves their way. Once certain that nothing was going to land on him, Kure slowly waded out and grabbed up the hoof pistol which had fallen by the wrecked steamer. It was a needle revolver, quite common to find in the hooves of many types of equestrians, and even though it had fallen in the drink it still held some value. He glanced back at his compatriot, then back at the gun.

“Waste not and whatnot,” he mumbled to himself more than anything.

With a roll of his eyes, Snapper sloshed through the bloodied water to the corpse and started patting him down for any clues as to what Weenie’s game was. The only parcel of worth found was a fat sack of bits which could possibly put a dent in somegriffon’s astronomical tab, but beyond that nothing of note. Not wanting to hang around for any longer, he waved Kure over and they shoved the body away from shore and into the current.

As the river lethargically swept its prize downstream, the duo had gone over to the wrecked sedan, poked around it for a few seconds, and then trudged back to their idling wagon. With haste, Snapper swung it around and took off across the bridge, away from all the carnage. It was a bit of a drive to reach the nearest safehouse, which gave ample time for the adrenaline to wear off. No words were exchanged for a portion of the trip, with Snapper focusing on the road and Kure staring out at the passing streetlamps while pawing at the stock of his gun.

The pony had been in the game a fair bit longer than the odd griffon so he knew about having to cope with the situations he consistently found himself in. He liked to keep it within himself and just give others their space, but after finding a friend in Kure, he felt confident to see if he was willing to open up a bit.

“So, I know I’ve probably asked before, but was this how you expected things to go?”

“No,” the griffon grumbled. “The only thing on my mind when I got here was bits and fun.”

Now, you must be wondering how a bird like me got into this line of work. Well, how about a little context to set the mood.

It was the start of the Booming Markets in Equestria and things were wild. With all the opportunities abound the poor were becoming rich, the rich were becoming richer, and to a bird like me that sounded all like a faraway fantasy which nogriffon would see. And just like most great sounding things, there was a catch.

Prohibition, known as the “Dry Law” to those not in politics, had just been enacted across the board and the effects were felt straight away. All the little dives where the everybird could pop in and get a cold one were barred from serving alcohol and the thriving brewing industry of Equestria was declared to be illegal. Even with such restrictions though, life was still great, at least on the surface.

Beneath it all, a new breed of business had taken hold. When the bars and breweries shut their doors, certain “entrepreneurs” had bought the property and machinery at rock-bottom value. Now that kind of deal might sound insane, but if you are willing to run afoul of the law and exploit some loopholes, things make more sense. The demand for alcohol had in fact skyrocketed, as those who were used to convenience had to suddenly find other ways to drink and had gotten desperate for places to do so.

Hundreds of little illicit drinking dens had popped up in all of Equestria’s major cities, happily serving customers hard liquor in secret, but all they had to sell was whatever they had in their cellars. That was where that breed of business came in. The speakeasies as they were called bought their drink from the mafia gangs who had taken up the mantle of production and transport of banned substances, and this ignited a war in all but name between rival gangs.

This was the status quo for several years. It may sound like a terrible time to be an Equestrian, but money was still flowing and ponies partied despite the law. But just like in drinking, there’s the damn hangovers.

The great market crash blindsided all that growth in an instant. Good times became hard times as the once-thriving citizens were at risk of losing their businesses, homes, and livelihoods to the banks while those who weren’t as well off to begin with were hard pressed to find even the basic necessities of survival. Those more hopeful thought the crash was a fluke which would self-correct with new investment, but such hopes ebbed when soup kitchens and breadlines were formed to provide food for the needy.

There were really only two ways to make money from that point on. One was to have connections willing to help you along and the other was to do dirty work for the mob. I was in the former camp as I was out of a job in Griffonstone and was able to get a new job across the pond in Barrel Bay. It was my eighteenth birthday when I stepped off the train, and when I received my first paycheck a week later, all I wanted to do was have fun.

That was my undoing.

Late Night Liaison

Almost a year prior…

Kure did not have an easy time growing up. Never knowing his father and stuck with a mother who didn’t much care for him, he had to fend for himself. Neither of his parents were affiliated with any of the various wealth clans which were the remnants of the last kingdom, and as such he was treated as a serf at best, only able to work menial jobs for next to no pay just to survive.

Like most birds his age and happenstance, he crossed the pond to find better fortune. Many wanted to be just like the clans and be party to untold wealth, believing that was the key to happiness. He always felt a bit of disgust towards some of the more extreme methods his fellows would stoop to in order to achieve that goal, and he wanted nothing to do with that.

A decent job, stable wages, and roof over one's head were all Kure found he needed to have joy in his life, at least for now. He did entertain some ambitions, like owning his own land and house, or working his way to one day captaining a vessel of his own. And he also wasn’t afraid to have some fun from time to time, and that night was no exception.

“Aye,” the grizzled old pegasus that he shared a dock and a table with grunted out. “You’re gettin’ quite sloshed ’dere Kure. ’Tink you should back off a bit.”

Kure never considered himself to be an alcoholic, but he could never turn down a friday night with the crew especially when good drink was involved. He had a couple in him already, which was more than enough to net a good buzz, but the night was still young and the next round was ready to be had.

“Come on, Hail.” Kure picked up his glass and knocked back a fourth of it in several gulps. “You of all ponies should know by now that I can hold my liquor just fine. And after a long ass day the booze is even better. Ain’t that right guys!”

With a raucous cheer, all the longshoremen who’d flocked to the speakeasy that evening raised their preferred drinks in toast, Kure and Hail included.

“See, even you agree.”

The eggshell pegasus with the wispy gray mane harrumphed. “Well, I don’t disagree. But I have a feelin’ tat someting important will ’appen to ya ’ere. Sailor’s intuition.”

“Yeah?” Kure was skeptical. “Sure.”

His aging colleague may have been unbeatable when it came to predicting the weather, but with Kure and all other griffons he’d ever known, luck wasn’t a factor. Good fortune wasn’t something that just came your way, it had to be drawn out by your own will. But the old codger was right. If he drank too much he’d just become a useless wreck. Better to just finish up the current glass of bootleg whiskey and enjoy the warmth in his belly while taking in some of the local color.

Through the haze of the secondhand smoke, he could see that the cellar was packed that night, with all sorts filling the air with conversation and cheer that reverberated off the arched ceiling. Echoing along with it was the gramophone belting out one of the latest swing hits as several mares and stallions danced in the center of the space. In the back corner some griffon and zebra gamblers were rolling dice at the wall and a minotaur duo were guarding double doors which led to the VIP lounge.

Kure’s eyes lingered upon the female clientele patronizing the establishment. He had enough tact to not stare at those with a partner, but the singles were all fair game. Naturally, he was interested in fellow griffons, but none of them struck a fancy. Then one mare in particular had caught his eye, sitting casually with a crossed leg and slowly glancing around in the same manner that he was. A cigarette smoldered its last in her kid-gloved hoof, and as she stubbed it out he wondered for a scant moment if she was even into griffons.

Then she looked his way.

The more sober part of his mind scoffed. There was no way a mare of that caliber would ever play ball with some rowdy dockworker, but to his surprise she actually grinned. The less sober part had no problem returning the gesture. Given a nonverbal affirmative, she stuffed a lighter back into the depths of her purple designer hoofbag and made her way over. The light blue dress which matched her gloves greatly accentuated her azure figure as she sashayed past the dancers, her prominent breasts almost wiggling with each step of her pump heeled and fish netted legs.

When she lingered, Kure understood that he’d need to meet her in the middle. With a sufficiently buzzed mind and a nether region which wholeheartedly agreed, he vacated his seat and strolled over to his catch. Almost forgetting himself for a moment, the griffon straightened up his cap, and then crossed the distance. When they met, a slower tune started playing and they shared a dance. As they shuffled about, Kure made his move.

“So sweetie, how often do you come around? What brings a mare like you to a den like this?”

Her response was to toss her lime green mane back past her headband with a sole feather tucked into one side and start fanning her face with a hoof. “To have a good time with good drinks just like any other gal here you… handsome griffon.”

She then turned around and moved back over towards her table, Kure in tow.

“As I’m sure you are aware, a seedy joint such as this is the only place to find a good vintage these days.”

Now at the table, she grabbed up the elderly looking bottle in the center and poured out a measure of red wine into her lipstick marked glass. Then she matched that into a second, clean glass and pushed it his way. Kure wasn’t very big on wine and spirits, but he was never one to turn down an offered drink, especially an expensive one. He did not just knock it back like bourbon, instead he followed his new partner’s example and gave it a gentle sip. It was a lot smoother then the other times he’d imbibed, and since it wasn’t watered down the flavor came out nice and strong. He couldn’t resist another pull, and when he was finished she giggled.

“So you can handle your liquor. Good.”

“Yup,” Kure happily agreed. “Been told that before.”

Even though she was jovial, Kure could easily tell that the mare wanted more out of her evening than drinks and mere company. He’d trod this very path many times, and the necessary words almost came automatically.

“Well, since we seem to have our drinks down, how ’bout we move onto a greater time someplace else?”

Like a chime of a bell, she giggled again. “You know, I heard a rumor that you griffins aren’t as big as you like to claim.”

If it was anyone else, Kure would have been miffed at the dig against his griffonhood. But when it came to intercourse he knew that she was simply looking for the biggest fish in the sea, and he was more than prepared to deliver in that regard.

“Are you sure about that?”

With a mad grin, Kure grabbed her hoof and pulled it over to his beltline. At first the mare’s eyes flashed in anger at such a brazen advance, but when she felt the massive bulge lurking under his pants her expression went to shock. “Oh my…”

She then took on a lustful tone. “How can you even walk with that thing?”

Out of pure curiosity, she started rooting around his crotch, trying to figure out through the fabric just how big his member was. She went under and found that she could barely cusp his also impressive family jewels around the girth. After a few more seconds she gave up on specifics and leaned back into her seat.

“Well,” Kure grinned. “How about you pick the place, and I can show you how I walk.”

Without pause, Kure leaned over for a kiss and the mare accepted, the two sharing in each other for a moment before separating with a laugh.

“My, my, aren’t you the fun one tonight. Come.”

She left her seat, purposefully brushed her flank against Kure on the way past, and beckoned with a hoof.

It was drizzling outside, and one thing Kure had picked up early on in his dating was to always have an umbrella handy for such occasions. His may have been quite bland and utilitarian, but it was the thought that counted and none of his partners had ever complained about it. Under the canopy, the mare leaned into Kure and he reciprocated by gently wrapping an arm around the back of her neck. As they both trod down the wet sidewalk a few odd glances were thrown their way, but neither of them were phazed by such things at that moment.

When they reached the modest hotel of her choosing, Kure was the first to pull the door open and let his lady through just like a true gentleman would. By the warm reception they received from the concierge and the bellhop, the griffon gathered that she was a regular and that she typically visited with company, but Kure still offered to pay for the suite even though it was on the pricey side for a bird such as himself. After offering up the bits, he scribbled his name in the ledger and they were booked for the night.

The room he had rented was a bit smaller than expected, with red walls and a single large bed for two to share, but Kure had no interest in more than a cursory glance. He had already grasped his partner and began to make out with her. While showing off the flexibility of his beak, he fumbled with the buttons of her gloves and then started stripping them off. She met him with a ferocity of lips and tongue unmatched, and equally struggled to focus on removing Kure’s belt from his pants.

With initial lust sated for the time being, they stumbled over to the bed and the mare made herself comfortable, laying prostrate and showing off a shapely hindquarters. More importantly, she had admitted access to the fastenings of her designer dress, something Kure readily utilized to start unwrapping his present. He was delicate enough to not tear up the fabric, and once the garment and assorted undies were fully removed he was rewarded for his discretion when she rolled over to reveal her naked breasts.

Kure was no stranger by any means, but each time he got to play with breasts he always felt like it was a new experience. The way they felt so soft yet firm in his squeezing claws was a remarkably enjoyable feeling, and another round of kisses followed up. Not content to simply let himself have all the fun, he broke off and started to undress, kicking off shoes and taking off pants followed by their underlying boxers, and once again his partner was shocked by his size.

“Oh my, you’re bigger than I thought!”

She quickly regained composure, and finished her thoughts with her usual sultry tone. “I thought you may have had something extra in your pocket, but I was clearly mistaken.”

Kure stared into her lusty eyes for a moment, and then grinned. “Yeah, I also get that alot.”

Taking what he believed to be his queue, Kure climbed up onto the bed and got ready to penetrate, but she called things off at the last moment.

“Ah, ah, hold it there cowpony.”

She pulled her hoofbag close and fished out a smallish box with a shield printed on its lid. Kure wasn’t too thrilled to be interrupted so close to release, but all he really could do was to entertain whatever she had in mind. So he dismounted and took the box into his claws.

“Put that on your big cock and we can have all kinds of fun tonight.”

It wasn’t uncommon for some to prefer to add some spice to their sex with an additional toy or something, but what Kure pulled from the box stumped him. A long latex tube, sealed at one end with a flared opening on the other. He’d never seen something like it before, and his closest assumption was that it was some kind of finger glove for a dragon or other large species. At any rate, he couldn’t wrap his head around the intended use, so he asked.

“Why, sweetie?”

She gave him a pointed look in return. “Just because you’re horny doesn't mean you're going all the way with me. Get that on and we can get busy.”

With the combination of inebriation and arousal coursing through his brain, Kure had a hard time grasping this development. It felt like his mind was an office with drones scurrying about in search of documents to explain what it had been presented with. A fist striking a table followed by a yell gave him the idea that maybe she fancied a big dragon fingering her.

Back in the moment, the mare lifted her rump and gave a wiggle to signify that she was ready to go. Not wanting to put things off any longer, he mentally shrugged and slipped the sleeve over his stiff member. It chafed, squeezed and pulled in all the wrong places and he was all around irritated at the last minute addition, but if it got him laid it would be worth it.

Kure still had no trouble finding his mark, and when he pushed in he was rewarded with a strong moan.

“Oh fuck!” she cried out. “You’re so damn big!”

Finally obtaining what he’d been waiting all evening for, Kure began to thrust in and out at a lazy pace while reaching up to fondle some breasts. As usual, he slowly ramped up his pace, but there was a problem. The rubber sleeve she’d insisted he put on was thick to the point that it was hampering his sensitivity, which was keeping him from feeling the familiar fire down below. It just wasn’t natural to have such a thing blocking the stimulation of penetration and other feelings of lovemaking.

‘Gods,’ Kure thought bitterly. ‘What does she get out of this stupid thing? If it’s some kind of new kink I don’t care for it at all.’

The mare on the other claw seemed to be enjoying herself much more, having been continuously moaning and calling out to be fucked harder and harder. Kure wanted to deliver, but the supposed toy was simply killing his ability to do so.

‘Fuck it. I’m taking it off.’

Claiming that he needed to reposition to really get it on, he had her roll to her chest and while she couldn’t see he yanked off the strange tube and chucked it into the nearby waste bin. Already, he could feel his unrestricted member engorging to its proper size and that little change brought him back into the game. With a good stretch of his neck, he mounted her like a true stallion and plunged right in.

She screamed with newfound lust as the big dick shoved its way down the tunnel and bottomed out, completely unaware of what Kure had just done. All she knew was the talons roughly grabbing her sides as she was pounded into with great renewed vigor. Kure quickly found a good rhythm in his humping, picking a pace which both provided great stimulation and allowed him to last as long as he needed to.

Some guys would only be in it for their own pleasure, going as quick and hard as possible and leaving their mare high and dry. But if Kure was good at one thing, it was sex and he knew that the greatest pleasure came with patience, so he carried on for almost an hour, when he felt her begin to shudder.

Knowing she was right on the edge, Kure doubled his pace, thrusting as deep as possible. As his own fire welled up in his groin at a breakneck pace, he started to sing his favorite moaning tune as he reached his own climax.

“Fuuck! Oh, fucking hell! I’m… I… Am… Going… To… Cum!”

Acting on an almost primal urge, he grasped harshly onto the voluptuous flanks below him and then pulled them as close as possible while thrusting as deep as he could get. At the apex, a mass of pressure shot down his cock and exploded into the mare, spewing his seed of life as he arched his head back in a silent roar of absolute pleasure. And just as suspected, the mare felt the same way, bucking up her hips as a shrill whinny escaped her open muzzle.

And then, it was over.

Kure may have been panting from the sustained exertion, but he remained inside her for the time being. She was almost passed out, breathing softly with a contented smile on her lips. They laid there, basking in the afterglow for an indeterminate time, neither wishing to disturb the moment so much effort had been placed into achieving. Eventually, he pulled out in order to take a comfortable seat on the edge of the bed, one thought entrenched in his mind.

‘Gods above. I am going to remember this night.’

As he glanced over the mare’s almost naked body, he knew deep down that she would as well. Ever the gentleman, he helped her to get comfortable by moving her into a resting position and nestling a pillow under her head. He then removed her shoes which had been completely forgotten and pulled the comforter up over her back. She still had her forelimbs free, and she used them to gently pull the griffon back in for one more kiss before snuggling in for the night.

Kure knew that mares like her were only looking for fast fun instead of long term relationships, but he still found his way into the bed for a little nap before heading home.

A New Deal

Nine months later…

When Kure first set foot on equestrian soil, he was shocked by how busy things could be. Granted, things back in griffonstone could get quite hectic, but the sheer scale of the port of Barrel Bay was leagues above anything back home. And he didn’t have to wander far from the docks to secure employment in that new, strange land.

Tending to all the visiting cargo vessels of both sea and air was neither glamorous nor easy, but for a bird who preferred physical labor over anything sedentary, it was a decent way to get started out with some coin. Just as he’d expected, when it was work time, dallying wasn’t tolerated by the harbor masters, but unlike all the other menial jobs he’d worked in Griffonstone, workers were not only paid handsomely in comparison but were also more than permitted to take a load off and have fun passing the time as they saw fit.

It was a good arrangement, Kure usually thought at the end of his dayshift. He never expected things to go so smoothly, but like many of his kin he wasn’t one to second guess good fortune. And it looked like that fortune smiled that evening as some setting sun was peeking through the low hanging clouds, which worked to stave off the impending rains just a little bit longer.

Kure landed in the little plaza in front of his brownstone apartment block about five minutes later, not much worse for wear. The odd sprinkle the city by the sea was known for was thankfully light that day, just enough to allow safe travel through the sky and his jacket kept him mostly dry through it all.

He was immediately aware that he was not alone, and sure enough a group of five smartly dressed equines stepped out of the central gazebo and beelined their way towards him, fanning out as they approached. Kure didn’t need to look behind himself to know more were approaching behind as they had never bothered to mask their hooffalls, and wingbeats not his own drew his eyes to the sky. Two pegasi were lazily circling at rooftop level, also ready to cut off any aerial escape.

The one in the middle of the forward group with a low-brimmed hat atop a black-maned head and a sprig of grass sticking out the side of a red muzzle, Kure could more than guess was the leader of the outfit. Once within spitting distance, they all stopped and he callously spat the sprig to the side and addressed the griffon.

“Well, lookit what the cat dragged in.”

Kure bristled. It wasn’t just the fact that his street smarts informed him that this was more than a stick-up, but that the voice was so annoyingly laced with malevolence that it made his hide crawl. But still, a nonviolent resolution was preferable to whatever those goons otherwise had in mind, even if the die was already cast.

“Can I help you fellas out?”

The leader cocked his head up, revealing a squared-off face which was every bit as smug and arrogant as his tone suggested. He openly sneered at the diversion and carried on with the planned discussion.

“Word on the wire is that you’ve been messin’ around a bit.”

Prostitutes.

The insinuation was enough for Kure’s brain to start piecing things together. It was no secret that he liked to mingle with the mares of the night, but that was mostly between himself and his closest acquaintances. Still, word had obviously gotten around, but about what? All his liaisons had ended on positive notes – with the mares crying out for more – so that couldn’t be it. Feigning ignorance was what came easiest.

“I don’t know what you heard, but all I ever do is work, drink, sleep and have a little fun with the ladies from time to time. You got the wrong griffon, pal.”

Kure lifted a paw to bypass those jokers and get to his floor, but as soon as he did so all the ponies reached under their coats and drew a plethora of weapons. He was now glancing around furtively to tally up those who wished him harm, and what they were armed with. It was mostly melee weapons. Short blades, bats, pipes, and studded clubs were present, but it was the distinctive click of readied firearms that spoke of a deeper threat.

“Now where were you off to in such a hurry? Why not stick around for a little chat? We could be friends.”

The leader and the two flanking him had drawn some air pistols and were aiming them at Kure. They were all grinning as those holding all the cards would, and those behind were openly chuckling. The griffon they were all accosting did his best to keep his poker face while finding an out from the jam. Outright conflict against so many was suicide, but the priority were those with guns. His talons had been in his pockets throughout the short encounter and they carefully curled around what he hoped to be the right choice.

“All right,” Kure shrugged with nonchalance. “Since we have to be pals… Here's a gift!”

The griffon had learned much in that strange new world, and he met many different types in his days of work. He’d learned from some cat-folk that when faced with many threats it was best to carry a powerful distraction and beat it rather than fight, and that advice was taken to heart.

He wrenched his talons out of his pockets and lobbed a small bag at the most immediate threats. The bag burst open upon contact with the leader’s face, a fine red mist of abyssinian curry spice enveloping him and the rest of the front group. Kure then spun around and tossed a bag at those behind, and was rewarded with howls of pain as the irritant went to town on their sinuses and eyes.

Not wanting to wait for the retaliation, Kure attempted to lift off but a blast of air from a dive-bombing pegasus who narrowly missed their mark made him think better. Going for the door was the final option, which meant he would have to fight his way in.

“Get that fucker!” the leader bellowed out while waving his pistol around wildly. “Kill him if you have to!”

That pony was almost unable to see, but for the brief moment where he could see through watering eyes his vision was filled with an enraged griffon. Two paws struck him in the gut, launching him off his hooves and into some wooden crates near a basement entrance. The other four had retreated a bit, leaving the spice cloud behind in order to regain their faculties.

Knowing that the situation would not be settled with parlor tricks alone, Kure jammed his talons back into his pockets, the digits curling around the twin pepperboxes he’d never needed to use until then. The right came out quicker than the left, and as he drew a battlecry from behind and a woosh of a melee weapon narrowly missing the back of his neck forced him to lunge forward.

His aim may have not been the greatest, but when he snapped off the first two shots of the three-shot firearm into the center mass of the stallion furthest right he was rewarded with a howl and a thud. He was also gifted with a bullet striking ground just to his left as the other guys started shooting blindly in his general direction. Acutely aware of the danger ahead, and only dimly aware of that behind as they scattered so as not to be hit in the crossfire, a plan had rapidly built in his head and he would do his best to implement it.

Firing one last shot into the other goon on the right, Kure switched to his left pistol and winged off two shots at those on the left. With only one possibility remaining, he dived at the leader who had just extricated himself, swatted away the gun coming up to intercept him, rammed his entire body weight down upon him, and shoved the triple barrels of his gun into the big guy’s mouth.

“Don't move or this fucker gets it!”

Kure had hoped that such a brazen action would have stunned the others into compliance. Sure, as he frantically whipped his head about he could see that many were visibly panicked, but none had fled the scene. They all hollered to each other while slowly encroaching, trying to coordinate a response. Life wasn't like the moving pictures, where the baddies would stupidly come at the dashing rogue one at a time. It was only a matter of seconds before those guys charged en masse, so he had to act accordingly.

Kure scrambled off the pinned leader, but still kept a bead on him. He had to switch between targets though as the remaining enemies had regrouped to finish what they had started. Oddly enough, those with ranged weapons weren't firing and even his new friend had retreated to the group, an oddly smug curl to his muzzle. Something was off about that, and instincts screamed to get the flock out of there. The griffon headed their call, but before he could...

Something latched onto him and smothered his beak with a rag wetted by a pungent substance. All semblance of civility evaporated in an instant, and he thrashed around in a primal bid for escape. He tried to fire his remaining shot into the mystery attacker, but the lead only found ground. He tried to bash at the attacker with the butt of his gun, but after several hits his limbs began to falter. The edge of his vision was turning gray, and after a few more seconds of huffing and squirming, the rest of his body went limp and the world faded to black.

When consciousness started returning to Kure, the first thing which graced his mind was the hard surface he was laid out on. The second thing was the slow, rhythmic rocking of his dark world. He was on a ship, in a cargo hold if the scent of mildew and sea salt was of any indication. He’d been around such places most of his life, and he’d been on his way home when…

As soon as the previous events caught up with him he tried to bolt, but a plethora of appendages held him fast. He tried to lash out with his beak as that wasn’t the most restrained but his captors were adept at dodging any strike.

“Ease up on him a bit. He’s harmless.”

Kure did not like this one bit. Messing with goons was one thing, but just by the tone this was clearly a pony much further up the food chain. And in the low light the captive could just see the silhouette of a stallion lurking in the shadow. He didn’t need to see a muzzle move to know the next words were directed at him.

“Stop thrashing and they’ll let go. Try anything stupid and we’ll put you down and nopony will miss ya’.”

Knowing that a continued struggle would likely result in death, Kure ceased and the hooves and claws retreated. As he slowly regained his footing, eyes adjusted as much as they could to the dim lighting and he could now make out all the new little friends he shared the cargo hold with.

“Ah, the sleeping baby rises, at last.”

An older stallion, judging from his voice, made his way over to a table which was in a better lit area. From the side, he was quite rotund and had a white mane atop a gray head, and his face bore quite a few wrinkles, especially around his flinty eyes. With a drawn out sigh, he stuffed his rump into a small chair and took a puff of his cigar. He then fixed Kure with a disapproving stare.

“I thought that my guy hit you with a little too much chloroform, but alas, you’re still here.”

Kure’s mind was still in a haze from the drugging and all he wanted was to know why. But all he could get out of his numb beak was a dry cough.

“You’re probably wonderin’ who the buck I am. So name’s Sea Moon, and welcome to my cargo ship. It’s not the nicest place to be, but she gets the job done.”

That name struck a note. Wasn’t he part of the shipping guild? Judging by the situation he found himself in, the stallion was way more than a wealthy merchant, and as he took a long drag from his cigar Kure truly struggled to put a face to the name.

“You clearly have no Idea who I am. Maybe you’ll know my daughter better?”

He motioned for somebody to come out of the shadows, And to Kure’s surprise it was the beautiful mare from nearly a year ago, and dressed similar to boot.

“Her name’s Poison Berry.”

The gravity of the situation hit Kure like a wave. The mare he’d banged many months ago not only was the daughter of a supposed crime boss, but said crime boss now had beef with him over that action. Aside from that, he was also a mad parent and the griffon knew better than to mess around with those who held power over him, so he chose his words carefully.

Is that all? Why send the muggers then?”

Being aloof was a gamble, but it seemed to pay off as the elder stallion glared at one of his constituents rather than him.

“It wasn’t my idea to turn this into an abduction, That was my employee being a dumbass like always. But moreover…”

Poison Berry moved behind her father’s seat and picked up something out of view.

“...My daughter has something to show you.”

That something was a wicker basket with a red plaid blanket sticking out through the semi-closed lid, which she placed on the table. Kure was genuinely confused. Then it giggled.

The little trill was unmistakable to any griffon, and with it his heart hit the floor. It took every mental faculty he possessed at that moment to not drop to the deck in shock as he didn’t want to even so much as annoy anyone present. He’d had sex many times before with mares and apart from never receiving a complaint he’d never gotten any of his flings pregnant as far as he knew.

Kure had some goals, but children were still a ways over the horizon. He’d wanted more time before venturing down that road, but when the lid was opened and the tiny feathered head of a griffon chick poked up over the lip, the fact couldn’t be disputed. The little hen as told by the shape of the beak was his daughter. A whole new slew of emotions welled up in his mind, and they almost drowned out the natural instinct of fear already inhabiting it. Somehow, joy was winning out over all others as he looked upon the creation he’d helped make. He may have grown up with little in the means of paternity, but he was not his father and willing to do better.

“That’s… wonderful!” Kure beamed. “I’m ready to step up and take care of our-”

With an ungraceful fury, Poison Berry raced over to Kure and planted a hind hoof up into the griffon’s groin. She may have only been a mare, but with the natural force in the hooves of all equines her victim was launched a few inches into the air to crumple back down to the floor in stunned agony.

Any other time, he would have easily dodged such a move, but with the sedative still lurking around in his veins he could hardly react to, let alone endure the hit. As he held onto his bruised balls and a few tears of pain streaked out his eyes, through the haze he could see the audience cringe back empathetically and cover their own groins reflexively.

Angrily clopping hooves signaled that the beating was only beginning, and Kure was unable to react to the spinning kick delivered to his side. Pony strength struck hard again as he was sent rolling across the floor and into the wall with enough force to elicit a crack from the surface. His mind raced through fog, trying to understand what had just happened, but a sudden lack of air sent everything into overdrive.

The hoof collapsing his windpipe was hardly merciful, and the mare behind it was hardly the one he knew from months before. This imposter was furious and belligerent, and Kure could only look upon her in abject fear.

“You dirty, lowlife griffon.”

Her first sentence was only a dangerous hiss, but she rectified that in an instant. “If I’d wanted to get pregnant I would have done it with a stallion, not some deadbeat birdbrain! I told you to put that condom on and you fucking didn’t!”

With the lack of oxygen getting to his brain and the visceral pain, Kure could only gasp out one simple question.

“The fuck a condom?”

The eyes of the mare almost ignited into flame at that and Kure feared that she would skip the rest of her tirade and simply stomp him out of existence, but her elder was his saving grace.

“Stop right there sweetie!”

Sea Moon waddled over to the one-sided brawl and attempted to pull his daughter away, but she was having none of it. As the darkness closed in, Kure could see a somewhat miffed look on the stallion’s face, but as quick as it had appeared it vanished.

“I know you want to beat the guy into the ground, but how about you take some of my bits and my airship to the capitol for some shopping.”

At that offer, she withdrew her hoof and stepped back. The griffon who was almost smothered by it drew as many ragged breaths as possible, which was a tall order when confronted with all the newly inflicted pain which made him want to dry heave as well. And of course, she wasn’t quite through with him yet.

“I don’t care what you do with that kid, but I’m through with you. All I wanted that night was to say that I fucked a griffon, that’s all. If ponies find out I was knocked up by one the rumors would fly, so I don’t want this ever coming back to me. Got it?!”

Kure could only formulate some form of grunt in response. Just like how she didn’t want anything more to do with him, he really didn’t want anything more to do with her. He would gladly take Poison Berry leaving to carry on her own life than try to ‘make it work’ at that moment, but as he watched the mare accept a fat sack of coins and depart the hold, he knew the ride wasn’t done yet.

“You must be wondering why I didn’t just have you killed for knocking up my sweetheart. Maybe you think I would have some kind of prejudice, but I could give two flying fucks about you being a griffon.”

With little grace, Seamoon slowly made his way back to his seat and sat back down with a drawn out sigh.

“My dad was a deadbeat. He would spend his time in this world trying to peddle fake drugs that were merely painkillers with crazy names attached to them. He was never able to make it anywhere above street level. Too many raw deals; left my mother and I very poor at times. Eventually it all caught up to him and he overdosed on his own product.

“Then there was my best pal. His pa was a kind stallion who would happily donate some of his miner pay to my mother and I to keep us afloat, but the mine collapse claimed him and put my buddy in the same dire straits as me. They were starving and I wanted desperately to support his family just as they did mine, but I could hardly feed myself let alone…

“It was the soup kitchens that kept us all going through that time. Free meals were a blessing, but also a curse as all it took was one ill-prepared meal to kill him at thirteen, his mother soon after. That day forward, I vowed that I would never be in that position again. So I worked my ass off, jumped on every opportunity presented to me even if the law disagreed, and eventually I was able to get where I am now.”

Kure wasn’t quite sure where Sea Moon was going with his monologue, but fearing that turning it into a dialogue would have repercussions, he held his tongue.

“Now,” Sea Moon continued. “I gather you may not understand where I’m coming from, but the short answer is that I don’t want you to turn out like my dad. My daughter may lack interest in parenting, but you seem eager to take up that mantle and as a grandparent I want what’s best for my granddaughter as well. In order to achieve that I can’t have you working hourly on the docks, not in this economy. So, Kure. What do you say to workin’ for me for a spell?”

Kure was… shocked to be let off so easily. Not only was he not dead, but the stallion who would have done so was offering him a job instead. And while it was true that many had turned to crime to survive trying times, Kure had done his best to fly above all that. But now with a whole heap of responsibility now bearing down he knew that staying legit would no longer cut it, he knew better than to raise any kind of fuss. The fuss, however, was reserved for another.

“Hey! Let go of me!”

Two of the biggest stallions he’d ever seen were dragging over the ringleader of the group who’d jumped him in the courtyard. Unlike before, his swagger had been replaced with fear and he resisted with every step.

“Is this the pony who came after you?”

The griffon glanced between the boss and the lackey, and softly nodded.

“Good.”

Sea Moon gave him a meaningful look. “Because If you wish to become a member of this family, I need you to cut off his hoof.”

“My what?!”

The red stallion thrashed as hard as he could, desperate to escape the situation and his boss’s ire. He wouldn’t be granted such mercy.

“You fucked up big time! I send you on one simple errand and you give me shit in return! Two boys pushing daisies and one who’s bleeding out in the city hospital and my money is the only thing keeping the police and feds at bay! All because you didn’t do your fucking job right!”

Kure watched the elder pony as he huffed and puffed after his tirade. He was having a hard time processing what had just been asked of him, but not doing it would probably lead to consequences for him. But, he still had to ask…

“And… If I don’t…?”

Sea Moon’s lips curled up ever so slightly, as though he was hoping to be met with such a question.

“Oh don’t worry, If I wanted him dead he wouldn’t even be here.” He took a quick drag of his cigarette. “No, this is about reminding folks what their place in my world is.”

He then turned about and waddled back over to the desk, right by the only truly innocent creature in the room. “If you don’t do as I ask though…”

He gently rubbed the griffon babe’s head with a hoof, and she chortled happily from the touch. “I’m more than happy to take care of her. As for you, or any others who disobey…”

He pressed a button under the desk, and the fabric curtain was mechanically drawn away to reveal… a gigantic aquarium?

At least, that’s how it appeared to Kure at first glance. A giant backlit aquarium filled with murky teal water. Some of the bigger commercial fishing vessels he’d tended to had gigantic seawater holds to keep their catch alive until a return to port, but why one would need an observation window was beyond him. Then he started to see why.

Bodies.

A little over a dozen bodies belonging to all sorts of races hovered stationary on the far side of the glass. All were wearing street clothing indicative of their positions and statuses, as though they all had been abducted right off the streetcorner. His own gasp was dwarfed by the other junior henchponies who clearly weren’t in the know as they also took in the macabre display. All present could easily see, but Kure’s enhanced vision helped him to take in even more gruesome details.

Not only could he make out the races of griffon, pony, zebra, minotaur, abyssinian, buffalo, and diamond dog floating deathly still, but he could see that their torsos had been bound with bailing wire, forelimbs pinned to their sides. And anchoring them in place were big chunks of molded concrete wrapping their feet, the so-called concrete shoes living up to their terrible name. The worst however were the twisted expressions of shock and horror played out on every face, as though they had died upon the mere contact with the water and were now frozen in time.

“As you can see, when it comes to loose ends, I have ways of making them disappear.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Kure spied Sea Moon reaching for a lever on the wall next to the glass, and upon its pull the whole ship heaved upward as the bottom of the tank dropped out, sending all its contents to the bottom of the sea. As the last rivulets of water traced down the glass, the lever was pushed back up and the open hatch was slowly drawn back up, heavy mechanical sounds dully thrumming through the hull accompanying the motion.

Throughout the display, Kure’s jaw had hung open in muted horror, and a few others had befallen such expressions. He regained his faculties when Sea Moon approached, loudly dragging along a small metal table in one hoof, and a fireaxe in the other. He brought the table to rest before the griffon, and then held the axe out by its head.

“So. Will you do it? Or not.”

When it came to self defense, Kure had no qualms with injuring or killing another creature to protect his own life. But hacking off a limb for the sake of making a point? That was torture, and even though the simpering mess of a stallon held at ready may have been rotten to the core, he didn’t deserve that. But it had been clearly demonstrated that if he didn’t comply it would result in his demise. So with waning hesitation, he reached out.

Sea Moon smiled.

Talons wrapped around the handle.

“Alright, bring him over.”

Sea Moon waved over his guys, and the intended victim howled and resisted with all his might until the elder stallion marched up and backhoofed him in the face.

“Cut that out or I’ll have him cut off your head!”

As the old stallion shuffled back to the far side of the table, his insubordinate subordinate was dragged the rest of the way. This time he still whimpered but did not resist as one of his captors forcibly stretched out one of his reluctant forelegs across the cold steel.

Kure knew that this was it. As he glanced into the terrified, hopeless eyes of a pony who had tried to kill him earlier, the axe gained heft in his talons.

“C-c-c’mon man! You don’t hafta do this!”

The griffon wasn’t sure if the pleading was directed exclusively at him or if some of it was directed at the boss and his henchponies, but any hesitation on his part would result in both their deaths. So he squared up his shoulders, aimed for the top of the hoof, and raised the axe above his head.

The axehead whooshed down through air, spitting flesh and bone before piercing and embedding itself into the metal with a meaty, metallic thump. A bright light flashed, causing Kure to recoil from his handiwork, relinquishing the stuck axe in favor of shielding his eyes from whatever that flash was. As he squinted at the silhouette of the stallion rolling around on the floor screaming bloody murder it flashed again, and this time his ears registered the unmistakable pop of a flashbulb.

To his… chagrin, a colt almost out of his teenage years had not only witnessed the insane amount of barbarism on display in the hold, but was now taking photographs of the aftermath like some tabloid nightcrawler. As this new arrival trotted up to the table to flash a picture of the dismembered hoof and the tool which had cleaved it off, Kure was finally struck by the reality of the situation.

“Did you get it?” SeaMoon asked his young constituent, who nodded eagerly.

“Sure did, boss. One-hundred percent.”

The rest of that conversation faded into oblivion as Kure’s now relatively clear mind processed the last few minutes of his life. The maimed pony was dragged away to (hopefully) get patched up and some of the others more squeamish followed the thin trail of blood out of the hold.

In truth, the griffon wondered what he had gained apart from his continued existence. Was the violence and death of the day all just in vain, or was there something more to it. The grinning stallion coming his way with the blanketed basket in hoof may have held the answer.

“Well, griffon, welcome to the club.”

As promised, the griffon chick was hoofed over, and Kure accepted with some reverence.

“You know, this is perfect timing, seeing as it's father’s day here.”

Kure had no real response to that, so he skipped to a more pressing question.

“So what now?”

The ship listed slightly as it began a slow turn to starboard, and both the griffon and stallion had to lean to compensate.

“We should be in port on the hour. Go home, get some rest. One of my guys will come around sometime with further instructions.”

There wasn’t much more to speak of, Kure followed Sea Moon out a nearby bulkhead. With some instruction on how to find the deck, he made his way up, but stopped short of the rain-slicked deck. The corrugated metal awning above the bulkhead admitting entry to the superstructure held the heavens at bay with a raucous din but did little to stop the wet gusts. It was enough to see them to shore and off the wretched vessel as the Barrel Bay lighthouse was already within view, Its enhanced magic spotlights easily piercing through the gloom.

Them.

Unconsciously, he had been holding his new companion close to the wall while blocking the gale with his own body. When he’d parted the blankets a touch to see his daughter, he’d expected to see some level of fear in her face, or at least apprehension, but no…

No, she was asleep.

He pondered a moment on how something so pure wasn’t concerned at all about the commotion surrounding her. It may have not been the time or the place, but a fitting name for the unnamed chick came to mind.

Destivy Mesic.

And that was my introduction to the life. Ever since that day, I had to do all sorts of dirty work for the mob and after a spell I started to like it. Pay was way better than anything legit, and now that I had an extra mouth to feed that made bits all the more important. My only personal hope through all of that was that my daughter would turn out okay. I didn’t want her making out like her bitch of a mother, and the best bet for that would be to get away from Barrel Bay. I didn’t want aforementioned bitch or anyone for that matter weaseling into my life anymore then they already had.

That was the long term goal, but at that moment my work took priority, and work in the criminal underworld was never finished.

Brewing Trouble

Two days later…

It was a fine day in Barrel Bay.

The typical morning showers had died out by midday, and a gray overcast sky with the occasional break in the cloud cover allowing some warm sunlight to filter through to the city below. Even though the streets were still slick and large, glassy puddles had yet to evaporate, many residents were out and about, going about their business with a bit more enthusiasm thanks to the dry reprieve. This was most evident at all the bodegas, bistros, and other assorted eateries which scores patronized for decent, lunch hour meals.

One such place was a humble little establishment underneath a brownstone residential building. Green and white striped awnings covered a small streetside dining area with a few seats taken and two folding blackboards flanked the entrance. One showed the house lasagna speciale drawn out in several colors of chalk along with a bottle of soda and the meal’s two bit price, and the other had a listing of various sides offered alongside the main course.

It may have not been a full house yet, but the staff were already working at maximum efficiency to cater to the coming mob, with many pans of lasagna already baking in the wood fired ovens while the chefs spun up fresh pasta and prepared even more tins along with other entrees for serving. And those who served the customers did so with courteous gusto, cantering out of the kitchen with meals ready, and came back with dishes and bits, along with the occasional good tip.

Above all the hustle and bustle of city life, the second story had been renovated into office space for a more nefarious kind of business. The restaurant may have been a decent earner in its own right, but it was also a front for bigger business, the kind that some long time diners might not appreciate. In the biggest office, the boss was reading that morning’s paper, and two of his guys were waiting for instruction as he scanned the headlining story.

A massive explosion rocked the river district last night, sending shrapnel into adjacent buildings and portions of the structure sky high. Due to the tropical depression, authorities couldn’t muster a response until the morning, but the downpour helped to mitigate extra fire damage.

As for the five killed, the remains found at the scene were so badly damaged that investigators are as of yet unable to identify any potential victims or perpetrators. Furthermore, there were eyewitness reports of a commotion in the area preceding the explosion, which also resulted in a sixth death not far from the brewery.

That pony has been identified as Weenie Buns, and his body was pulled out of the river this morning. Due to the wrecked steam wagon a little ways away, it was initially assumed to be an accident which claimed him, but the bullet wounds found all over his body now suggest foul play.

Rumors abound about Buns’s potential involvement in the explosion and association with organized crime in Barrel Bay. Some say he acted as a middleman between gangs and others referred to him as a “slimy rat” only interested in scamming and robbing as many ponies as possible for his own ends.

Whatever that involvement may have been, the outcome will more than likely result in more street violence in the coming days.

The griffon known as Kure along with the stallion known as Snapper Cell were lounging on the green sofa across from the long desk occupying the center of the room, waiting on Sea Moon to finish his reading. The paper rippled in the elder’s hooves as he harshly flips through the last few pages, great puffs of smoke racing for the ceiling as he mumbled almost incoherently. Even though the text of the front page was backwards for reading, Kure’s incredible eyesight made it easy for him to decipher the headline.

Booze war reignites: Five killed in illicit brewery explosion!

That was the story of the day for the Barrel Bay Tribune, and it was big enough that only one sub-article could fit in the margins. It was a technical issue about a new portable radio with a battery which promised up to two hours of play.

The moment the newspaper was slammed onto the desk in a huff, his guests immediately straightened up for the coming questioning. Sea Moon, however, broke with a statement.

“As you know,” the stallion tapped on the newspaper with the tip of a hoof. “This paper rarely lies, and what they say is bad for us as that was our brewery, the last one, mind you.”

He stared his constituents down for a few seconds, daring either one to start making excuses. Confident he wasn’t going to receive any backtalk. He leaned back into his chair and took a protracted drag off his cigarette.

“You’know boys. I’m starting to think that folks don’t much like our booze anymore.” He turned in his seat to stare at the map of the known world pinned to the wall, a thoughtful frown on his muzzle.

“That was our last brewery in the city. If we don’t get a full air shipment from Klugetown soon we’ll be hurtin’ for buyers. How many got through?”

Kure was never a fan of delivering bad news to powerful individuals, but he’d never fallen victim to pawing around the bush like those more timid might. Even though he was indebted to the old stallion, he still offered respect.

“None, sir.”

“Wha’?!”

There was fire and brimstone in the boss’s eyes from the admission, and when he rocked back viciously in his seat the smoldering cigarette vacated his hoof and fell upon the desk. Kure continued delivering his report.

“The rumrunners say they were all destroyed by the navy or otherwise captured by harbor police.”

“And how the fuck did that all happen!”

The griffon knew exactly how that had been allowed to transpire, but his partner in crime was way more versed in the particulars.

“Mister Strew.” Snapper let that name hang for a moment. “He forgot to pay them off, sir.”

“That dumbass fuckstick!”

Sea Moon practically leapt from his seat and proceeded to angrily pace around the shuttered window, smatterings of curses dripping from his bared teeth. “Thinks he can screw me, I’ll show…”

He rounded on his constituents and pointed his hoof at them. “Have him killed! And make it messy.”

Snapper could only rub the back of his neck, sheepishly. “Uh, you already had him killed.”

“I did? Why?!”

“For fucking your wife,” Snapper offered, hoping to jog a memory.

“So that’s why he forgot to buy off the feds,” Kure chuckled at the memory of that job as it was a memorable one.

Snapper also remembered that one, and joined in.

“You chuckleheads best be glad you’re good earners, I’d wax the floor with you otherwise.”

Sea Moon returned to his chair and lit up a fresh cigarette. He took a drag and tapped his forehooves together, planning his next move.

“If we don’t get good booze fast we’re gonna hit rock bottom, and that doesn’t count for the both of you. That fucker must have been workin’ with those dogs for some time. If they want a godsdamned war, I’ll give them one.”

He spread his hooves apart and put his weight onto the desktop.

“I want you to take a truck to their spot and steal as much booze as you can. Distribute it to all the friendly clubs for Nightmare Night, that should float us for some time.”

“Understood, boss,” Snapper acknowledged.

Sea Moon pointed his cigarette at Kure, them Snapper.

“And if anyone so much as sneezes your way…”

He brought his hoof down upon his ashtray, crushing the cigarette.

“Ice them!”

The truck which had been oh-so-graciously bestowed upon them by one of the mob’s fences rattled and lurched over each divot in the road. Compared to the sedan they usually rolled around in, the interior was spartan and cramped, with only the most necessary gauges bolted into the dashboard. It was also hot, with the boiler not being shielded from the cab, so they had rolled down the windows and opened every vent which could be found despite it being mid-autumn.

And in a bit of a twist, Kure was behind the wheel.

Driving was something that the griffon could take or leave. Steam Wagons were unheard of in Griffonstone, and even in the land of plenty he found little need to burn his salary up on one when legs and wings got him around just fine. Times had changed; needs as well, and in order to be productive he’d needed to at least know how to operate them. And, well, it had paid off in more ways than one.

Tucked in between Kure and Snapper was a third passenger, and she had somehow gotten a talon out of her swaddling and had been grabbing at her father’s side ever since. Little trills of joy would escape her beak whenever a straight patch of road was found and he reached down to give a little pat to her head. It was sometimes tiring to take care of her, but that was what was getting him out of bed every morning those days.

“Thanks for letting me pick up my little one, Snap. With how things are getting around here I don’t want her exposed to violence. Plus my sister’s been dying to meet her ever since I wrote her the news.”

Snapper was using his time riding shotgun to tear down and clean his blunderbuss. The black powder the cartridges used was a messy affair, so the pony was meticulous in caring for his firearm. The barrels had been completely separated from the stock and he was scrubbing at the action with a cotton swab. It was somewhat of a miracle he had the dexterity to do all that in spite of all the bumps in the road.

“No problem, Kure. It’s the least I can do for you.” Snapper, now finished with the swabs, had reattached the barrels and was now pushing a tough bristled brush down one of them. “Didn’t know you had family over here.”

Kure shrugged. “Yeah, two. A brother and sister who followed me over. My older sister works with textiles and my younger brother is on an airship somewhere. Likes the sky. How about you?”

“I have some family inland, and some about an hour away.” Sandbar had moved on to cleaning the other barrel, and Kure didn’t miss his sullen response.

“He got dirt on you too, huh?”

“Yup.” He snapped the gun shut and started to look over the priming mechanism. “He found out I was more into the same sex and, well…”

Kure struggled to find a response to that. Snapper was the closest thing to a friend he had in that world and that wouldn’t change because he swung a different way, so he looked into his reflection in the rearview mirror and sighed.

“It’s always love, huh? That’s how the boss gets ya’.”

“Yeah. I suppose so.”

Even though being on a job was serious business, Kure wasn’t one to wallow in misery. Humor was important even if his sense of it had grown morbid as of late, so he managed what he could.

“Hey,” he lightly punched Snapper in the shoulder. “With the way that fat bastard eats, drinks, and smokes, he will die of a heart attack or something and we will be free of his bullshit.”

“Ha! Not if he dies choking on his favorite meal first.”

The griffon didn’t really grasp what Snapper was getting at, but when he saw that pony gesturing at his own crotch with a hoof he quickly got the picture.

Three separate laughs filled the cab, two being loud and guffawing and the third sharp and warbly, completely innocent of the context of the joke.

Five more minutes of driving and bullshitting later, they had pulled into a seedy looking establishment. Kure was quick to park up, gently take his daughter into his arms and make his way to the entrance. Another griffon came out of the doorway to meet him, and on stature alone Snapper could pick out that it was a female who appeared to be around the same age or a little older than her brother. They chatted for a few minutes in front of a backdrop of misaligned brickwork and a flickering neon sign, and then he handed his child off to her. He’d also passed her an envelope which was most likely stuffed with bits, which she graciously accepted.

When Kure returned to the driver’s seat, Snapper couldn’t help but muse.

“I still can’t believe the boss’s girl left her like that.”

“Yeah, tell me about it,” Kure agreed. “But I’m fairly certain she’ll never forget about me.”

With family matters settled for the time being, the duo rolled back into the city under waning light. In place of a pram, Kure’s submachine gun now occupied the center of the bench seat, ready to handle any snags with ruthless efficiency.

Getting to the Diamond Dog’s Distillery wasn’t too difficult even though traffic was a bit heavy due to the holiday, and they were able to roll up to the spot just as the sun dipped below the horizon. Kure had been savvy enough to park on the street adjoining it so they could walk up without too much noise. The entry had an open gate attached to a perimeter fence, and conspicuously, no sentries guarding the lot. The building itself had a cargo door which would serve their interests if things went well, but the service entrance next to it would be their way in.

They both stepped up to either side of the door and listened for happenings within. Oddly enough, there were hardly any sounds permeating the warehouse walls. Even on a national holiday there would have been some presence at such a place, but there was a job to be done and no time to waste.

Snapper positioned himself in front of the door and grinned.

“Allow me.”

He raised a rear leg up and delivered a solid buck to the door with a shod hoof. The door smashed open with a very audible crack, and the duo filed through. They immediately opened fire on any position that could be used as cover by defenders. Kure raked several controlled bursts from the hip at some stacks of crates and Snapper found two support columns to blast at. The last reports of gunfire reverberated off brick and wood, and when all was quiet Snapper was only left with a question.

“Why’s nobody here? Surely they’d want to guard their still.”

“Who gives a fuck. Nobody around means our lives get a helluva lot easier. Let's get that drink loaded up and get outta here.”

“Yeah. I still wonder though…” Snapper trailed off, eyeing the second floor overseer’s office.

“Alright, yeah. I’ll go get the truck. You hold down the fort, and if anybody comes out-”

“Blast them,” Kure cut him off. “I know the drill.”

Time flew quickly from that point. Snapper had gotten the truck backed into the loading bay and as night fell they both toiled to get as many casks as possible into the bed. Even next to the open bay the work was sweltering and by the time the truck was filled beyond rated capacity, jackets had been doffed and ties had been loosened considerably.

“Alright,” Kure huffed. “She looks fit to break in half If we try loading more. Let’s get moving, we can have the guys come in later and clean this place out.”

As the heavily laden wagon crawled out of the yard, there was already trouble brewing. In the locked overseer’s office, things had gone awry earlier that evening. There were signs of a struggle; six Diamond dog corpses littered the room, all sporting bullet holes and spent sidearms on or near their bodies. Some had bled out considerably onto the floor, they being unfortunate to have to writhe in agony as death slowly consumed them. Busted and overturned chairs had been strewn about as well, suggesting that things had been peaceful at some point.

On the relatively unscathed table in the center of it all, the shot glasses the group had been consuming alcohol out of sat empty, and a large unlabeled bottle positioned in the middle was uncorked and half empty.

The friendly establishment they had chosen to deliver to was an old haunt for many working under Sea Moon. It was one of the biggest nightclubs in town, but due to equestrian liquor law it couldn’t publically operate as such. So, officially, it was an ice cream bar called The Windigo.

Some very heavy-set porters were already hanging out on the street corner when they pulled up. Obviously informed of the delivery, they made immediate work of lowering the tailgate and untying the cargo. Snapper and Kure offered their assistance in rolling the casks through the side entry and down into the cellar, where another group was draining the new deliveries into a vat. When the vat was about half full, they stopped the flow of whiskey and brought over two hoses attached to the water main.

The process of cutting with water was essential for their illicit business. Profits were tight on the best of nights and on a holiday they needed to stretch their reserve as much as possible to keep the taps flowing and get the best return.

After an hour’s work helping out in the cellar, it was time to square up with the proprietor. As they ascended the spiral staircase leading up to his office, they could hear the first tunes coming from the big band who had no doubt taken the stage. Stomping and a dull roar of ceaseless conversation were also mixed in and if they weren’t on the clock, the hall would have been an immediate destination.

When they entered the office, the middle-aged minotaur who ran the shop greeted them with a grin.

“Hey, you boys brought me some nice bourbon.”

He was known to be a laid-back sort, only wearing a simple white button-up shirt with rolled sleeves, suspendered gray trousers, and black loafers. The bottle he held up to light shone back with a deep amber. His establishment of course offered alcohol uncut for high rollers, and it wasn’t too surprising that he kept some for personal consumption as well.

Kure was rather quick to throw out a response. “Yeah, sure thing. We need our pay.”

“Bah!” He dropped himself into a chair and poured himself a finger. “You kids these days are moving too fast. Why not have a drink with me? On the house!”

There were two extra glasses calling out to be filled on the table, and Snapper was the first to hesitantly heed them. “Well, one shot wouldn’t hurt. Right, Kure?”

“Emph, fine.”

“Now that's the spirit!”

Two more drinks were poured and slid over, and without pause the barkeep slammed his back. The moment he set his glass upon the table something was… off.

Neither Snapper nor Kure knew much about races other than their own, but they at least figured that minotaurs would be excellent at handling their liquor. But with the way the old guy was sputtering and wheezing it looked like he was a real lightweight. Then he doubled over, holding his gut and hyperventilating. That wasn’t a reaction that anybody would have to regular whiskey, let alone a barman, and worry took over the entire room.

With dawning expressions of horror, they were going to physically intervene and see if the minotaur needed a doctor or something, but what happened next stunned them into silence. With a groaning howl, he arched back his trembling head, pupils contracted to pinpricks and an expression of animalistic fear all over his face. Engorged blood vessels in his neck and brow pulsed visibly, and his complexion had gone several shades darker, as though all the blood in his body was rushing to his head.

Kure and Snapper anxiously glanced between themselves, the spectacle before them, the drinks below, and in one succinct motion, pushed the filled glasses towards the center of the table. It was truly all they could do in their collective, stupefied state as things got even scarier.

Massive boils were cropping up all around his head, and one of his now yellow bloodshot eyes was swelling up at an alarming rate. The lid stretched as it struggled to retain the eye, and with a sickening pop it erupted out of the socket and squelched against Kure’s chest.

“Gyah!” he cried out while staggering back. “What the hell is happening!”

“I don’t know!” Snapper cried back. “But it was obviously in the drink!”

“What?! Poison?!”

The pony pointed desperately at the disembodied eye rolling around on the floor. “Does that look like poison to you?!”

The macabre creature who had been talking jovially just thirty seconds prior started to find his footing. The chair toppled backwards as he stood tall, and his remaining eye narrowed dangerously. Jaundiced yellow had replaced previously white sclera, and bloodshot veins crossed over it like a weave, giving a falsely red appearance. Two bulging hands grabbed the edge of the table and with an unnatural bellow, he chucked it right at his company as though it were nothing more than a minor nuisance.

Kure and Snapper were able to dash out of harm's way as their glasses sailed past their heads. The sound of wood smashing against the wall was dull and muted to Kure as all his attention was focused on the threat. His world was no stranger to the strange and unusual, but the tales he’d heard were always just that. Now it was him who had encountered something unexplainable. As the once minotaur charged, the griffon could only act on instinct and dive out of the way of the raging bull. That saved him, but his companion wasn’t so lucky.

Snapper could hardly flinch before two outstretched hands grabbed him around the neck and pummeled him into a brick wall. The hit drove the air right out of his lungs, and it was a struggle to inhale past his crushed windpipe. The primal urge to breathe had Snapper first trying to pry the arms away, and when that failed, trying to hit the guy in the face. Something hard and wooden had been pinned between himself and the minotaur, and with a brief flash of hope he tried to get purchase on his blunderbus. That didn’t stop him from gasping out a plea to his partner.

“Kure! Do something!”

Kure’s first motion when he alighted on the brawl was to raise his submachine gun, but he refrained from firing. The risk of overpenetration was too great at such a close range, so he let the gun hang from its sling as he looked for something more suitable. He bounded for the fireplace as soon as his eyes settled upon it and picked up a small axe from atop the mantle.

As Kure ran up on the two, he could see that Snapper was getting pale and his assailant showed no signs of letting up anytime soon. With a cry, he hefted the axe above his head and brought it down onto the minotaur’s back. With a crunch of bone and sinew, the axe head was embedded deep just to the right of the spine, and the damage to it and surrounding vital organs would have instantly felled any normal creature, but to his consternation the target somehow remained upright.

To Snapper’s immense relief, the vice-like grip wringing his neck had slackened from the hit, and he was able to belt out a command. “Hit him again! Hit him again!”

Shaken from brief reverie, Kure nodded and tried to pry the axe out for another strike, but an arm slammed back and sent him skating across the floor. An ethereal roar echoed through the room as the enraged minotaur chased after his next victim. Feline reflexes wanted to see Kure out of trouble, but he was barely on his toes when the big guy gut-punched him into a wall, which he crumpled into a dazed heap at the bottom of.

The moment he was free, Snapper hastily readied his blunderbuss for firing while moving after the minotaur. His breaths were ragged and his hooves were shaking, but muscle memory allowed him to get the primers pulled back. The minotaur had really done a number on his partner and fearing that he wouldn’t reach him in time, the stallion hollered with all the volume he could muster.

“Hey! Ugly!”

The minotaur spun his bulk around to face Snapper so fast that he was almost a blur, but the gun-toting stallion was still fast enough to jam the muzzle of his weapon into a gaping maw and pull both triggers. The minotaur’s head exploded into a shower of blood, bone and gray matter, which Kure tried to get out of the way of, but quite a bit got on him regardless.

“Yeesh!” He cried out once he’d taken in the night’s gory turn. “Remind me to never introduce you to any of my associates!”

“What!” Snapper yelled back. “This ain’t my doing! He lost his fucking head!”

“Well…” Kure tried to wipe some of the minotaur off his sleeve only to make the mess a little worse. “It’s all over the place now. What do you think happened to him?”

The pony lifted his blunderbuss slightly. “What do you think happened?”

“I mean before you blew his fucking head off!”

Snapper went silent as the situation started to settle in his mind. A soft oh passed his lips, and after a moment he found the wherewithal to give an opinion.

“I don’t know Kure. Maybe something in the booze?”

His eyes lingered on the shattered bottle near his hooves. Not two minutes ago things had made perfect sense, but now…

“Yeah,” Kure snidely responded. “I gathered that much.”

The griffon’s next sentence was spoken in a near panic.

“Shit! The bar! They’re drinking it too!”

With expanding terror in their hearts, the duo galloped over to the giant plate glass window which allowed a great view into the lounge and pulled the curtain to see…

They both stumbled back with yells as close to a dozen nightclub patrons pressed their faces into the glass. Just like Mr. Minotaur, they had all undergone grotesque mutations to their bodies, but the extra minutes they had to morph made things all the more disgusting. Several eyes had rolled out their sockets and fur was falling off sagging hides, leaving behind a wrinkly, oozing mess.

There were supposed to be armed sentries guarding the area, Kure thought tersely. They hadn’t responded to the scuffle in their boss’s office, so they must have responded to the main event in the dancehall. Clearly, they had been overrun by the horde and now it was moving onto the last survivors. They would not be easy prey.

“That glass won’t hold, Snap!” the griffon bellowed. “Try and get that door open!”

Acting on an instinctual knowledge of having shot well over half a drum off earlier in the evening, Kure wrenched the magazine out the bottom of his airgun and replaced it with a fresh drum which he kept in reserve on himself for when shit really hit the fan. Giving the magazine a good slap to ensure it was seated, he charged the cocking handle and glanced at the ejection port to see the tip of the canvas belt sticking out slightly.

Kure held his gun at low ready. He breathed hard and could feel the panic swelling in his chest, but he wanted to wait as long as he could before firing, but he also knew that at any moment the glass would…

There was a soft crunch as tiny cracks formed in the corner, and a split second later they spiderwebbed across the pane. As soon as the glass caved, Kure pulled the trigger. The gun bucked into his hip as he began to smoothly sweep the muzzle from side to side, and he made sure to use his body to guide the volley rather than limb. The arcane tubes glowed bright as they pumped air into the tank and within the cone of suppressing fire, the lead balls tearing fourth on compressed air impacted into the front row with little spurts of blood jetting out of their torsos as many of them staggered back.

Snapper, as ordered, was working on an exit. He had reloaded his blunderbuss in case it was needed, and then he started bashing at the door with his shoulder. Any old wooden door would have assuredly caved, but the oak plank was resisting quite well. One glance back toward his compatriot desperately chopping down an entire horde of what could only be considered undead gave a boost of desperate energy. With a whinny of displeasure at the one thing standing in the way of salvation, he took a step back to rear up a leg and give the door a solid buck.

The door flew open with enough force to break off its sturdy hinges and crash to the ground outside. And that was just in time for Kure’s gun to fall silent, its entire magazine depleted. The griffon’s eyes shone with panic as the horde only grew in intensity, and he wasted no time dashing out into the alley with Snapper in tow.

Out in the cramped alleyway, the duo sprinted like their asses were on fire through a cold autumn rain and the puddles it left behind. The wagon was parked just around the corner, and it would need a few moments to pick up steam, but it was a place of safety in the escalating chaos and one which the duo happily jumped into.

Well, Kure chose the cab as his safe haven, but in his own adrenaline-fueled terror Snapper vaulted over the tailgate and scrambled to the front of the bed. As for the griffon, he knew how to get a wagon going on a good day, but this was the first time he’d had to fire one up under duress. Much of the process was automated, but from a cold start the boiler needed time to build some pressure.

As the burners ticked away on high and the needle of the pressure gauge started to creep up, Kure could see the first of the pursuers shamble out the door through the cracked and stained driver mirror. They had no trouble alighting on their prey and a balled fist pounded on the dashboard in frustration.

“Come on! Build! Come on you old ass thing!”

As the hoarde drew near, Snapper opened fire, dropping one outright. The corpse tripped up a few others and sent them to the ground, but they still crawled on as those with better footing took the lead. They were now only several truck lengths behind and slowly closing, but a few had entered the road in front as well. With deranged moans now gracing his ears from multiple directions, Kure tried to will the pressure to rise faster.

The needle was getting close, but he wanted to wait for the chime of minimum pressure as he didn’t want to risk stalling the machine and having to make a last stand on its roof. Any second the bell would ring, and any second the danger would be upon them, but they just had to be patient until the former rang true. Kure rested his boot on the throttle, and the instant he heard the positive dinging over his own thudding heart he stomped the pedal to the floor.

Even with the bare minimum of power, the truck lurched forward violently and rear tires shrieked for traction. Several of the undead were now directly in their path but Kure paid no heed as they thudded against the bumper and hood, two of them bouncing up into the air and one crunching under the wheels.

Just like that, they were free, but the panic didn’t ebb until the ordeal was a few blocks behind. Kure slowed to a much more sensible pace, and a rather polite tap on the divider glass was acknowledged and he slid it open. Snapper couldn’t possibly fit through the gap and take the shotgun seat, but he was able to at least get his head in to talk.

“The fuck was all that?!”

Snapper pulled his head back out to make sure they weren’t being tailed by anyone (or anything), and then came back in. I know booze can make ’ya mad and crazy, but that back there takes the cake!”

“You’re telling me!”

The cool night air swirling about the cabin helped to calm nerves, and Kure was now navigating towards an objective rather than running blind. “I hear some put drugs into their cut booze to make it stronger, just like the little bit of poppy opium the boys put in our special drinks, but this is something else, that’s for sure!”

Snapper couldn’t help the crease of worry in his tone. “”The dogs sell to other bars in the city! Think more of it got out?!”

“I sure hope not! But not all booze is the same, how we get around the law and all that! That one was probably a try at making something as cheap as possible! I’m more worried about the boss stickin’ us in shoes over this, really!”

Snapper was silent for a moment, then came back flat. “Did you grab the money?!”

Kure slammed his palm into the rim of the wheel.

“Fuck!”

The Night of Liquor Nightmares

Back at the diner…

“You did what?!”

Both Kure and Snapper had to step back from the spittle as Sea Moon screamed at them from across the desk. His voice had cracked and a multitude of vessels pulsated around his forehead. Kure had briefly wondered if the boss drank some of the tainted booze as well, but while he did almost resemble one of the liquor zombies in his rage, he was still coherent so no dice on that.

“W-well sir, you see-”

It was already difficult to break bad news to the guy on a good day, and the two had difficulty relaying all the events leading up to the death of the buyer. When Kure attempted to continue beyond that point he was no longer having it.

“Shut it before I shut it for you!”

Sea Moon chucked his cigarette into the overflowing ashtray, and cussed under his breath. “Fuckin’ send colts to do a stallion’s job.”

“What do we do boss?” Snapper cautiously asked.

“You-!” The boss was cut off by a phlegmy cough, and when he spoke after it was with a dangerous edge.

“You are gonna make this disappear. I don’t care what lengths you go to, but this shit cannot be linked back to me! Fail and I put you both at the bottom of the river.”

He of course fished out a fresh cigarette, and as he struggled to light it he spoke with actual sincerity, something neither Kure nor Snapper had ever heard from him.

“Gods above, what would Celestia say, what would all of Equestria say if we brought in the end times? All because some dumbass mutts wanted to add shit to their mix without testing it first.”

For some time, nobody really moved. Sea Moon took several hits off his cigarette and his underlings both entertained thoughts of how they could possibly rectify such a problem.

“Judging by your idiotic blank stares, you two dopes have no clue what to do next. So how about we start with something so straightforward it can’t possibly be fucked up.”

Now back in his usual form, Sea Moon pulled out two bundles of TNT from his desk drawer and slid them over. A box plunger and a bundle of wire joined them, and he didn’t mince words about what should be done with it.

“Blow those undead fuckers at the still and the club sky high and beat it! I’m gonna make some calls to the rest of our boys, see if they can stop the other shipments or at least mop things up. Now go!”

No second was spared as the two mobsters picked up the hardware and departed the room, eager to get away before the boss started screaming at underlings over the phone. No words were exchanged until they reached the truck.

“You think the boss can mop this all up?” Snapper asked after slamming the door.

That certainly was the thousand bit question. Kure knew that Sea Moon held power in many circles, but he did question whether he’d be able to completely cover up such an unusual mess. Still, wondering about such lofty matters never paid out for the griffon. Better to just go ahead with the tools and plan given, and worry about lesser matters at a later date.

“We have a lot of firepower and the night is still young. But if things truly go to shit, I’m out. I don’t give a shit what that fat bastard tries to do to me, I’m taking myself and my baby girl back to Griffonstone. May not be as many opportunities there, but we’ll be better off without all this bullshit hanging over our heads. How about you?”

“Eh,” Snapper rubbed the back of his head. “I’ll go inland. Ponyville. There’s a burgeoning farming community there, plenty of places for work while I get back on my hooves. And my kin are there too. If anything, I could at least live out the rest of my moons in peace.”

Chaos had erupted in Barrel Bay.

All around the inner city, those who hadn’t imbibed in the dogs’ whiskey had their collective night of fun ruined by an unimaginable situation. The hoardes of intoxicated zombies which had shambled out of almost every club and dive were nearly unstoppable in their number, and the everyday ponies could only flee in terror. However that didn’t stop others from standing their ground and taking the fight to the new enemy.

Emergency responders did their level best to contain the threat, with police having set up roadblocks with pump wagons courtesy of the fire brigade, who sprayed down the crowd with high pressure hoses. These non-lethal methods were utterly futile as the zombies' super strength kept them mobile and they made quick work of anything blocking their path.

So police shot at the zombies, but that was no guarantee as only a headshot would drop one dead and the general inaccuracy of their service revolvers meant it took many tries to make a good hit. By that time they were so close that many were passing through their lines and attacking unlucky officers who got within reach. Ultimately, it was the expenditure of finite ammunition which failed them.

As the situation deteriorated, those cops who had the sense to retreat before being overrun were joined by armed civilians who refused to stand idly by and let the madness continue. They fought on regardless of social standing and political leaning as those matters were trivial in the face of such adversity. Of course, a few had trod darker paths, using the pandemonium to loot stores for valuables or in the case of many of the gangs in the city, to seize territory and torch rival establishments.

The Sea Moon Associates were doing their best to destroy evidence of the calamity they had inadvertently wrought upon the city, but with so many things impeding their progress they were unable to do much to solve the problem. A good few of their number had unfortunately indulged in the liquor which left them short-hooved to deal with rival incursions let alone the undead.

To those lucky enough to live across the bay in the suburbs, they didn’t pay much heed to the echoes of gunfire floating through the still evening air. It was just another gang war getting out of hand as usual, and it was also a holiday so celebratory gunfire and pyrotechnics were also expected. They wouldn’t know until later the scope of the horror taking place in the city.

The truck had barely stopped when Kure jumped out of the passenger seat, a bundle of TNT tucked into his arm like a second son. He forgot about closing the door; his mind utterly focused on the task ahead. Snapper was more laconic, taking an extra second to
apply the hoofbrake, but he kept the boiler idling in case of a quick getaway.

He was still at the door in good time with his bundle of TNT, along with the detonation cord and the detonator, and he followed Kure inside. The layout hadn’t changed an inch in their brief absence, but considering the circumstance everything now shone in a different, sinister light. Desires to reach for weapons had to be quelled as talons and hooves were occupied, but those burdens would be dropped at a moment’s notice if anything out of the ordinary presented itself. Then a bigger hurdle cropped up.

Snapper may have been more mechanically inclined than his partner in crime, but he had no clue how to properly demolish a building. There was certainly a very specific way of setting up explosives to get the job done right, and that kind of knowledge wasn’t something doled out lightly.

“Soo… any idea where to put the dynamite?”

Kure wouldn’t be able to offer a professional answer, but he was astoundingly perceptive and in Snapper’s mindfogged state his choice would probably suffice.

“Well,” Kure briefly pondered. “The top priority is to destroy the tainted booze and any ingredients used to make it. Or, at least take out the still. Means of production and all that.”

They didn’t have the opportunity to explore the deeper reaches of the facility earlier, and they were in for a shock when they took in the entirety of the diamond dogs’ operation.

“... Holy…”

Snapper’s speech was taken by the sheer scale of their underground brewery. The cavernous room contained two rows of industrial vats so tall they required a latticework of catwalks and ladders to access, and all kinds of piping requisite for the process was strewn across the roof. The constructions may have been quite shoddy, but the simple fact that something so expansive was functioning under the nose of the government kept him at awe.

“They could make enough booze for the entire east coast, and all of it could be tainted…”

“Yeah,” Kure agreed. “All the more reason to destroy it.”

Even though alcohol was one of the oldest known preservatives, great care was still taken by brewers to keep things as sanitary as possible for the sake of their product. It was clear that the dogs had completely foregone even the most basic of precautions. Rusted and rotten tools were strewn about what was guessed to be their distillery, and many of the casks which were supposed to be used in the aging of fresh whiskey were wide open to the elements, and all the flies and gnats buzzing around couldn’t be ignored either.
“Yeesh,” Kure scoffed at the display. “No wonder they lost their fucking minds, they’re making it right out in the open! Even the old country has better standards, and that’s saying a lot.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Snapper tentatively agreed.

“Hey! Found a good spot over here.”

Kure waved Snapper over towards the location he thought was best, and the pony quickly saw the reason why tucked into a back corner. Whiskey wasn’t the only illicit drink produced in Barrel Bay, not by a long shot. He knew from experience that diamond dogs had an incredible tolerance for alcohol, and that the white lightning moonshine the species loved would knock just about anycreature else on their ass. The little stash of the stuff would be the most flammable thing in the shop, so planting there was a no brainer.

“I don’t know of any better places and I sure as shit don’t want to search any deeper in this cesspit. Let’s chuck both bundles over there and just call it a night. I can wire it all up. You can set the detonator.”

“Sure thing Kure.”

Snapper’s task wasn’t too hard. Lay down the wire, plug it into the detonator, press the plunger, and make things go boom. Walking that wire out backwards through all the corners and halls with a safe length to spare was time consuming and he found himself whistling a rather apprehensive tune as he tossed out the line. He was able to get out the door and down the street before it got taut, and that was where he placed down the detonator.

That was when he heard all the chaos across the river. Pistol shots and rifle reports booming out not only signified that the problem hadn’t gone away, but also that there was an active resistance against it. That didn’t instill much hope though as his experience fighting the initial horde showcased just how tenacious the zombies could be even after receiving a chest full of buckshot. All he could take comfort in was the fact that the situation appeared to be relegated to that part of town for the time being

“I’d hate to be those guys right now.”

A nearby noise drew his ear, and when his head followed he was forced to choke on his words. A horde double the size of earlier shambled down the street, and as soon as they saw one not their own, they double-timed their speed in unison. With a frightened whinny, Snapper galloped back the way he’d come, detonator left to the mob who’d already eclipsed it.

As he approached the tentative safety of the brewery which had ostensibly started the whole mess, another horde had presented itself to the right. The adjoining street funneled them directly into his path, so with no other recourse, he pointed his blunderbuss at the mass and pulled each trigger in succession with his left hoof. Two equines toppled forward, and the ensuing trip-up gave him enough room to dart around and get through the open door.

All he could do then was to slam the door shut, drop the lock bar, and shove all his weight into it. Breaths came ragged as he hoped beyond hope that the zombies would just pass on by to bother some other poor souls, and for a moment he thought that would be the case. Kure, who had finished up his end of the deal, didn’t appear too thrilled to have heard errant gunshots.

“What gives, Snapper?! I heard you blastin’! I hope you’re not trying to wake the dead with that-!”

The wooden door quaked as bodies started pushing against it. A deep moan of frustration reverberated through the slats at the obstruction blocking their movement, and that coerced the pony into retreating away from it.

“The monsters!” he gasped out. “They got across the river! Huge mob!”

To accentuate that fact, the sharp crackle of shattered glass striking the stone floor brought all attention to the infected forelimbs of the monsters flailing through the bars of the once-windows flanking the entrance.

“We! We gotta get outta here!” Sandbar desperately cried. He whipped his head around to find an escape, and he settled upon the unexplored upper office. “What about that?! Can you fly up and check it?!”

“Yeah, sure thing! Hold this!”

Snapper sputtered when Kure shoved his submachine gun into his hooves, and he did his best to manage two rather heavy weapons while his partner flew up to find a way out. For a fleeting moment, he imagined the griffon peeking through the glass, grinning back, and waving him over to the wrought iron staircase leading up. But Kure only examined the office for a second before he recoiled with an undignified squawk and came back to the floor with little grace.

“No!” The griffon yelled as he reacquired his piece and pointed its barrel at the offending place. “We’re not going that way!”

With a sickening shriek, the bars on one of the windows gave way and a whole gaggle of infected fell into a sloppy heap on the floor. No more words needed to be exchanged; Kure and Snapper simply fled into the brewery to escape the horror. They expected the same slow shambling from the earlier encounter, but the infected now moved with gusto and rapidly streamed through the opening.

The duo had beat it back to the brewing space, and immediately searched for something big to block the corridor leading in. Kure found an empty cask which would do the job, but even with both pushing it simply wouldn’t move. The moans drawing close pushed Snapper to tap into his earth pony strength, and with that extra effort and some nasty scraping on stone they were able to shove it into place.

“That,” Snapper panted from his exertion. “Won’t last forever. Why do they keep coming after us! They… they want something… in here?”

“The booze.”

The impromptu barricade shook as a dozen bodies slammed into it, and Kure grabbed Snapper by the fetlock and pulled him away. “They smell the booze, and they can have all of it for all I care!”

“But what about us?!”

“Keep looking for a way out. If we stand still we’re dead!”

The continued search for an exit was hectic but short as the only opportunity presented itself tucked into a darkened corner.

“You gotta be shitting me…,” Snapper moaned.

The iron door before them looked like it would have been more at home in a ship’s bulkhead then embedded into a brick wall, but with Sewer Access branded across the top it couldn’t be denied where it led to.

“These dogs like to go underground as always, haha!” Kure laughed. “See if you can get it open while I cover our ass!”

Kure moved out into the open a bit to get a visual of the far end of the factory, a mess of barrels and tables between him and the corridor leading in. The cask was visibly vibrating as dozens of hooves belonging to the braying masses beat against the wood. That became splintering as they busted through the first ribs to give in, and the structural integrity was rapidly fowled after.

When they burst through, Kure was all but ready to start mowing them down, but just as his hunch had suggested, they were far more interested in the open topped barrels scattered around. Almost instantaneously, a brawl of sorts started as the infected fought to get their snouts down into the drink, with many a vessel getting tipped or outright destroyed. Even more spectacularly, a good number of the horde were attempting to scale one of the giant vats, the mixture of once living beings trying to climb one another in uncoordinated action.

The griffon observing all this liked to think that many things couldn’t phase him, but as he watched one of them waddle up to a barrel with a dopey grin and look in only for an eye to casually roll out of its socket and splash into the drink, he felt an unmistakable revulsion. His species wasn’t known to be squeamish, but he could almost taste the bile rising up his throat. Then a hoof touched his back, and he almost jumped out of his hide.

“Door’s open,” Snapper tersely whispered. “Lets get the buck outta’ here.”

The infected didn’t miss their observers, nor did their observers miss them as they passed through the door and sealed it behind themselves.

Kure didn’t notice it until some measure of safety was achieved, but he had been close to hyperventilating throughout the run, so he happily took a moment to breathe.

“That was too damn close for my liking.”

There wasn’t much room to maneuver and the room was lit by a single dim bulb, but considering the alternative, there were no complaints. And not a foot away from the door, the first step of a spiral staircase which led down to the city’s labyrinthian sewer system waited for its latest visitors. Kure peered down the staircase but could only see down a short way before things got too dark, and easily elected that Snapper would have to lead.

“You got the better night vision buddy.” He patted Snapper on the back. “I’ll be right behind you.”

They didn’t have to descend far before the light ran out and the stench of feces and other wastes picked up. Kure had no choice but to pull out his zippo and strike a light as the dark was too much for them both, even though the environment could be highly flammable. Conditions in the main sewer line were far worse, but the extra room to maneuver on the maintenance pathway running alongside the actual sewage did make up for that.

“If we-!”

Snapper choked on the putrid, stale air when he tried to speak. He hacked a few times, gruffly cleared his throat, and carried on.

“We keep following this, it should lead us out of the city.”

Kure was aghast at such a suggestion. “Really? You want to cross the entire city in a sewer?”

Snapper gave him a half-hearted chuckle. “You weren’t so negative about this a few seconds ago.”

“Yeah, well, having those ravenous freaks chasing us down made us have to think fast.”

“My point exactly. Streets ain’t safe. Best bet is to follow this as far as possible.”

The duo almost lost their footing as the entire line shook from a deep, muffled impact from above. As a fine rain of dust came down upon him, Kure could only imagine who was responsible.

“What the fuck are they doing up there?!”

A softer but continuous rumble emanated up and down the line, and it grew steadily until a stream of fluid erupted out of a nearby drain and splashed down into the wastes. Several others joined in, and a waft of air was the only warning Kure got before the drain above his head spewed out at him. He was able to dodge quickly enough to keep the deadly substance out of his face, but his shoulders and back got drenched in the stuff.

“Ah, fuck!”

In his sudden dash, Kure almost put a sneaker in the city sewage but was able to keep the rest of himself from nearly doing the same.

“They must have knocked over one of the vats!” the griffon shouted over the torrent.

“How could they manage that!” Snapper shouted back, disbelief etched into his tone.

“I don't know! But I sure hope your mental map is good ’cuz the sooner we get out of this mess, the better!”

Inferno

While his boys were away sorting out the root of the mess, Sea Moon had not been idle. He’d called up as much muscle as he could muster, and they had all arrived armed to the teeth. Within minutes, every street around the building had been barricaded with upturned trailers and the like, and gangsters had been working tirelessly to keep the booze mobs – as they had coined them – at bay.

A great number had already succumbed to blunderbuss, musket, rifle and pistol fire, the massive piles of corpses at each parapet testament to the defenders’ willingness to keep their boss safe. And when the mobs suddenly got smart and tried to scale the walls, there were several individuals armed with melee weapons like baseball bats ready to dole out lethal blows as soon as any head poked up.

The boss himself was holed up in the restroom adjacent to his office. With things as settled as they could possibly be, he’d seen fit to take a much needed bathroom break. While sitting on the toilet with that day’s newspaper in hoof, he idly wondered if it would be the last one he’d ever read. He didn’t fear death in the slightest, but the writing had been on the wall for some time. Even if the mess was covered up completely, how long could he keep it covered before Canterlot caught on.

“Son, I need your help! There’s whiskey coming out the sink!”

Sea Moon could barely hear his old mare yelling up through the floorboards, but he really didn’t care about her senile ramblings at that moment.

“Help yourself, ma! I’m on the toilet!” he bellowed back.

After coughing a few times on some phlegm, he muttered to himself. “Old nag.”

Then the pipes rattled in the walls and the toilet gurgled. Plumbing issues were hardly uncommon for the building or the city in general, and it was passed off as a mere annoyance like always. “Damn toilet.”

“Don’t toss your match in the toilet!”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” He groused while chucking the paper in the corner and fishing out his cigarette tin. He was almost out on account of the stress of the night, but all he needed was one more to get by. He struck the last match in the book and held it to his smoke, which he sucked on greedily once lit. And in defiance of his mother, he dropped the match between his legs into the toilet bowl. The last thing he ever saw was a flash of light when the toilet exploded right under his ass. The fireball consumed both him and the bathroom, and in an instant the plumbing, being back flooded with highly flammable liquid, went up with it.

On the outside, the initial blast in the upper stories had many of the goons running towards the building to save those inside from a potential bombing. Then a much bigger explosion tore through the diner, blowing out all the panoramic windows and the shards of glass along with huge splinters of wood were propelled outward into those who were close. A few were killed outright and the survivors were left to drag themselves away from the carnage. Those who were fortunate enough to still be manning the defenses could only stare in horrified awe at the propagating inferno which was their headquarters not a few seconds ago.

Almost unnoticed against the destructive backdrop was the ponyhole cover which had been launched high into the sky on an eruption of fire from the sewer. As the fire raced through the booze-filled sewers, dozens more covers were sent sky-high and many buildings were consumed by flame along its course. Some paths taken by the blaze led away from the source, but it all eventually led back to the brewery where the nightmare had begun.

The victims of the literal nightmare fuel who were drunkenly licking booze off the floor had been so thoroughly robbed of their faculties that they barely reacted to the light rapidly filling the space, nor the wave of sweltering heat as fire swept across the floor. They did cry out when burned alive, but by then it was all too late as the dormant TNT reached its flashpoint and spontaneously detonated.

After nearly an hour of navigating the rank sewer, Snapper felt safe enough to return to the surface. He gingerly pushed up on the ponyhole cover and slid it to the side as quietly as possible. Propped up on the ladder and with blunderbuss at ready, he pricked his ears and lifted his head just enough to accurately hear happenings above. Apart from the distant wails of klaxons and crackle of sporadic gunfire, he heard nothing immediately alarming, so he inched up to see nothing alarming as well.

“Come on, Snap! You’re holding up the show!”

The impatient shout from the bottom of the ladder pushed the cautious pony to fully extricate himself from the hole, then offer a hoof to his companion. They both brushed the dust, gunk, and gods knew what else off their clothes, and then tried to figure out their next move.

“You could fly, y’know.”

Snapper was right in that regard, but Kure would have none of it. “Nah. Couldn’t live well with myself if I bailed on the home stretch.”

And then, the sky lit up.

With what felt like a second sun to their backs, the duo turned around to witness a light so powerful eyes had to be shielded from it. Once the initial flash leveled off, they could see a literal wall of fire racing down the boulevard towards them. With adrenaline suddenly cranked back up to apocalyptic levels, cries of terror only came naturally and both hooves and paws pounded pavement as they sprinted away from the danger. An unearthly roar assailed their ears and grew rapidly in scope as the fire approached, with an accompanying earthquake following right along. Within mere seconds of being consumed, Snapper spotted a deep ditch in an open yard behind a barber shop and with no more thought both he and Kure dived in.

The splatter of mud was the least of any worries as griffon and pony pressed themselves down as much as possible and covered the backs of their heads with protective forelimbs. The incinerating shockwave was unlike anything either had ever (or would ever) experience when it hit, with a sky shattering concussion being followed by an almighty whoosh of air just over the trench. The sudden fluctuations of air pressure caused painful snaps and crackles in already taxed eardrums, and Kure through it all swore he’d heard nearby buildings being swept clean of their foundations.

Somehow, the little hovel in the ground was protecting them from almost assured death. The ground shook so hard the shockwaves going through it felt like a steady buzz through mortal bodies, and the tartarus above raged on for an indeterminate amount of time before both effects dwindled back down into sporadic shakes and a low roar

“Is it over?”

Snapper’s cautiously asked question was almost inaudible, but it didn’t have to be as Kure had been wondering that very thing. Feeling that it was at least safe enough to open their eyes, uncover their heads, and try to make sense of what had befallen Barrel Bay. The sky garnered attention first and the maroon tinged expanse was filled with massive dark objects tumbling through the sky. Any pony would be hard pressed to identify exactly what had been ejected into the air, but griffon eyesight could easily pick out entire wagons as being some of the bigger ones.

“Oh my goodness!”

Kure flinched downwards as something much lower and very much alive flew over. The cow who must have been sequestered at some urban farm flailed lamely through space, and the griffon had the misfortune of being able to take her horrified and confused expression in before she disappeared from view. He tried not to dwell on her fate.

Other missiles started to impact the ground. Hefty metallic crunches from steam wagons reverberated all around as they smashed on the ground, along with dull cracking of masonry and a sharp crack of porcelain as a toilet met pavement nearby.

For a few seconds beyond, nobody moved. Apart from the roar which seemed to come from everywhere, all was silent. No gunshots, no sirens, no yelling. No guttural moaning or horrified screaming. It was startlingly satisfying, and it prompted the survivors to finally peek out and see. It pulled them out of the mud and drew them past the rubble and to the street, where the totality of that horrible night was laid bare.

A mushroom cloud, so massive the duo had to crane their necks to see the top of hung over the city. It glowed bright red, and lit up the night sky like a miniature sun. The bell of the cloud was still vigorously rolling and expanding, with fire, smoke, and some odd wisps of sickly green phosphorescence dancing around each other in an erratic fashion.

“Sweet Celestia!”

It took a lot to make Snapper invoke the princess’s name, but considering the circumstance Kure was not surprised. As for the tom, words could never describe it. Looking back at the downtown skyline, the skeletal remains of all the proud skyscrapers which had been gutted by the blast were framed in blood red. They hadn’t toppled yet, but by the way a few were already leaning, that was short to last. And then, one by one, they started to topple before the destruction.

The structures buckled and bent as they gradually receded from view, and as they did enormous clouds of dust billowed up to take their places. As the last soaring monuments of prosperity in not just the city but the nation of Equestria as a whole fell to the ground, the force which destroyed them died down as well. Like a sunset, the luminosity steadily dropped until only inky smoke remained to be carried away by trade winds. And the sky itself had been blown clear by the detonation, with the mare in the moon able to uncharacteristically shine down upon the region.

With the explosion no more and major seismic activity having ceased, Kure was able to get his mind back into enough order to string a sentence together.

“Godsdamn. We’re so getting pegged for this one.”

Throughout his stint in Sea Moon’s employ, it was all about being one step ahead in the game. The authorities and the mob itself were always right on his heels, and he knew that if he stayed in it long enough the life would take him out in some form. That day may have come.

“Eh, look on the bright side,” Snapper offered. “There’s no way the boss or anyone in the association survived that. And whatever dirt he had on us likely burned up with him. We’re free agents now, able to start new lives wherever we please.”

Kure was able to flash a grin at that, albeit a sad one. “That’s easier said than done for me. Money is everything to a bird these days, but now I’m out of a job and just about broke. Shit, unless you have a million bits saved up and are willing to share, I-”

A tap of a hoof on the back railroaded any further complaining, and when Kure turned to acknowledge it, he was met with Snapper smiling like a loon. “I don’t think we’ll have any more trouble in our lifetimes. Look.”

Kure followed the hoof, and what it indicated left his jaw on the floor. One of the once-buildings across the street must have been a bank as in the center of the pile of rubble was a boxy looking structure with an unmistakable door. The vault did not survive unscathed as it rested at an angle on its moorings, but far more importantly, the armored door was cocked open with several bags of bits spilling out into the night air.

No more incentive was needed for the duo to clamber over a shattered column and wade into a shifting and settling sea of rubble. It took some work to navigate to the vault, but once there Kure stared down at a single golden bit piece and hummed thoughtfully.

“I guess the gods above wanted to throw us a boon rather than saddle us up with bullshit. If only we had that truck still…”

Acting on a somewhat dangerous impulse, Kure flapped up to the top of the vault and used it as a vantage point to try and find a vehicle which had survived the blast. It truly was slim pickings, but on an adjoining street he saw a battered pickup that looked refreshingly workable.

“I see a truck we could take! May not get us far but that’s all we need!”

Snapper grinned up at him. “Well in that case how about we take a few sacks with us then. Say… six for you. Six for me.”

The pony then picked up one of the loose sacks and held it aloft like a trophy.

“And one for the bar!”

The challenge beyond that was to move all the bits to their waiting ride. With thirteen bags spread out between them it was an arduous task to backtrack out of the collapsed building and to the truck that looked much worse than initially thought. It did have four wheels still attached and an intact bed for the loot, so no complaints could be had there.

“I hope this rig works. Otherwise we’ll have to walk away from this alot poorer.”

Ignoring that jibe, Kure pulled open the door on protesting hinges and slipped into the tattered bench seat. It was evident that most of the damage to the vehicle had occurred over at least a decade or so preceding that night, which also made its controls more antiquated as well. It was still essentially the same process though, check the water level, then build a head of steam. No gauge was needed to know that pressure was building, the excessively loud burner and some popping and hissing from the boiler area already painted enough of a picture.

“Come on. Work. Work!”

Even though he was certain things would work out fine, Kure felt the need to coax the machine on (and the world at large for that matter). There also wasn’t any friendly chime for when it was fine to move, so all he could do was put it in gear and hope for the best. The truck lurched forward harshly once power was allowed to reach the wheels and a quick application of the hoofbrake stopped any more movement. The griffon pumped a balled talon into the air.

“Fuck yeah we can!”

Leaving it all Behind

About an hour later…

They’d made it.

Somehow, they’d escaped Barrel Bay.

Ahead of them, the thin ribbon of sealed tarmac led to an uncertain future. Behind, the city which had once been a humble port lay in absolute ruin. The titanic fireball had seemingly engulfed all as when they were trying to navigate through what was left of the rubble-strewn streets, they never encountered others doing the same.

Once out of the city proper, the going got easier, and some of the first signs of life they’d seen in what felt like an eternity presented themselves. Confused residents of the suburbs were out in the streets, wondering just what in tartarus had happened to the city across the bay. Snapper hardly paid them mind, still too shocked to stop and try to answer questions he had no answer to.

Kure felt similarly, but for a host of other reasons. Things had always been hectic in the city, but lately they had gotten just plain crazy. Crazy enough to want to leave his daughter in the care of those further away. He thought he was just being paranoid, but paternal instincts won out in the end, and in doing so his progeny lived on. As far as he was concerned he was out of the life, and he would expend all his energy into being there for his little chick and making sure she had all things necessary for life.

“We’re here.”

The first words his partner had spoken since passing city limits rousted Kure from his stupor. The no vacancy sign shone like a beacon in the doom and gloom, and that wasn’t just the case for the duo as there were plenty of folks milling about the parking lot of the motel, and one of them was a griffon he’d grown up with, and a chick he’d give anything for.

“Kure!”

The aforementioned griffon was barely able to leave his seat before his sister greeted him with a slap to the face. “Damn it! I thought we lost you!”

After all the stress and fatigue, getting backhanded hardly registered to his frayed nerves. He was just glad to be alive.

“So, you’ve heard?”

She could barely sputter out her incredulity. “Heard? Heard?! We all felt it! The sky lit up like day and the ground shook for an entire minute! I thought for sure you’d been killed.”

Kure had to take a moment to process that one as it was very close to the truth, but for the sake of appearances, he merely shrugged. “Yeah, well, I’m just too damn stubborn to die like that.”

It was then that Kure acknowledged the little bundle of joy in his sister’s arm. Destiny’s giant golden eyes stared out past her blanket and she trilled in recognition of her father. The little chick appeared distressed, and in an act of paternal instinct he reached in and grasped the little one’s talons. Tiny claws grasped back, and with a contented, cooing sigh she shut her eyes and fell back to sleep.

He gave his daughter a final pat on the head, and then started to glance around the area. Aside from the motel, the only buildings around were mostly residential with the exception being a service station closed down for the night. That just wouldn’t do; not after what he’d been through.

“You know, after all the craziness, I’d like nothing more than to take a load off and down a stiff drink. Know of any good bars nearby?”

It was no secret that Kure liked to drink, but he still received a good natured eye roll from his sibling. “Yup. Still the same Kure.”

Even though griffons were never much for feelings, Kure knew his sister cared deeply about him, but he had an inkling of what she would ask next so he beat her to it with a reassurance.

“And if you’re wondering, no, I’m not working for a gang anymore. As far as I’m concerned, that bullshit is over. I’m gonna live the rest of my life with my daughter, my bits, and never get bossed around again.”

Before she could ask how he was planning to do that, he gestured to the bed of the truck. When she took a closer look, she stiffened for a moment, then relaxed and stepped away casually to rejoin her brother. She didn’t question him any further.

“I stopped at a good place when I got off the train. Only a few miles away.”

Kure was happy to hear that. “Alright. Let’s get your things packed and get to that bar.”

The nearby bar wasn’t too far away by modern standards, but with only one headlight the drive away from the coast was a painstaking affair of following a rather rough track which led to a small settlement out in the sticks. But the settlement was in fact a stopover for the Eastern Equestrian Line, and the railroad station built there was the focal point of the surrounding area.

They had just reached the outskirts when the engine started to surge from a lack of steam. It was able to carry on to an open lot with buildings on the far side where it thumped its last and could only coast in a little ways before coming to a final rest. With all the damage the vehicle had received there were no qualms about abandoning it, but Kure didn’t feel right about leaving it just yet.

“Welp,” he drummed his talons on the dashboard. “Time to pass this rig off to whoever wants it next.”

He dug in the glovebox and found a notebook with a pencil stuck in like a bookmark. He opened it to that page and with the faint amber of the streetlamp shining through dust stained windows he could faintly make out the scribblings of maintenance intervals the vehicle had been through. Knowing that the owner was most likely dead and that the wagon had survived a massive explosion, he wasn’t too concerned with all that. He just wanted a fresh sheet of paper.

Kure scrawled out a free to take, need of repairs message, and then propped it up in the windshield for any future passers-by to see. There. Now it wouldn’t simply go to waste.

The short walk into the populated part of town was quick and uneventful, and Kure’s sister pointed them to an establishment just off the tracks. It was surprisingly well-kept for a tavern, and some kind of steam wagon dealership was in the same structure. The glassed-in showroom contained several upmarket examples, while more pedestrian models inhabited the open lot.

Snapper showed immediate interest, and jiggled one of his bags to emphasize. “Since I’m going out to that farm town I’m gonna need a new set of wheels to get there. I’ll meet you guys in the bar when I’m done.”

Kure threw him a curt nod and carried on to the bar with his sister. Even though he was heavily fatigued, he still carried his fast asleep newborn with strength into the establishment which would certainly quench thirst and hopefully offer a meal as well. Unlike the swinging speakeasies of the big city, the place had a much calmer and rustic vibe to it, and also unlike the city bars which entertained good patronage almost all the time, only two ponies were present at the time.

One stallion was passed out drunk in a corner booth and wouldn’t wake anytime soon, and another was tending bar from behind the counter. He was busy polishing up some glasses no doubt in preparation for a coming train which was probably the only thing that brought good business.

Kure didn’t pay him much mind though as he was already scanning through all the faded labels of liquor on tap, only for his addled brain to recollect that almost all brands displayed were almost all defunct. He also spied a kitchen behind the bar, which greatly lifted his spirits. Hunger pangs had been hitting hard ever since the motel, and he thought about what would go down best. Something hot, no doubt.

The griffon trudged the final distance to the bar and slid onto one of the stools. His sister did the same, and Destiny’s basket went onto the bartop just to the side.

“What would you folks like to have?”

Kure’s response was already on the tip of his tongue when the barkeep addressed him. “Give me a beer and a house special.”

His sister was next to order. “I’ll have a glass of wine along with a house special.”

The barkeep nodded and made to fulfill the order, but another voice chimed in. “I have what Kure here is having.”

Snapper took a seat two stools down, and within seconds both he and Kure got two bottles of beer. The pony used the offered bottle opener to pop the top while the griffon simply plucked the cap off with the hook of his beak. His sister scoffed at such barbarism and then took a sip of her wine. It would be around twenty minutes before the meals arrived, so that time passed by regalling Kure’s sister with all the details of that crazy night.

Her wine went mostly forgotten as she hung onto the tale her brother told about tainted booze and an unstoppable horde of undead revelers destroying everything in its path while his companion filled in any blanks. With furtive glances toward the kitchen they told of being ordered to destroy the source with explosives they never had the chance to detonate, and of their escape from Barrel Bay. Naturally, the conversation switched from facts to conjecture about the explosion which had leveled the city, but movement from the kitchen dissolved any further speculation.

The barkeep had returned with three plates of the house special; an eggplant burger as the main course and a plate full of mashed potatoes with mushroom gravy. As soon as the dishes touched the counter, the famished griffon and stallion started to wolf down the easy mashed potatoes just to stop the hunger. Once satiated, Kure slowed down with the burger and conversed with his sister about more placid family matters concerning her life and those of other distant relatives while eating.

As the siblings caught up, the first light of morning started to come in the windows. Time had flown throughout the night, and Snapper was sure glad that he’d lived to see another day. For all intents and purposes he was free from Sea Moon’s shackle, but so was everyone else. Kure was of a select few who he thought of as a friend, but it sounded like he was fixing to leave Equestria behind. With the current political climate, he couldn’t blame the bird for any resentments he held, but that would also mean his departure from the stallion’s life. All he could do was simply live with the confidence that wherever his friend went next he would land on his feet.

As for himself, Snapper didn’t have any great ambitions beyond trying his hoof at a quiet and simple life. With the extra bits he’d accumulated, starting up a farm or small business was certainly in the cards sometime down the line, but for now a place to lay low for a bit and rest one’s head without worry would do fine.

With drink and meal having been completely finished, it was high time to pay up, but the barkeep waved them off. “Nah, it's all on the house.”

All three were confused by the sudden act of generosity, especially the griffons, but their host was quick to clarify.

“Y’all weren’t exactly quiet about what your night was like, even on the bits you kept hush. I’m good at knowing when folks are trying to pull a fast one and I know you’re honest about the madness you endured, and who would I be if I charged ya for a little food.”

Kure did not look that gift horse in the mouth. “Thanks, buddy. You have no idea the horror we faced down back there. They… just kept coming…”

There wasn’t anything more which could be said, and with few crack of dawn patrons to contend with, the barkeep gave him a reassuring smile before sauntering off. Kure wasn’t sure where to go from there, but a suggestion from his sister gave him and Snapper a small but important objective to fulfill. Next to the bar but in the same building was a small general store which had just opened up. They found all kinds of supplies for the modern traveler within, but of interest was some less conspicuous way to transport money. They found the perfect means in a couple of locking suitcases, so each purchased two and returned to the bar.

Snapper knew that this was likely the last time he and Kure would be in each other's company as the griffon wanted nothing more to do with Equestria, but a sad smile graced his lips nonetheless.

“I take it this is goodbye then?”

It was a question Kure didn’t want to have to answer, but the fires of change had been burning within him for some time and he’d already set his course, so he responded with a curt nod and a soft grin of his own.

“It sure is, Snapper. I wish i didn’t have to go, but given that an entire city has gone up on account of us, It’s best we go our separate ways. Wouldn’t want to get sent to the so-called ‘moon’ as your Nightmare Night story says.”

Feeling it was time to get a move on with their lives, the duo trod back to the bar to gather their effects, but the friendly barkeep intercepted them at the stools.

“I’m guessing you two are about to go your own ways, see it here all the time and it never gets easier. So I have a proposition. Got a camera on me, and I’d be more than happy to take a picture of you free of charge for memory’s sake.”

At first, skepticism clouded the minds of stallion and griffon. Leaving behind photographic evidence of their movements for the feds to potentially track felt like a bad idea. But, given the fact they were traveling and would be long gone before any kind of investigation could take off, they warmed up to the idea and smiled in approval.

“Sure thing,” Kure happily indulged. “How long ’till we get the pic?”

“Not too long; an hour or so tops. Should be more than enough time to catch the 9:10 to wherever you're headed.”

The camera in question was hanging from the barkeep’s neck by a lanyard. It most likely used the instant film that was all the rage, otherwise the spur of the moment photo shoot would have been impossible in the given timeframe. Either way, both Kure and Snapper moved out onto the open floor and held each other shoulder to shoulder. They smiled and tried not to blink as the bulb flashed twice, and when the barkeep was satisfied that his camera had functioned properly, he went into the back to develop the photos in a closet turned darkroom.

As they waited around, another round of drinks was enjoyed (on the house) as some of the greater exploits of mob life were reminisced upon by the duo. It wasn’t all bloody murder as the media liked to claim, but a palpable relief at finally being able to to leave that life hung upon every word. And in what felt like a much shorter interval, the developed pictures were returned and promptly examined.

Of course, one of the images was as good as it got while the other suffered from a cream tinge and some mild rateye. Since capturing memories in a still frame wasn’t as prevalent in his culture, Kure instantly offered to take the lower quality version before Snapper could attempt the same. And just as quickly as they came in, the quartet departed the bar for a new dawn.

The sun had just started to crest a few of the lower-roofed buildings, and her rays shined bright through breaths into the crisp air. It still felt refreshing despite the morning cold and considering what two of them had been hacking on earlier there were no complaints. The first objective was to head over to their battered truck and transfer the bits into the briefcases, then Snapper led the way to his gleaming new sedan which had been rolled out into the lot and had already accumulated a thin sheet of frost on all its surfaces.

“Wow,” Kure crowed at Snapper’s ride. “Never seen one so fancy before.”

Snapper wasn’t one to be sheepish, but after spending his entire young life just trying to scrape by to suddenly and inexplicably find wealth, he couldn’t help rubbing his hooves together with mild trepidation. “Well, since I had the means I figured why not get the best, y’know? Salespony didn’t like me banging on his door so early, but once he saw my bits his tune changed, that's for damn sure,” he admitted with a chuckle.

Kure couldn’t help but do a casual walk around with Snapper tagging along to point out some of the more advanced features. The stallion opened a lengthy back door, and entered the cavernous rear seating area for just long enough to secure his dual briefcases into some handy dedicated holders and then jump back out to slam the door shut with a satisfying bass thud. They only talked about the steamer for a few minutes before the conversation lapsed into silence. The tom could see that his sister had retired to a nearby bench and was idly playing with his daughter, and he once again felt a mixture of feelings well up in his chest.

Things had gone terribly wrong for lots of folks the previous night, but by many factors he, his daughter, his sibling, and his best friend had been spared an insurmountable fate. He always knew to never take life for granted no matter how dreary, but now that notion had been cemented into his very soul. Guto be damned, he resolved to make the best life he could for himself and those around him when he got settled and nothing would get in the way of it.

“She’s a lively one, ain’t she?”

Kure couldn’t agree with Snapper any more. The griffon specialist he’d taken Destiny to had suggested that since she’d been birthed by a mare she was at higher risk of developmental defects or abnormalities. Based on parental experience the chick was not only in excellent health, but was also advancing cognitively at a greater than usual rate. That was another blessing to stave off the more depressing facets of life.

“Yeah. I’m so glad my sis was willing to come out here and watch her. If not, I would never have forgiven myself.”

They both watched for a few more seconds as a talon was held menacingly above the basket only for a tiny griffon to jump up and latch onto it, and then Kure asked…

“So what about you? Still going out to that small town?”

“Yup,” Snapper excitedly stated. Gonna try and settle down there, see what happens. There’s this mare there that’s like the boss of it all, real sexy-like. I want to tap that and I’ll make sure to do the old pull out, unlike you, hehe–OOF!”

Without warning, a griffon fist smashed into the stallion’s groin, the hit cutting off his laughter and replacing it with pained chuckles. “Okay, had that one coming for sure.”

With juvenile antics subsided for the time being, Snapper figured it was high time to fire up his Stallion Steamer and prepare for its maiden voyage. As he jumped into the driver’s cab and took in the cornucopia of gauges adorning the polished oak dashboard, Kure’s sister had come back over to join her brother at the driver's side window. There was hardly any noise coming out of such an expensive vehicle on startup, so he was easily able to hear Kure outside.

“Stay safe out there, you hear.”

Snapper was going to reciprocate, but the jokester side of his brain gave him a better idea and with a smug grin, he delivered a farewell jab to his buddy.

“I could say the same of you, ‘what’s a condom?’ boy.”

The stallion had a door between himself and Kure now, so his chuckles went unabated. This time, Kure was a much better sport this time around even though his own sister had joined in on the jokes at his expense, and he was quick with a retort.

“Yeah, well, I hope they break on you too.”

They all had to share a laugh at that one, then it was time for Snapper to hit the dusty trail. As he lightly touched the accelerator and smoothly pulled away, he watched the rearview mirror as a griffon family trod off towards the train station, eager to carry on with life.