Fallout: Equestria - Parallelism

Two 'birds' land in front of us, differing from each other only in size. One is a griffon. The other bird that landed on the griffon's back is a brown-colored eagle. I see that the birds get along with each other, and this is irrefutable.

The griffon is wearing hard gray combat armor that protects almost his entire body, and he wears a half-open, high-tech helmet of the same color as the armor. His entire armor is quite ragged: lots of dents from bullets, scratches, and some of the protection has been replaced with parts from other kinds of armor, but it's barely noticeable. I can feel the 'hand' of a master here. On his back hangs a non-standard anti-machine rifle —modified— and a semi-automatic carbine with several modifications that are quite rare. He also carries an unusually large silver-colored pistol; I've never seen such a pistol before. It looks like a 9mm pistol, only much larger.

The griffon raises the front movable part of his helmet. His feathering on his head is snow-white and the tips of his feathers are silver, while the rest of his body is covered in dark gray feathers. The griffon itself looks charismatically confident, and its gaze, fixed on us, is filled with slight superiority and curiosity. I'd guess he's about forty years old, based on the many griffons of various ages I've seen in Vanhoover.

"What are you doing here?" he asks.

His voice is hard and resonant, which matches his appearance. Somehow I can't help but notice his looks. Motley is in a fighting stance, though the griffon on my Pip-Boy was not marked as hostile. I suppose that's my pegasus' standard attitude toward strangers.

"What do you care?" I say, looking into his eyes through the red lenses of my helmet. He smiles slightly.

"Just curious. Everyone knows that this place," he gestures to the ruined city behind him, "is not suitable for romantic outings with girlfriends, given the particular activity of ponies who like to fuck everything that moves."

"And that's exactly why we're headed there," I say. "We need to find out the reason for their organized activity."

"You must be suicidal if you think you can get into the heart of this labyrinth."

"Alone, yes, it's deadly, but I'm not alone. Besides, I volunteered."

"You've got a lot of guts, I see, but you picked the wrong companions," he points to the power armored pony.

He's right, I wasn't paying attention. Lemon did mention that it's hard to walk through the ruins without power armor. We can keep an eye on her, of course, but what if there are situations where you have to run at full speed?

"Ponies in power armor," the griffon continues, "will only get in the way, since there are plenty of tight places where you have to show your agility and reaction speed at times. And Steel Rangers... they're clumsy, slow, heavy enough that..."

"Hey!" the earth pony resents. "We've got a tough fur instead."

"Fat fur," he corrects her amusingly. "I agree, but it won't work in places like this. I'm sure your weight would cause those two," he points to me and Motley, "to die under the rubble of some building if you made a careless move. Or you'll be buried alive under piles of concrete and stone. So," he looks at me, "your heavy companion will only get in your way," the griffon underlines the word 'heavy.

Oh, not again... Lemon, on the other hand, doesn't let those words go unnoticed if they're directed at her.

"Who are you calling heavy, birdy?" she expresses her sincere indignation at the fact. The griffon grins triumphantly.

Lemon, with her complexes, does not yet fully understand that the point of teasing is precisely to provoke a response. If there were no reaction, there would be no teasing.

"There's a reason for that," the griffon with its dark gray body feathering adds. "There's too much debris of ruined buildings and structures in the ruins, often blocking the streets. You have to walk light, or the lack of mobility will make you an easy target for raiders."

"You're right," I say and turn back to the lemon pony. "'Berry', you go to Venture, and Motley and I and the griffon will go to the Crater."

Besides, I don't want to risk her life. Yes, she would be a good support in battle, but... it would be difficult for her to move around. I also don't want a griffon teasing her. She doesn't deserve that. She's going through enough trouble right now because of it.

"Okay..." Lemon says sadly, but understandingly, and then turns menacingly to the griffon. "You'll pay me more for the 'heavy' companion. And, believe me, the price will be very high!" she tells him in an icy tone, and then walks toward our landing spot.

She goes a fair distance away. The griffon looks a little confused.

"What makes you so sure I'll agree to go with you?"

"For starters, what's your name?"

"Ferris; and this is my faithful pet and friend, Edge," the griffon points to the bird perched proudly on his back. It screams in response, spreading its wings and displaying its magnificence.

"My name is Daniel. This is Motley," I point to the silent pegasus. "And... I might be able to interest you."

"And do what?" the griffon smiles skeptically.

"I've already interested you since you noticed us and decided to reveal your nature to us."

"It was just new to see a Steel Ranger with someone other than his kind."

"Exactly. The fact that you didn't kill us at the first opportunity shows that you have a modicum of reasonableness and rationality—so you're already a bit trustworthy. Of course, I haven't the faintest idea what you're doing here, but I'm sure you've been to the Crater to speak so confidently of the place. You certainly have experience that none of us have. So, what would I interest you in? How about the fact that I'm looking for the Project Dome? And I'm making progress—I've already got two of the six keys I need to get in. I suppose there's one more in the Crater, since the other keys haven't been found. By the way, this legendary place must interest you, too, given your knowledge of weapons and self-defense. This is evidenced by your rare weapons, which are in excellent condition, among which is an unusual one, a quality model of which I have never encountered in the Wasteland. So scientifically, Project Dome interests you. So much technology, and behind it, unlimited possibilities... Am I right?"

Griffon's mouth slightly open in amazement at my lengthy reasoning.

"You've already piqued my interest with your insights. Indeed, Project Dome interests me scientifically, but I have no intention of risking my life in search of it. It is a myth, nothing more. I've spent a lot of time looking for it in my time. But you found two keys... That doesn't change anything. Perhaps they were designed as a diversion. Will you show them to me?"

"Yeah, of course," I say sarcastically. "You think I'd carry such valuable things around with me so someone like you could kill me and rob me?"

"And really, you're not as simple as you look. All right, all right. I'll babysit you in Red Spark, but I have the right to leave at any time."

"Hopefully not in the middle of a fight..."

He laughs.

I can use another flying companion in this place. Truth be told, it would be far more effective than a Steel Ranger in a place where I have to be able to maneuver and be stealthy.

Ferris and his pet join us, and we head toward the Crater; at some point along the way I hear an obscure noise behind me—it's far away, but nonetheless, it makes me uneasy for some reason. A very strange urge grows in me to investigate the source of the sound, but I fight it off. I shouldn't be distracted by every obscure noise in the distance. I had to concentrate on what lay ahead of me.

***

On the way to the ruins we come across a small group of raiders, consisting of three ponies. I'm about to draw my rifle, but Ferris outruns me and kills the three in less than two seconds with his silenced carbine.

Impressive. He's got a quick grip and reaction time. If I'm gonna fight a guy like that, it's best to keep him in front of me... a couple of miles ahead of me, and look at him through the scope—and there's no guarantee he won't see me before I do.

"Ferris," I turn to the griffon, "what's the best course of action in these ruins? If there's a lot of raiders out there, it's going to be pretty problematic to use a weapon without a silencer, right?"

"True, but there are always shots fired in raider territories, since raiders sometimes shoot each other for fun. The raiders in the area hardly pay attention to a little fuss. But if there's a long gunfight, the others are bound to get suspicious and check to see what the hell has started. So you can take a shot or two, but it's better not to take any chances. However, yes, it's better to use a silencer so as not to accidentally shake up the whole area."

"Motley, do you ha—" I turn to the pegasus and freeze at a half-second as she is already installing a silencer on one of her rifles. "You don't have to answer that," I smile, then turn to Ferris. "So which side are we going to enter the Crater from?"

"We'll go in from the north side, it's mountainous and poorly guarded... compared to the other possible routes into the Crater."

"Why isn't the north side used?"

"The Red Spark ruins there are generally difficult to pass, and there aren't many groups of raiders living there either. "

"How do you know?"

"Watched them. For a long time. And analyzed. Most of the well-armed, insanely laughing morons are on the rooftops of buildings, looking out. These aren't the raiders' temporary hideouts. The city has long been settled by the raiders, they know what's here and how. They know how to guard their territories and their own lairs. From each other, for example."

"Meaning?"

"A gang is different from another gang. They compete with each other for areas, but that's all but stopped in the last few months. Right now they're focused on protecting the city. Something or someone has organized them superbly. Your friend Berry would only be a burden to us. She could get through on the west side, but the guards there are so fucking good. The south and east sides are passable, but before you know it, you'll be dead from the deadly levels of radiation left by a megaspell that fell during the Great War."

"I don't think you sent Berry away just because she would be a burden in the ruins, do you?"

I consider the rocky terrain, with the surviving Red Spark buildings barely standing by.

"Right," Ferris agrees. "I dislike the Steel Rangers simply because they take technology for themselves and don't share it with others. They even clamp down on knowledge. They're the real stingy ones. I hear they have a vast and versatile workshop..."

"I've been to their headquarters, and they have a truly amazing workshop. I just drooled over all their equipment."

"Expert in mechanics?"

"Yep, I can lull your rifle with my eyes closed and fix it up in seconds. Just give me the tools and the right equipment, and I can fix anything for you like a wizard."

"You've been to their base?"

I get the impression that the dark gray griffon with white feathering has only now realized that I've visited the lair of the Steel Rangers.

"Yes. Also, I know the Steel Rangers can't be trusted, but of them I can only more or less trust 'Berry'."

"What makes you think you can trust her?"

"What makes you think I trust you? Or do you think I trust everyone I meet, that you can just take me and tell me who I can and can't trust?" I counter. The griffon looks a little confused. "Right," I say, without waiting for an answer. "You can only trust yourself in the Wasteland, and what I said about trusting 'Berry' is only relative, and the same applies to you. And if I'm faced with the question of which of you to nail, you go first."

"Have your friends betrayed you? The ones you trusted the most?" Ferris asks sympathetically. "I sense it in your tone."

"Yes, but by this point the trust in them was negligible. After all, they say a friend is known in trouble. There is always someone in the Wasteland who can be trusted... at least to some extent, but you have to know how to define them. I have had many friends in the past, and they would be the least likely to betray me for caps or power. 'Berry' is also capable of this if she has to choose between me or her kind. Trust is a dangerous thing, so I expect everyone to stab me in the back."

"That last line reminded me of the phrase that when you start to trust someone, you give them a weapon—they can either protect you or kill you in the back with that weapon," the griffon looks toward Vanhoover with a heavy sigh, and then strides toward the Crater as if nothing had happened.

There was something wistful in his gaze. Apparently it has something to do with his speeches about betrayal, which may well have happened to him in Vanhoover.

During the day we reach the ruins of Red Spark. A few bloodied ponies in spiked armor bustle among the streets, but my Pip-Boy has many more marks, namely about a dozen.

We can try to move stealthily, but we'll be surrounded if detected. Better to split up. Ferris will be cover, and Motley and I will be the bait, the distraction. We can't go head-to-head together: as with stealth detection, we'll be surrounded or trapped. Someone has to be on hand and safe. Using the effect of surprise, we will draw out all the raiders, and then if possible Ferris will eliminate them. That's our basic scheme of action.

Ferris said this place is poorly defended... Well, this walk is going to be far from easy.

Yeah... We didn't want to split up, but we had to. At first I wonder how the griffon could communicate with us from this distance.

Not by shouting.

But it turns out everything is much simpler: there's a radio in his helmet, and we tune in to each other's frequency. He takes up a higher position, and we sneak into the grocery store with half a dozen raiders. Motley and I wait for him to distract them with kills outside.

As soon as Ferris on my command starts shooting the raiders in the street—which, by the way, he's quite adept at doing—the raiders who are basking in the grocery store notice several of their mates dropping dead. This allows us to easily enter them from behind through the back door. Together with Motley, we kill the raiders who are there.

Rifle to rifle, rump to rump. Motley is silent, but I sense she likes the teamwork. Of the dead bodies' gear, I only pick up ammo for my weapon and more or less normal medical supplies, and I leave weapons in decent condition with a rock in my heart. Excess weight is dead weight. I also hope to find some information here about directions from above, but I don't find anything useful.

We walk a little farther down the street, and a couple of raiders casually emerge from a nearby building to scout—Ferris kills them before we realize they're looming in front of us. What's striking is that Ferris's anti-machine rifle has twice the rate of fire of its standard counterpart.

As soon as we pass the corpses in the building where the two raiders came out, we go to investigate and find the rest of the raiders. The first floor is covered in blood, bloody garlands of guts, livers, hearts hang on the walls. Nailed to the ceilings are bodies of ponies whose faces have been slit in the mouth area, apparently in an attempt to give them some kind of devilish grin. There's an abundance of maggots crawling all over this bloody mess, gnawing on everything they can.

The raiders often kill each other. Most of their decorations are from other raiders.

Perhaps the center of this pretty picture is a group of raiders sitting next to one of the corpses and devouring the meat along with the gnawers, taking the wildest pleasure in the faint crunch of white worms. I'm sure there's a disgusting stench in the air here.

Having dealt with them, we head up the steps to the second floor, which is probably just as horrible, but at least there were no maggots here. Apparently, this is where the raiders slept. In every sense of the word. In one of the rooms, two raiders are playing love games, using the half-decomposed head of a unicorn. They don't react to Motley and me, having been exasperated by just elephant doses of Dash and Buck, so they don't mind when Motley and I join in their lovemaking.

After killing the fucking, literally, raiders, we move on through the rooms. In one large room we find several more raiders: three of them are drugged and don't even bother to take the inhalers off their faces, the other two decide to compete in a 'who'll knock out more teeth' contest.

I deal with the stoned ones, but get distracted when I notice Motley suddenly shift into a hooffight. She gallops across the room, kicking one of them in the knee with her fore hooves, causing it to lean forward, and breaking the jaw of another with her hind hooves, ending with an equally savory kick to the pony's skull, delivering a powerful and lethal blow to it, as evidenced by the crunch. With the other, Motley is more merciful, piercing his temple with a hoof strike. Her movements are more like a dance... a martial dance. It is so beautiful and elegant that I don't notice how slightly I smile at my partner's performance.

I seem to have fallen in love in the professional sense of the word, found myself a hoof-fighting teacher—she just has unparalleled and precise movements.

"No distractions," she calmly points me to the raiders, still far away from reality and unaware of what has just happened. Sometimes I feel pity for them. Slaves to their instincts, slaves to the cruelty that has enveloped them. I already say this as Prince. On the whole, he's really right.

"What the fuck is going on here..." the raider begins sluggishly, glaring at me, and tries to get up, but Motley kills her with the rifle before she's finished her sentence—the bullet goes through and sharpens the wall behind her.

"Go on, finish off the others," Motley says, pulling me out of my thoughts. I draw my sword and strike the rest of the raiders right to the core, into their hearts.

"Why are you distracted?" Motley asks, as we check the room for useful and valuable information.

"No reason... sometimes pity comes through unexpectedly."

"To these rapists and maniacs?" I hear surprise in her voice.

"Yes, I completely understand what they have done. But I can't help thinking the Wasteland did this to them. It's just the way it is. Under the influence of adrenaline during combat, you rarely think about it, as you are ruled only by the thought of surviving..." I shake my head. The pegasus is silent. "Okay, I won't talk about it. I didn't expect you to move to hoof it. No, I knew you had melee skills, but why now?" I wonder, looking around at the dead raiders. Junk, junk, and more junk.

"Saving ammo. They were unarmed anyway; and I felt like stretching my legs—I haven't punched someone in the face in a while," she replies, looking at the raiders' paltry weapons in the form of rusty kitchen knives. "It feels so good to give those scumbags back the pain they've brought to others in their lives."

I need to stop making jokes about Motley, or she'll make a beige carpet out of me on a bad joke.

"We've been taught not to show pity to our opponents during combat, as they won't do it for us. Sounds cold-blooded, but I personally think the best mercy for them at this point is a quick death. Although, such rapists and sadists don't deserve them. Sometimes I get into a hoof-fight, for my hooves begin to itch when I see all the atrocities they do to others, and sometimes even to their own kind..."

"Thank you," I say, and wonder at this gratitude for some unknown reason. Apparently I was pleased to hear someone's understanding that I'm not alone in thinking about things that make me feel bad at times. Especially from the one who is constantly silent. To this gratitude she replies nothing. I think she is surprised by the sudden moralizing on her part.

We deal with the rest of the raiders and move to the roof. There are just two raiders sitting there with semi-automatic carbines, and on the roof of the next building across the street are two missile launchers. If we'd gone into the open, in just a few seconds this place would have become one solid hot spot where we couldn't even stick our noses out. We'd have to do it, because a missile launcher have a nasty tendency to break cover.

The beige pegasus takes out the two raiders on the roof where we are, and at the same time I take out the two on the next roof from Whispering Night. Teamwork.

After glancing over the tops of the neighboring buildings, we don't see anyone, and Pip-Boy no longer marks the red marks.

I tell Ferris on the radio inside my helmet that everything on the rooftops is fine. In a sense. In less than a minute, a griffon shows up and lands beside us, accompanied by the faithful eagle. Edge keeps up with the griffon not a foot behind. Now that's what I call loyalty.

"What are you waiting for? A miracle?" the dark gray griffon asks ironically.

"Yes, a miracle in feathers."

"Can you jump?" Ferris asks suddenly, stepping to the edge of the roof.

"I can. What do you need it for?"

He'd also ask me if I could talk... though then I'd have to answer with eloquent silence.

"We need to get to that building next door," he points to the building across the small street.

I cast a glance at the street below us—it had just collapsed downward. The breach went into the black darkness of the abyss, and I decide to stop looking down. What is it they say? When you look into the abyss, is the abyss also looking into you?

"Can you make it?" the griffon chuckles.

Is that a challenge? Well, look, feathered, I'll make it, won't I?

"Sure I will!" I say confidently.

Who am I kidding? I ain't gonna make it. There's a lump in my throat. Shit, why did I sign up for this?

Motley and Ferris and their pet easily fly over to the roof of the neighboring seven-story building, climb inside, and a minute later show up from the sixth-floor window, watching me with anticipation and curiosity.

"I'm waiting," the griffon shouts.

I'm afraid. I'm afraid I won't make it. To go through so much shit and die so stupidly. But I have a plan.

Without wasting a second, I begin to accelerate for the jump and concentrate my magic for teleportation. After accelerating and pushing off the edge of the roof as hard as I can, I jump. The feeling is... well, fuck experiencing that again! For a moment I remembered that jump with the fire hose on the roof of the Princess Luna Information Center, though I had a safety cushion in the form of the same fire hose back then. At the same time, the lack of a hard surface under my hooves also has its perks. I can imagine what it's like for pegasi. I bet they get a lot of pleasure out of flying. I envy Motley and Ferris.

After flying twenty feet and beginning to descend under the force of gravity, I activate the teleportation spell and find myself at the very edge of the window next to my partners in a moment. If I had jumped very weakly, I definitely wouldn't have been able to teleport that far. I have to improve the range of my teleportation spell, or the next bet will end in a hopeless day for me.

"I forgot you are a unicorn," Ferris sighs.

"However, I jumped and... got there," I smile at him.

I thought I was going to give birth up there in the air.

"That's... Okay, here's your tenner, Motley. Don't blow it all on the mares!" he gives the said amount of caps to the pegasus.

Did you guys bet whether I'd make it or not? Well, you know... Although I'm happy that Motley bet that I'd make it. Well, maybe because she didn't have to choose, since Ferris chose the other option. What a puffed-up turkey.

I look around the room we're in: it's a spacious office, replete with desks with terminals on them. All of the terminals have not survived to this day. Unfortunately, the raiders heard us in this building.

Devil, that's how lucky we are—the Pip-Boy shows little more than a dozen red marks, and by the sound of it, they're already running in full force here. Soon the doors to the office fly off their hinges, and a dozen raiders come running in, scattering around the office and immediately starting shooting at us with every gun they have.

"Look at that, fresh meat, I haven't had this much fun with it in so long," the largest raider shouts, fully clad in heavy, spiky all-metal armor with a necklace of foals' hooves around his neck.

Foals born from raiders. Not to forget that a substantial portion of the victims of the raiders here are other raiders.

His combat saddle is flanked by automatic grenade launchers, which activate with a sort of menacing click, ready to bring death and destruction...

Well, fuck me now! Told Lemon to stay home, but no, here I am.

The rest are armed with shotguns, assault rifles, large-caliber pistols. This seems to be an unusual group, as they are all well armed and dressed appropriately—in solid fucking armor! It's going to be tough, especially for a raider with automatic grenade launchers. No, I'm not trembling with fear... Or pretend I'm not shaking like a leaf. It's hard to tell what causes any particular emotion.

Focus!

A symphony begins, consisting of the high trills of rifles, the low bass of flying missiles, the clang of falling shells. I worry about the shells, not just because they will hit me or my friends, but because of how these grenade launchers will destroy the hell out of the building and it will become our collective tombstone.

We hide behind office cubicles, which, oddly enough, can reduce the speed of a bullet pretty well—but they can't handle a grenade launcher. When I couldn't think of anything better to do than to throw the terminal at the grenade-raider in order to win a few precious seconds, I put the plan into action. I magically rip out the terminal that was next to me with the electronic wires, and I throw it at the group and hit the grenade-raider, who takes the object I threw right on his head.

"That's it, bitch! You pissed Billy off! You're screwed!" he yells in a rage, jumping around and crushing his own mare companions as he tries to get the object off his head that was in his way.

Crazy guy. He even took down office cubicle partitions like a bulldozer because of his weight. Bulldozer... That would have been his nickname. Billy the Bulldozer.

My partners aren't just sitting on the sidelines somewhere. Ferris uses his battle eagle to take out a couple of raiders, though by the gods this eagle could kill them all with his claws, which he's used to scratch the eyes out of the unlucky ones who don't make it on time. And those who do catch a bullet in the bridge of the nose from the griffon. Right in the bull's-eye! Or rather, right between the eyeballs.

Motley is more active. In the sense that she doesn't sit behind the same fence, but moves between them, at times even deftly jumping on partitions and jumping from one to the other. And it's hard for raiders to get at her because of her agility.

Hell, I envy her speed and accuracy, because I've always been able to overpower opponents with that sort of thing if they could get close enough to me. The moves are left in my human body... most of them unusable in a pony's body.

With masterful shifting and dodging, Motley kills three of the raiders. The fourth, who has gotten too close to her hiding place too quickly, she rewards her hooves with blows to her face, and then with a turn she strikes her front kneecaps with her hind hooves, and the mare leans forward. At that moment the pegasus does a backflip, hitting the pony's chin with her hind hoof, causing something to crack in her neck and make a dead—now literally—loop and hit right into the fence, leaving a huge dent there.

She's so good at that.

I get the best of it, as usual—Billy and a couple of raiders who happen to not be pinned down by this bulldozer. Billy fires a grenade launcher at me—apparently a high explosive, as the blast literally destroys anything that counts as a target. Eventually something in his grenade launcher clicks, and one of the rounds falls out instead of being launched at me. The raider is distracted by this, and I, taking advantage of this moment, pull out my revolver and activate the VATS. Time slows down and I can assess my opponents: two have assault rifles, and one is levitating two prewar swords in front of her. This ninja is covering Billy's rear.

Looks like he likes it sharp.

I take one shot to each raider's head, and Billy takes two shots. The bullets successfully find their targets in the form of raiders with assault rifles, I miss the mare with the swords and hit her in the ear, and the raider in heavy metal armor doesn't take any damage at all—his heavy helmet deflects the shots.

What kind of helmet is so tough?! Maybe the front side is well-protected? Are these raiders a little more clever than the raiders from my world?

While I am in a second's reflection, the quiet gaggle of a bulldozer is heard.

Is he laughing at me?

Wasting no time, I decide to teleport behind the grenade launcher, as the wound has distracted the mare to the ringing and pain in my ears and is slightly disoriented, dropping her swords. I'm going to shoot the raider in the back of the head, relying on the helmet protection being weak there.

Once behind Billy and pointing the barrel at him, I was about to reward him with a few grams of lead, but I'm suddenly driven off my hooves. The mare comes to her senses in time and rushes to 'hug' me as I'm firing, causing me to miss. Raider turns around to see what happened, but is interrupted by Motley's shots. He turns around and starts firing at her with one gun, since the other simply doesn't work. The pegasus has no trouble dodging this one-way fire, doing beautiful pirouettes that make the shells fly past her, or already dodging the shrapnel flying from the explosions. Billy the Bulldozer is cursing because he can't hit her.

I'd love to see her move... but there's another pony waiting for me, 'hugging' me after she knocked me down. I try to push her away from me—luckily, successfully. Having done so, I raise my pony revolver and point the barrel at the raider, but she manages to pick up her two swords in a telekinetic grip. And one of them ends up between my gun and her as I fire. The bullet crushes the sword, and its pieces fall to the floor.

Lucky her!

As I prepare to fire the next shot, she manages to stab a second sword into my front right leg. Lucky for her, but not for me: she's hit the mounts between the plates of my armor, and now the sword is sticking out of my leg. A sharp pain runs down my right front leg. I feel and realize the pain, and I scream.

I can't move my hoof at all, as she still manages to drive the sword into my joint. She's so enchanted by my attempts to get the sword out of the joint, surprised by her hit, that she doesn't notice me thrusting it into her eye and twisting it twice. I release the sword, and she falls to the floor with it.

Out of this firing symphony of the noble sound of dozens of shots, Billy the Bulldozer has been able to catch the death rattle of the one covering his rear. He turns toward us. From the sound of the grenade launcher charging and screaming, he's not happy.

I pull out my Whispering Night, but realize I can't aim it at him in time, because his grenade launchers are already pointed at me... And then a shot goes off—a bullet goes through the raider's head and hits a wall not far from me, knocking out a decent chunk of brick. Billy falls to the floor with a crash. Ferris, holding an anti-machine rifle in his paws, shoots him.

It is all over... Billy the Bulldozer was the last one.

"You okay?" the charismatic-looking griffon asks. Beside him, his pet soars through the air as usual, and then sits on his back.

"Yes, thank you. Only my hoof hurts a little," I reply ironically, showing the injured part of my body. Motley comes out of hiding, and, seeing my bleeding leg, runs up to me.

"You're hurt," she says.

Come on, I wondered why my leg was bleeding.

The adrenaline is still kicking in.

"Honestly? I didn't know," I stretch out in surprise, trying to play dumb, to which Motley sighs heavily and I pull out a bitter healing potion and drink it. In a few minutes the wound heals, leaving no trace on my body, but it does leave blood stains on my armor and on the concrete floor where they stuck me with that fucking sword.

"We must have gotten the attention of the other raiders," Ferris approaches us, "we have to get out of here. And fast."

"And what was that group?" I ask, pointing to the dead raider with the grenade launchers.

"Those peculiar gangs that gather around a strong raider. Usually a group consists of about ten raiders. They either hang around the city, trying to find something in the ruins and reclaim some of the territory of another weak gang, or they go around the Wasteland looking for victims and supplies," the griffon replies, examining the body of the dead grenade-raider.

I've come across a group like that before, when I was looking for the Stable with Lemon. She also told me about the raiders joining up in gangs like this.

The griffon looks over the automatic grenade launchers and barely mutters that they're almost in perfect condition, except for one of them, but who cares? Without saying a word, he pulls a few parts from the grenade launchers and puts them in his bag.

"If you can't carry a good weapon, at least take a few rare parts from it that might come in handy for other weapons," he says. "I hope you use that rule."

"Undoubtedly," I smile. This rule is usually followed by all kinds of repairmen and mechanics, who understand that some parts are more valuable than others. So if you can't take everything, take what you can carry.

Ever since I learned that in this world it's possible to repair weapons or technology with my mind, I've been aware of the potential of magic, but I still pick up parts and pieces even in this case, because sometimes the magic reserves may not be enough to repair something. And not everything can be repaired by thought alone. Not everything.

Motley picks the ammunition she needs from the raiders' corpses without uttering a word. As always. Though I was pleasantly impressed by her revelation some time earlier about the raiders and killing them. Now I'm looking closely at Billy's gear for miscellaneous and good stuff in his pockets... so, what have we got here?

A necklace made of foal hooves, a grenade launcher in extremely shitty condition...

Thank you, Ferris, for taking the most useful things.

...discs from prewar Sapphire Shores concerts and an unusually sized... key? Looks like some kind of storage facility or a place where they kept their loot—or maybe a big safe. If I'm lucky, I might be able to find that storage facility and find something of value... maybe even information or clues about what's going on in the raiders' ranks.

***

As we descend into the lower rooms of the building, we can clearly hear the swearing and hysterical laughter of the raiders nearby, who are betting on who can eat the most fresh meat.

Hell, we've got to get out of here as fast as we can, because they'll be all over us in a matter of minutes. Certainly not to dance and sing songs. Why am I so lucky? When I have to be quiet and not make any noise, a herd of raiders falls on my head, and their alpha is armed with grenade launchers. And even when I try to deal with him, his partner with swords appears out of nowhere. The Wasteland and Luck... I fucking love you two! I love you to death.

"Ferris, do you hear that mess outside?" I turn to the griffon, slowing my step slightly and listening to the voices outside.

They're getting louder by the second. Time is running out.

"Yeah. I also know a way out of here," he replies, approaching a breach in the wall leading apparently to the basements. " We'll go through the sewers."

"Won't they follow us?" I clarify.

We might find ourselves trapped in a corner if we find that all the passages are blocked.

"Then we'll fight like heroes, and maybe someday in a thousand years our remains will be found by archaeologists and recorded as 'heroic.' Well, that's at best, of course," the griffon grins. "Seriously, the raiders have no idea where we are, and when they find out, we'll be drying our oars a block away somewhere."

"What if the path is blocked?" I express my concerns by deftly jumping down into the basement. A small cloud of dust rises in the air from my jump, visible only under the faint rays from the surface.

"There's a huge network of sewers underneath Red Spark, just like any big city," the griffon says, jumping down after me, followed by Motley. "Believe me, the odds of all the paths being blocked are almost zero. Or rather, no: it's zero, since the raiders have cleared some of the paths themselves. So not all paths can't be blocked."

"What do you mean?" I ask in surprise.

Isn't this town completely under their control? What could they be afraid of in these tunnels that they wouldn't risk clearing all the paths?

"Don't forget," he begins, putting on a fully enclosed helmet the same gray hue as his armor, "that the Crater is radioactive and the sewers are full of ghouls and rats. Giant fucking rats, maybe the size of a foal. And no matter how many times the raiders grind the canals, the rats and ghouls reappear. They don't come to the surface, mostly because they get cut there right away, like a grass."

From the basement we go straight into the sewer system. It smells of shit, rot, slime, blood and decay. I can smell it through the mask, very faintly, but even that is enough. My head hurts from this disgusting combination. If I hadn't had my mask, I'd probably be passing out right now.

"It stinks in here," Motley says in disgust, the only one without a gas mask or respirator, just a scarf.

Poor thing. If she wasn't wearing a scarf, she'd smell the entire periodic chemical table. I would have gladly given her my helmet, but I wasn't happy about the prospect of sniffing it out myself. Her face turned green. Edge hid his beak under his wings so he wouldn't smell the stench. It looks cute.

"You didn't think everything in here was going to smell like vanilla and flowers, did you?" I ask rhetorically.

"Hey, your helmet is fully enclosed. You can't smell it," the pegasus replies indignantly.

She should know how wrong she is.

"Onehorn, she's telling the truth. Red Spark's sewers are the worst in all the Wasteland."

Who-who? A onehorn? All right, feathered, you're screwed. I'm gonna help Lemon get her revenge.

"I wonder how many shitholes you've been in to be so confident in your judgment?" I ask with a sneer.

"What a cock-eared prick," the griffon grunts, smiling a little. He surveys the darkness around us. "Beyond that, it's pitch black. Many raiders are afraid to walk through these tunnels at all because of the same ghouls and rats in this darkness. I hope your helmets have a night vision device?"

"Of course it does."

As we move through the dark sewers, we hear distant sounds of gunfire, but more often than not we hear the gurgling of water and whatever is floating there.

It's disgusting.

I shouldn't go into the water itself for one very important reason: it emits a decent amount of radiation. The griffon's right, though: there are a lot of passageways to go through. There are so many that if we weren't with Ferris, we'd probably get lost, especially in this darkness; but he's sure to lead the way. Or maybe he's so sure he's on the right track because he's not sure shit and is afraid to admit it just because of his griffon pride. Either way, the griffon keeps looking around for signs on the cracked walls. Apparently, they indicate which tunnel we are in. This used to be done to make it easier for the repair crews, but now it helps the two ponies and the two... eagles to walk away from stoned cannibals and sadists.

I'm snapped out of my thoughts by the red marks that loom in clumps on Pip-Boy around the next corner—ghouls or rats.

I whisper to my companions not to make any noise. And just as I close my mouth, the gnawed rib of some poor guy who must have been lying there for a couple of days crackles under my hoof. Shit! I should have been more careful! Whatever is around the corner, it's heard the crackle, and now it's growling, getting ready to come out and say hello.

I see... Ghouls! Those are some of my most beloved fans! There's two dozen of them, and they're coming right at us, bent on lacerating our undecomposed flesh, so we decide to make a tactical retreat and take cover fire on the ghouls.

Ferris uses his carbine and is protected as always by Edge, taking on foes who get too close; Motley uses only one rifle on her combat saddle—the one with the silencer. If a ghoul manages to get close to her, she kills him with precise and lethal hoof blows. I use my Whispering Night.

We retreat cautiously backwards, firing back at the crowd of ghouls. Too small to kill a squad like ours, but large enough to easily take down and maul a Steel Ranger.

When we're done with the last rotter, Motley says, "Mr. Daniel, next time, won't you deign to look under your hooves and not step on any shit?"

If the sneer in her voice could melt the ice at the poles, we'd all be in for a world flood. Shit, even Edge shouts at me reproachfully. Now that really makes me feel uncomfortable.

"See? Even Edge agrees with me. Thank you," the pegasus replies and turns her head, nodding to the eagle for support.

No, look at that pegasus, her face begging for a brick.

"Sorry. I was staring at the sign," I reply.

Although it's true, it sounded extremely stupid. It's enough that the griffon looks at me like I'm an idiot and starts quietly laughing to himself. By the way, Motley's been getting more talkative lately. Apparently, the fighting for her life and the gunfights coming after each other are making her emotional and more lively. Maybe there will be a moment soon when she smiles... Eh, I wish I had my camera with me so I wouldn't miss it.

I once helped Michael Angelo with his inspiration. He gave me a working camera, which I then used for my own purposes. No, not peeking at naked women. I even enjoyed taking pictures.

***

"Ferris, are you sure you know where you're taking us?" I ask the dark-gray griffon as we continued on our way after a little argument with the natives.

"Of course I do. Do you have some sort of complaint?"

He turns to me.

"Well..." I begin, trying to find the right words. "You've been here, haven't you, and from the looks of things, more than once? So you must know these 'hallways' pretty well. It's just that I've sometimes noticed a doubt in your gaze as to where we're going."

"I'm trying to lead you down the path with the least potential enemies. I remember which way is safer," he explains.

To prove it, his pet Edge turns to me, lifting his wings and giving a light, long shout. The ravenous parrot... Keeps nodding to his master.

After walking for several hours through the sewers and drains, passing through all kinds of paths, we are already approaching, according to Ferris, a safe place where we can catch our breath and breathe in more or less 'fresh' air. It is something like a station where several major sewer lines intersect. Naturally, next to these intersections are the technical rooms from which the pre-war workers controlled and operated the systems here.

As we approach, we hear distant laughter, and my Pip-Boy identifies about two dozen red marks. From the looks of it, it's not fans. Motley and I look at Ferris.

"Hey, it's not my fault the raiders had time to occupy this place in a week!" the griffon whispers to us.

You just can't get past them, it's too risky. They'll definitely spot us. We need to use the surprise factor and attack them first, preferably from two sides.

"Okay," I barely hear myself sigh. "Tell me, how many entry points to the technical rooms?" I ask in the same whisper.

Throughout the dialogue, we speak in a low voice.

"Two, and one through the back door."

"Wait, how do you know there are alternate ways into this station?"

"Well, buddy, all such hubs are built according to the same scheme. If for some reason the door automation gets messed up, there's an alternate, 'back door' to the station. Often raiders are unaware of this backdoor. One of you will get through this escape hole, the raiders will be distracted by the invading enemy and thus weaken the defenses of the other two doors."

"I'll pass, I have a fear of closed spaces," Motley suddenly responds.

"And if I command?" I ask playfully.

"Then I'll kick someone's beige ass. Do I make myself clear?" she utters coldly and menacingly.

I look around in despair, as if hoping to find someone else willing. I inhale and exhale deeply.

"I'll have to climb," I say reluctantly. "Then you, along with Ferris and Edge, attack through the main doors. And make sure you do! I can't do it by myself."

We split up, and I, having found the right escape pipe, make my way through it into the room occupied by the raiders. The pipe is long and narrow enough that I had to remove my bags, levitating them behind me to squeeze into this cramped space. It's strange that the back way is so narrow.

The pipe isn't particularly rusty, which is weird enough. It's as if someone had been constantly cleaning it of the reddish-brown buildup common to everything pre-war. Instead, there was a gigantic amount of filth like slime, wet hair, and used condoms all over the walls of the pipe. Oh, and a disgusting stench. Shit, it's an escape route, what the hell? I'm already anticipating the fact that I'll need a week's worth of cleanser to get rid of the smell.

There's a faint light somewhere at the end, indicating that the exit is near. Cautiously climbing out to the top, I discover that this entire alternate path is a pipe leading to one of the toilet stalls. Well, the architects had a very, very good sense of humor. Or they were too confident that the automatics wouldn't fail.

The outlet of the pipe is where the toilet should have been. Next to the pipe exit is the skeleton of some pony, with a fork lying next to its hoof...

So that's what the trash was in that pipe. I'm in the shit. Literally. I'll probably stink up the whole neighborhood so much that even the raiders will smell me from miles away.

Just as I'm putting my bags on and getting ready to leave the cabin, it opens from the outside... one of the raiders. She looks at me, and so for a few seconds we just stare at each other. I decide to break the silence first.

"What are you looking at? Have you never seen the Pony from the Toilet?"

Without wasting a second, I deftly pull out my Whispering Night, point it at her, and pull the trigger. A misfire comes out, and the mare, with the fright of being shot, no longer holds back—it's dripping with flowing liquid underneath her. It's yellow.
Mentally rolling my eyes at the misfire, I immediately pull out my revolver, take aim at her, shoot...

No, misfire again. Excellent, the gun in this pipe is well soaked. I'm gonna have to clean it up real good, and I'm gonna have to clean the shit out of myself too. The raider looks at me with big astonished eyes, not understanding what the fuck is going here.

"Just a moment, wait," I say, lifting my front leg.

I hope the sword doesn't fall to pieces—which, by the way, I wouldn't be surprised in this situation... Ah, fuck it, I decide to do it another way, the most reliable way.

I quickly and deftly turn around and hit the raider in the face with my hind hooves. The force I apply makes the peed mare fly off into the wall—straight to the only remaining mirror hanging there, shattering it. The pieces rattled on the tiled floor. Before she can get up, I walk up to her and use magic to wring her neck.

From the sounds of it, the other rooms are all abuzz with raiders.

That's it, piss down the pipes... I draw my sword and run out of the bathroom.

Outside I meet two raiders with rifles. They stare at me stupidly, but one of them decides to say something.

"Who the fuck are you?"

"Sanitation check!" I shout out and jump on her.

The other one is slightly discouraged by the madness going on and doesn't realize the gravity of the situation, so she doesn't have time to do anything to me when I knock her friend to the ground. I take advantage of her distracted state caused by my sudden appearance by snatching the rifle from her magical grip and striking her with the buttstock. I aim the rifle at the head of the other raider, who starts aiming at me in a panic, but I outpace her and shoot first. The bullet goes through her head and into the wall behind her, leaving a small hole. And then I aim at the one I hit with the butt of the gun—she wants to call for help. Prevented it, but what's the point? I'm exposed anyway, especially after those shots. I give her a few grams of lead at one point.

I quickly check their pockets, and there's my good fortune—frag grenades.

That's it, it's going to be fireworks. This would also be the signal for the feathered companions to begin the assault; besides, they were also supposed to take my shots as a signal.

Grabbing the rifle and a couple of magazines, I run out into the next corridor, where a raider armed with a sawed-off shotgun meets me.

I wonder if his teeth would fall out from the recoil.

We aim at each other at the same time and shoot at the same time. He's at a good distance, so my armor can take a scattering of buckshot. Unfortunately for the raider, I'm not armed with a shotgun, and his skull isn't protected by a helmet. A brief rifle shot finally sealed his fate.

Running a little farther down the corridor, I see double doors, and, judging by Pip-Boy, there are more raiders behind them. I kick the center of the doors with my hind legs, and they swing inward sharply—everyone behind them notices this and just as quickly opens a barrage of fire on me.

I slip to the metal table and turn it upside down so that it serves as some sort of shelter from the lead rain. The raiders chuckle and shoot at the table I'm hiding behind.

Where is the support?! I'm about to be killed!

I pull out the two frag grenades I found. After pulling the pin and waiting two seconds, I throw them at the raiders.

Have a hot potato, motherfuckers!

"Fucking Discrod!" one of the raider mares shouts, followed by the deafening explosion of two grenades; someone's leg flies into my cover.

When the grenades explode, I quickly change shelter to a metal pipe, which, by all estimates, should withstand a bullet hit. Well, or pour shit all over the room.

The raiders start shooting at me again, but after a few moments in the midst of this symphony of gunfire, I hear several new... martial musical instruments, namely the thunderous volleys of someone's high-powered pistol. Finally, air support... I mean feathered!

Almost all of the raiders who had previously fired at me are distracted by the new foes, except for a small trio. One of the trio must be the leader of a small group, since he's wearing a helmet made of pony bones.

Well, let's see how tough it is.

After waiting a moment, I jump out from behind cover, turn on the VATS and fire one shot to the head of each of the three raiders. Two of them I take out, and the third is protected by his helmet.

The helmet turned out to be really strong enough for a medium rifle bullet.

After setting the rifle mode to fixed fire of three bullets, I put my magic on the trigger and press it, leaving the raider with no helmet and no head.

The rest of the raiders fire at my hiding partners. Motley fires back with his energy-magic rifle. Green blobs of energy... or magic. Whatever. They catch up with their living targets, turning almost all of them into a green slurry.

Ferris fires back with his unusual pistol. It produces a great recoil, and easily turns the raiders' heads into a mess of blood and brains. The heads explode like ripe melons. As always, an eagle hovers beside a griffon, distracting the raiders so its master can finish them off.

I decide to thin out the ranks of the remaining raiders, because the raiders don't notice me taking out their mates. So I throw the last, third grenade under their legs. The raiders don't even bother to look at what's ringing out next to them—apparently, the shots from Ferris's gun stun them pretty badly. A shrapnel blast takes the lives of the last of the crazed morons.

The fight is over. Everybody's alive... right?

"Did you guys get a snack in there?" I ask as Motley and Ferris show up from behind cover. "What took you so long?"

Everyone's alive.

"You thought we were bulletproof and would go directly to the raiders until you distracted them on yourself?" the pegasus asks in surprise.

At times I begin to forget that my allies are not iron robots that don't feel pain and suffering.

"What is that smell?" the griffon asks with disgust.

He looks at me and starts laughing his head off. Motley, too, looks at me and smiles, but with a tremendous effort he holds back his laughter. It looks so cute.

Where the fuck is a camera when I need it so badly?

Wait a minute, why is Ferris still laughing?

"You should... see yourself, Onehorn," the griffon faintly says between laughs.

Did I get that badly covered up while I was moving through the pipe?

"Yeah, well, go crawl in that pipe yourself, where there used to be a fucking toilet!" I say irritably.

The griffon bursts into even bigger laughter and starts rolling around on the floor. Wait... Wait, wait, wait. Did he know?!

"You knew all along?!" I shout out, feeling indignation growing.

If that's true, I'll be eating a beautiful, delicious turkey tonight, baked in its own juices and crispy crust! Oh! This is going to be yummy!

"I forgot one detail, you know..."

He emphasized the word 'detail'. It was as if he knew that the pegasus wouldn't go down the chimney because of the fact that all feathered creatures are claustrophobic. Or maybe he really wanted me to be the one to get dirty. Son of a bitch!

"What?! Forget such a detail?! I'll stuff pillows with your feathers!" I yell and start chasing after the griffon, running away from me while laughing."

"What a stink... you sure better stay away from you!"

That's it, you feathery bastard, I'm going to make chicken soup out of you! Edge decides it's best to stay out of our way, and lands next to Motley.

I chase the griffon around the big technical room and threaten him, and he keeps laughing. He begs me not to chase him, or he'll die from one of the reasons: either laughter or my smell.

I stumble and fall to the floor, not badly bumped.

Fuck! What the fuck has been happening to me lately...

My hooves are cramping with rage.

I'm distracted by another laugh. Motley's laugh. It's gushing and ringing, which makes even me smile and stand up and look at its owner. Her smile is quite unusual and welcome to me... Laughter mixed with her beautiful voice inspires me and makes the world around me positive and the shit on me is not so critical.

Motley's laughter plays on the contrast of her recent sullenness and gloominess so much that for a moment I thought it was a completely different pony, a different beige pegasus.

I enjoy her quiet laugh, like a gentle breeze, that I have forgotten both Ferris and the fact that I stink like bicentennial shit.

"What are you laughing at?" I ask without reproach, with a feeling of a smile on my face.

"Can't get bored with you two," she replies, waving a hoof, and turning away, noticing that I'm looking at her. Either because I stink three blocks away.

I need to take a shower immediately or the smell will stay with me forever... Where am I supposed to do that? There are only toilets here, and I can't wash in them, I know from personal experience.

"You need to take a shower," Motley says after a short pause.

Really?! Even the raiders would laugh at me like that!

"Even a drunken jackass would know that. Where, can you tell me?" I ask politely, smiling.

True, no one sees that smile, because I don't want to take off my helmet, because I'm aware of the consequences of doing so—I myself will be stunned by my own scent.

"In the meantime," I look around the room, looking at Pip-Boy—there are no marks, except for Motley's. "Where are Ferris and Edge?"

"No idea," is her reply.

I lose sight of the two feathered ones after I stumble and get distracted by Motley's laughter.

Motley and I look around at the dead raiders. The pegasus stays away from me.

Damn, for some reason it's scary for me to take off my helmet to feel that stench in the full bouquet of 'floral' smells on me. I've been in shit my whole life, but literally this is my first time... Anyway, there's a first time for everything.

The raiders' pockets and bags contain ammunition for their weapons, and everyone has at least a few pouches with dozens of caps. After a few minutes of searching, Ferris shows up with his pet.

"Where have you been chilling?" I ask without looking back.

"Looking for a warm safe nest and..." he pauses meaningfully, and immediately tosses several packets of pre-war laundry detergent 'Glare' in front of me with a slightly time-worn image of an attractive snow-white pony and a long blue mane with a dazzling smile that says, "Shine, cleanliness, freshness—it all stays after me." Looking at these packs, I slowly turn my head toward Ferris.

"What? I'm giving you a helping claw, I found some packs of laundry detergent. The shine of your armor will light up everything around you, the cleanliness will make others jealous, and the freshness will attract mares to you." A brief pause ensues. "No, I'm not going to tease you again. I've had enough of this wonderful picture... you won't be able to top that anymore," he chuckles.

The packs of laundry detergent are enveloped in the blue glow of my magic, and without further ado, looking slowly and suspiciously at the griffon, I use telekinesis to put them in my bag.

"Be careful... I'll check later, if it's your prank again, I'll make you eat all that laundry detergent or shove it up your ass, but one way or another it'll end up inside you... Now, about the nest... you said this place was safe."

"After where you've been... It's already uncomfortable to be here. I went outside to get some fresh air, and I saw a pretty decent hotel nearby, still holding on to its four walls and foundations. And it was empty. Sort of."

"Sort of? You mean you didn't even check it out?"

"Considering that it's already dusk outside, and there's no light in the windows, and there's no unrelated noise like laughter and yelling in the building, we can assume that the hotel is empty."

"Okay. I hope there are bathrooms in working condition."

We climb out of the sewer. The exit is next to the hub station where we are.

***

It is very dark outside. Even in this darkness, I can see a distinct yellow hue in the sky. Edge quite shouts and does a few pirouettes in the air as we make our way to the surface.

Like the griffin said, there's a single more or less survivable building next to the exit of the sewer escape on the street—the six-story Sunset Hotel, its walls a shade of orange. The orange and yellow 'Sunset' sign is all rusted out.

We enter the hotel's centuries—old abandoned lobby. There are skeletons, dirt, trash, rot everywhere. The orange plaster is almost all peeling, and there is a lot of broken furniture lying around. A destroyed terminal on the receptionist's desk, behind which lies the skeleton of the receptionist—and in pre-war times he or she always happily greeted new visitors, told them about the hotel, gave them the keys to the rooms... That's all in the past now.

So... don't pine for the peace and order that reigned here a few centuries ago, but now it's just ruin and emptiness.

Don't think about that. Focus on the present. Yes, you're in a dangerous city of raiders. You need to keep an eye on your companions to keep them in good health. Think more cheerfully. Take things lightly, or you might lose your mind.

We look around the rooms. They are all ransacked, and most of them are blocked by a collapsed ceiling or walls. The most interesting part starts when we get to the top, the penthouses. Or rather, there is only one large suite on the sixth floor, the doors of which are barricaded with metal bars and chains. And the strange thing is that the elevator only works up to this floor, the lobby and the basement, and the buttons to the other floors don't work at all—they are broken or scratched out, I have no desire to repair them, since we have already surveyed the other floors using the stairs.

So who lives behind these doors? There are no marks on Pip-Boy's compass. The doors are securely barricaded, but they can be forced out.

"So, the only way to break down these doors would be..." I begin, but I'm interrupted.

"Hold on, mate," the griffon says. "I'm pretty sure those doors won't fall for your charms. Let me sneak in through the window and open them from the inside. It'll be easier, don't you think?"

"Right," I agree, slightly surprised at my forgetfulness about the fact that my companions can actually fly.

After a while, on the other side of the barricaded doors I hear the sound of a heavy object sliding away, followed by the clicking and shifting of several switches, the pushing back of wooden bars, and the doors finally open inward.

"I told you," the griffon smirks, glancing for a moment at the back of the doors, "that you wouldn't make it."

Inside the room there is a large closet behind the doors, and many different deadbolts and wooden bars are installed and secured behind the doors themselves.

The room itself looks in the standard... raider's entourage. There's a lot of obscenities and pornography on the walls, dried blood mixed with shit, and rusted and bent cages, some of which still contain the remains of other raiders. All sorts of pre-war junk and trinkets. The room is strewn with filthy, pissed-out mattresses, and on some of them, in unnatural poses, are the bodies of ponies that appear to have died quite recently: since the maggots in the wounds have not yet hatched, it's safe to say that they're less than a week old. Even a cursory glance at the bodies is enough to know what was done to them: many wounds, cuts, hooves wrapped in barbed wire, limbs torn off, eyes cut out, mouths sewn together. The dead little filly on one of the mattresses got the worst of it. She's almost covered in her own blood, and there's a lot of glass lying around her hind legs.

A lot of foals... born among the raiders... are abused by their own. They are born with defects and mutations due to unsanitary conditions and radiation. A large proportion of the raiders are young... rarely see those over twenty years old.

We look around the rooms where the raiders have lived... or are inhabited by the raiders, but for some reason they are not here. Where are they? Maybe sitting in an ambush somewhere?

I look around the main bedroom on the second tier of the suite, and there's a lot of 'decorations' hanging there, just like the ones at the front of the room; no weapons or any valuable equipment. On a small red—not blood-red—wooden table lies an equally small hoofed note. The words are hard to read, and those that are written more or less legibly contain so many errors that the level of degradation of the raiders is immediately clear. The level is within the expected range.

In the note, one of the raiders dreamed of becoming the leader himself and getting and owning most of the loot that was now stored in a huge room-sized safe in the basement. Planned to kill his leader, Billy.

So that's whose lair this is... Billy. I'm surprised those knuckleheads didn't leave one of their own to watch the lair. Now I know what the key was on that hulk's body. We need to go down to the basement and examine the safe... This explains why the raiders left only three floors, between which the elevator moves—the rest are of no use to them.

The apartment looks as follows: the main hall with passages to the left and right; on the right side is the ascent to the second tier, represented by a good wooden staircase against the wall; a large balcony behind a spacious and extensive window; the dining room, the first door on the left of the entrance; the next door from the dining room leads to the toilets and the bathroom; and the last doors by a half-broke window lead to the master bedroom. Upon examining it... it appears to be a place of entertainment for raiders due to the abundance of rusted chains and cages, and there are shackles and similar restraining metal structures nailed to the walls. There's also an abundance of cutting and stabbing objects and many other things with which to torture and have fun with prisoners.

How I hate places like this—they are filled with suffering and pain. Makes me hate the raiders even more, even though they are essentially victims of their own instincts. This is what irresponsibility can lead to...

Me and Ferris clean up all the raiders' decorations. Of course, we don't scrub the blood off the walls, but at least we gather the pony remains in a pile by stacking them on the balcony. We don't decide to set them on fire yet, because that might burn the hell out of us, and the huge flames might attract the raiders, who want to find out what kind of bonfire party their neighbors are up to. We also decide to stop here to rest and sleep. We're a little tired from wandering through the sewers...

...and some of us down the pipe.

I'm going to take a shower and wash my armor in the master suite, which has a bathroom and a shower, but Motley already occupies it. The water in the faucets here, while not as clean, is not radioactive. So I'll just have to make do with the shared bathroom and restroom. Not that I mind showering with an adorable pegasus, rubbing her back and getting aroused in the process, but she seems to have something against it.

Ferris sits by the stairs to the second tier and checks his gear. I walk up to him.

"Are you going to take a bath, dirtbag?"

"No, thanks. I had a shower the day before I met you. That's why I kept my distance when you came out of that pipe..." the griffon casts a brief glance at me, clearly waiting for my reaction.

"Shove an egg up your ass," I say jokingly, retreating to the shared bathroom with my gear.

First, I test the effects of the laundry detergent 'Glare'. The smell is quite acceptable, even pleasant, it doesn't leave any stains of a different color. Ferris wasn't lying, he's not as soulless and cynical as I thought he was. I first clean all my gear, armor and weapons of clumps of dirt and crap, and then if possible I wash everything in the bathtub, where I pour a whole packet of laundry detergent. I had to drain all the water and waste another pack. It takes over an hour, but it was worth it, the armor looks and smells so much better. This powder really does work wonders.

I take care of myself and my body, and most of the smell is absorbed by the armor. I didn't have to pay too much attention to myself. That's a good thing, too.

After letting my gear dry and making sure my weapons are working properly, I walk out of the bathroom and see Ferris eating a meat roast and sharing it with Edge, who is happily devouring the tasty treat. Motley sits nearby and eats canned beans and hay from a can. I still can't get used to the taste of hay, though I don't feel as disgusted with it now as I did a month ago.

"Couldn't you have waited for me?" I playfully chagrin, walking over to them and sitting down next to them.

"No, we're hungry and wanted to eat, and to wait for you and tear you away from the most fascinating thing of washing your armor and body from..." Ferris stops talking when he sees Motley nearly choking and coughing. "You don't talk about such things over food, I forgot. I apologize. Anyway, so you don't bring any... undesirable smells," he says, smirking.

Oh. Stop making jokes about my smell, or your feathers will go to use ink in writing.

I predict that this griffon will continue to mock me when it comes to smells. I just hope Lemon doesn't find out about it... It seems to me that he's experienced it himself, and now he's taking it out on me. Especially when I consider that, as he mentioned, Red Spark's underground tunnels are the most unpleasant in the Wasteland.

Just ignore his taunts... Ignore.

"Do you know where to go next? " I ask, joining me for dinner. I examine a packet of pre-war bicentennial mashed potatoes.

"I'll look at it tomorrow morning, but for now we'll rest. I think we all deserve at least a couple of hours without pistol-whipping, running, and climbing drainpipes," he looks at me again at the last words.

If he brings it up again, I swear I'll just shove him down the toilet and flush him down the drain. Let him flounder in those pipes himself... But... Daniel, hold on... don't give in. Take your mind off something good.

Oh, that's right... my faithful feathered lady.

"Motley, why aren't you taking meat?" I ask, noticing that she has only been taking vegetable food.

"I rarely eat meat, I try to avoid it if possible. In terms of food, I stick to conservative pre-war views—vegetables, fruit, hay, mashed potatoes from two hundred years ago."

"I'm a pony, too, but I eat things that aren't deadly so I don't starve to death."

"I wanted to ask," Ferris says. "Why are you looking for Project Dome?"

Well, here come the questions I don't really feel like answering. I can't tell him I'm an alien from another world looking for a portal to my home. That would lead to laughter, because he wouldn't believe it, and with loud hooting he'd tie my legs and declare me crazy, and if he did, he'd start asking a lot of questions. I'd had enough of a long conversation with Homage and Littlepip. The first one asked too many questions, while the second one listened to me with great curiosity and absorbed the information like a sponge.

I wonder what had already happened to the local hero of this world? It had been more than a month, after all. Where had she gone, what had she achieved? And what would happen if I went with her? Would I have found the portal home if I had?

Well... too much unnecessary thinking... I need something to say to Ferris to get him off my back.

"Looking for some technology."

"What kind?"

"It doesn't matter. What matters is that Project Dome is the only possible place such technology can be found."

"Then what are you looking for it for?" the griffon persists with his questions. I would answer, but then it would be even worse.

"Let's just say it helps me find one answer."

Holy shit, you're doing great, Daniel, best comprehensive answer you've ever had!

"I hope it's not about the meaning of life... Okay, this is getting personal," Ferris replies.

That was quick of him to back off... Weird. Well, that's good. Now it's my turn to ask.

"What exactly do you do?"

"Cutting, stabbing, burning, dismembering raiders in the Crater. And I do some... intellectual creativity."

"Like what?" I wonder.

"Creating new weapons," the griffon answers briefly. I almost choke.

What-what?!

"You mean making homemade weapons?"

If I know the schematics and blueprints, I can make weapons out of junk. Make a rifle out of two rusty tin cans, a board and some nails? Sure! Make a vodka bottle and a rag into an incendiary bomb? No problem! Although the second one seems to have been invented by... what were they, the evil Communists?

"For now, yes, but I used to have a workshop where I invented and designed new kinds of weapons. For example," Ferris pulls out that big silver pistol of his, "this. It's entirely my creation," there's a sound of pride in the griffon's voice.

"You made it yourself?" I gasp in amazement.

This weapon looks pre-war, yet clean and... fresh, not many people are capable of making a new weapon, and yet with such a special design. Not out of junk, but new! No recycling or borrowing parts from other weapons.

"I call it the Stone Eagle. The gun is semi-automatic, fires a large caliber, eight-round magazine. The bullet velocity is higher than any other pistol, which makes it make a lot of noise and it has a pretty strong recoil. A silencer, if fitted, will only reduce the level of that... thunder. I didn't put a muffler because this baby makes so much noise that it just isn't needed. Believe me, the sound of this baby, the recoil... it's unmistakable."

"Amazing..." I mutter, examining this remarkable weapon of predominantly gray color.

I am overwhelmed by its beauty and finesse. What a roar it made when the griffon pulled the trigger in the hub station... The pistol not only has an impressive size and a lethal recoil, it also has its own unique design, which resembles an enlarged 9mm pistol. And even that is a stretch, because it is clearly something new.

"Impressive, isn't it?" Ferris asks.

He's bursting with pride at his result. Motley, too, has distracted herself from her meal to look at this wonder of firepower, but she's not so interested in it.

"You only have one?" I ask. I'm so eager to get my hooves on a gun like that and try it out.

"Yes. But if I had a high-tech workshop with the necessary raw materials, I'd make more," the griffon replies, as if to apologize.

Eh, too bad. I wouldn't mind getting a gun like that, if only for my collection.

"Where do you live?" I ask the griffon.

"Nearby in the mountains, why?"

"Nothing."

I continue to consume my dinner. I'm curious about the location of his workshop, but I don't think he's going to answer anyway. I'd drop by to visit him on Ventura sometime. It seems to me that he had some influence or had his own first-class workshop in Vanhoover, but then something went wrong and he had to leave town.

After eating dinner and discussing our battle tactics and possible scenarios, Motley informs us that she is tired. She goes to bed. In the master bedroom.

What a feathered creature... I usually occupy places like this. She's probably getting back at me for taking the best suite in Heavenly Harbor. Or maybe I just think too much.

Oh, wait... there's also the raider's storage room I found a key to on Billy's body. I'll have to check it out. Ferris decides to help me with this, leaving his pet Edge to keep an eye on the apartment: if anything happens, he'll wake up the pegasus.

Down in the lower rooms, we search for something resembling a vault. And there really is one. The vault is a small grid, once guarded by pre-war guards. The doors of the grid are unlocked, and there are many empty safes arranged in rows on each side of the room. At the end of the room stands a huge safe, about three meters wide and high. Or rather, the safe is integrated into the wall; its huge steel door, though rusty, is still in good condition.

As I insert Billy's key and turn it, I hear something click inside the huge doors and they open slightly. I have to open them all the way by hand. With a creak, which was difficult because of the weight and unlubricated mechanisms, we examine the contents.

To die and not to get up! An abundance of all kinds of weapons and ammo, elements of armor, medicines, drugs, all kinds of junk!

I wish I could carry it all. I should only take the most valuable and necessary. Just in case, I'll mark this hotel on the pre-war map of the city later, in case we need anything or run out of supplies, and we'll come back here.

In my day when I was in the Capital Wasteland, the West Coast and the Mojave in particular, I would write down the coordinates of anything of value that I couldn't carry away, hiding it nearby behind some rock or bush. I would return to the hidden goods whenever possible, or sell information about their whereabouts or a place, whether it was a bunker, a not yet fully looted factory, or just an interesting place, to caravan merchants or mercenaries. True, very few people would buy such information from a stranger, because it could be a trap—you needed to have a reliable reputation, which I sometimes had trouble with. So there are plenty of my hiding places in the Wasteland where I've been, and no one is likely to discover them by accident.

I remember Dean Domino in the Sierra Madre used to do something like that, but only for himself, though he let me take supplies from there.

"That's quite a safe. Or rather, its contents," Ferris says, whistling.

"That's right," I reply with restrained delight.

Now that's a treasure chest!

A fair amount of rifle ammunition for Whispering Night and the pony revolver, as well as other types of ammunition. Weapons and armor items. Plenty of bags of good drugs. Plenty of medicines like RadAway and RadSafe, and just a few bottles of healing potions. And a lot of other junk that the raiders found useful and valuable.

There's really a lot of valuable stuff among them, but there's nothing I'm interested in except the memory orb. I put it in my bag... carefully, so as not to accidentally activate it prematurely, in order to examine its contents later.

Separately, the unique shotgun that belonged to Billy is worth noting. The smoothly polished barrel is engraved with a silhouette of Celestia on one half of the barrel and Luna on the other. The buttstock is lightweight and appears to be made of maple. This gun doesn't look like it was owned by an insane junkie. There is an inscription crookedly scratched into the wood on the stock that reads as follows, 'Billy's gun. Don't touch it or I'll kill you, bitch!'

I don't hesitate to put the gun in my bag.

After taking everything we need, I lock the safe and Ferris and I head back up to the room.

I really want to see what's in that memory orb. I ask Ferris to keep an eye on me in a helpless position while I'm in someone else's memory. To which he responds with a nod... I hope he doesn't undress me and paint me with dicks and swear words.

Focusing my magic on the orb, I plunge into a world of memories from the past.

I wonder if it's going to be love games between someone else again. Or will it really be something important?

<-=======ooOOoo=======->

There is the sound of cars, noise, and voices coming from the street, and the warm sunlight coming in through the windows. This is definitely the pre-war past. The owner of the memory is in a café filled with customers and is sitting at a table talking to some pony. He is light yellow in color and has a brown mane. There are a lot of ponies around, deciding to have something hot to drink or just talk to each other. Domestic problems, politics, sports games, gossip and so on. Therefore, the place is noisy enough that the conversation between the owner of the orb and the yellow pony can not be heard by others. The yellow pony is slightly distressed, but I see the sympathy in his eyes.

"I understand, of course," the yellow pony says, "you've lost a pony close to you, but this is just unthinkable. It's..."

"I know," the owner of this memory interrupts. The voice is familiar to me, but where have I heard it? "But I don't give a shit, you know? There's nothing left to lose, and at least this way I'll find the bastards, and they'll be punished. I've already made up my mind."

"You think she'd want you to be a soulless killer?"

"If she were in my shoes, she'd do the same thing I did. Crow, of course you want to talk me out of it and all that, but... sometimes justice has to be done in harsh ways."

"Eric," Crow begins with a frustrated sigh, "I may not be able to talk you out of it, but I can at least try to talk some sense into you so you don't make rash decisions. Come to your senses. After all, if you kill them, the police will lock you up. Is it worth it?"

Eric. That's the pony that lost his beloved Mindy. They had a fun and exciting night... He noted in his note that he would find the bastards. The week after her death had been extremely difficult for him. So this is his memory after that fatal incident.

The note and the memory orb I found when I was still traveling with Lilac.

"Thank you, of course, for taking care of me," I feel a faint smile appear on Eric's face. "I appreciate that... But again, I've already decided what I'm going to do with them. They'll die of poisoning with ten grams of lead."

Crow sighs, shaking his head, then turns to the window and says, "Sometimes I miss those lighthearted childhood days. Things have changed so much because of the war... A drastic contrast to the past. Suddenly we have so much hatred, anger, suffering after a long period of peaceful existence. I feel like I've found myself in another reality."

Eric answers nothing, but just stares silently into his half-drunk cup of coffee with the establishment symbol on the outer side in the form of a coffee bean, around which the perimeter at the top says, 'Hot and Refreshing', and at the bottom, 'Brown Hill'. In the murky drink, I can see the stallion's reflection: a devastated, almost lifeless look.

I sense his stern determination to punish those who killed his beloved.

Was he able to fulfill his vengeance in the end? Was he able to find the fuckers and exterminate them, every last one of them?

"Let's talk about something else," the bright yellow pony says. "How's work in the new office?"

"Nothing much. Trying to keep track of proper cost allocation for materials to build a huge facility. There's a whole team working there, responsible for saving as many bits as possible."

"By the way, do you know how the construction for this project is going? You talk about it all the time, but I have no idea what it even is. Maybe a Stable or a bunker for important ponies?"

"How would I know? They don't tell us, remember?" Eric replies. "We're only given what we need: numbers, numbers... and more numbers. We need to make sure that the cost of materials is substantially reduced. Even though I've been appointed head of a small department, I don't know which construction site the money goes to. We don't even know where the money comes from. Everything is given and sent by roundabout ways."

"Well, maybe you heard someth—" he is interrupted by two approaching ponies wearing coats of different colors, fedoras adorned on their heads. A stallion and a mare.

"Come with us," the mare says sternly to the master of memories.

"Where to?" Eric asks with sudden worry. It feels as if he thinks he's about to be killed.

"Immediately," the pony's partner utters in a casual manner.

"All right, all right," Eric mumbles anxiously. He gives the impression of guessing who the two ponies are.

The ponies, in thick coats, get Eric into the car, which does not show the surroundings from inside, and drive off somewhere. After ten minutes of travel, the transport stops and the two ponies lead him to some unremarkable building and then to a basement, which is already unusual in that there is an elevator leading to a room underground.

After taking the elevator, Eric finds himself in a long dark corridor with metal walls of a cold silver hue, lit by several small lamps in white vials. After passing several offices, Eric's convoy stops at one office with a sign that reads 'Controller'.

This office makes Eric even scarier because of the darkness and the slight chill around him. There is no moistness in the air, no unpleasant odors—as well as no incense. There is a metal desk in the middle of the room, lit by a lamp hanging directly above it. A unicorn sits at the desk, looking at Eric with a serious expression. From her gaze I can feel the goosebumps running down Eric's back and he swallows nervously.

"Sit down," the gray pony orders, sitting at the table in a calm and even voice, and points to a chair with her gaze.

Eric hesitantly steps closer to the desk and slowly sits down on a small metal chair. The convoy exits the office.

"Eric Frost, we know you've started to say a lot of unnecessary things," the gray mare pronounces. She speaks in a surprisingly calm voice, but there is still caution and indignation in it. "You mentioned what you do in the corporation you work for. Have you forgotten about company policy?"

"N-no. I remember."

"Then why are you telling an outsider about your activities? Yes, we know he's a friend of yours, but he has nothing to do with our work, not to mention your position."

"I..."

"We know what happened to your wife, and we sympathize with you, but that's no reason to tell anyone you want about the project. Have you forgotten how important the project is?"

"No, ma'am. I remember, but you can trust a friend, can't you?" I feel Eric smile uneasily. Because of the nerves.

"Maybe so," the Controller replies without a shadow of emotion. "But!" she says, slightly tempered and abruptly, in a way that makes Eric shudder. "Enemies can get their hooves on your friends' memories, and we can't keep track of everyone you tell about the project, even if you only mention it. So you are reprimanded for the first time. One more reprimand and you will be fired from your job and your memories of your work will be seized and destroyed. Do you understand me well?"

"Y-yes," Eric replies, in primal fear.

The Controller, are you trying to give a valued employee a heart attack? No, I understand the secrecy and all that, but this way you'll only give your enemies a clue as to who to look for. Nervous ponies stand out.

The gray unicorn pulls out a pen and a folder of papers. Opening it, the Controller reads something there for a while and flips through the pages, and then, noting something, closes the folder.

"Don't worry," she begins in a polite voice, as if she realizes she's overreacting with her emotionality. "It's a routine procedure. We have to make sure the country has a bright future. That's why it's so strict here. As far as we can tell from your record, you are a good economist and have done a lot of good for the company through profitable economic policy modernization. We really don't want to lose a valuable staff like you, but no information should leave the corporation either."

"May I ask one question?" Eric asks with difficulty.

"That depends," the Controller replies coldly.

"Why don't I get my memory of this meeting wiped clean?"

"You must remember the reprimand you received so that you will not make the same mistake again."

"Then what will happen to my friend?" Eric asks fearfully. I feel him relax, but fear still dominates his body.

"We'll just remove the part of his memory where he talked to you at the Brown Hill. He'll be fine, don't worry. You're free to go," the Controller says.

The next moment, the doors swing open and Eric's escort walks in, escorting him out of his office and making sure he gets home without incident. Eric doesn't live in the house where I found the memory with his sweetheart, Mindy, but in a small apartment in Red Spark. I remember that he just couldn't live in that house because it brought up painful memories in him.

Eric walks over to the window where the sun is about to hide behind the horizon. The sky is fiery hot.

"I need to become one of them..." he says, looking at the sunset.

<-=======ooOOoo=======->

I don't know if that memory is useful, but at least now I know that the construction of the Project Dome was kept secret. I just don't understand Eric's last sentence. Of who, 'one of them'? The ones who monitor everyone involved in the project? The Controllers? But for what purpose?

The Controllers... Watcher mentioned them once in connection with the Project Dome. Lemon also said that the Controllers are a direct offspring of the Ministry of Morale—that is, they are involved in espionage, intelligence, and other covert operations within the country.

I can only assume that Eric was going to use The Controllers' connections to find his wife's killers, which makes sense. On the other hand, it's an amazing coincidence that Eric ended up involved in the project I'm just looking for. However, Project Dome is a massive facility: sooner or later I'd find the ponies involved in its creation anyway.

Walking out into the main hall, I meet Ferris smoking a cigarette. It's as if he's withdrawn into himself, opening and closing the lighter cap without stopping.

"What are you thinking about?" I ask, not without interest. He suddenly comes to himself, shaking with surprise, and cautiously looks around, but, noticing me, relaxes.

"Just thinking about my own thing. What was in that memory orb?"

"Nothing much: an employee of a firm had blabbed to a friend about working on a project for that same firm. And he was warned not to do something like that again or he'd get fired and have his memory erased."

"You mean The Controllers?" the dark griffon clarifies a little later.

"Yes... How do you know?"

"Told you I was interested in the Project Dome. I came across some old documents that mentioned them a couple of times. At one point I got my claws on a pre-war memo from an employee that said The Controllers monitored every worker who was involved in any way with the Project Dome to reduce the chance of zebras sabotaging the project."

"Those Controllers had an extensive network if they could show up within seconds of that worker blabbing," I say.

It's hard to imagine that every worker was monitored... That takes so many personnel, and a pony with the rank of Controller must have been running a small group of agents who faithfully served as his eyes and ears, as well as doing his bidding.

Ferris looks like he remembered something else.

"I also read somewhere that The Controllers were a special unit created by the Ministry of Morale."

Lemon and Watcher know that, too.

"That's not surprising," I begin, "considering that six Ministries were involved in the construction of the Project Dome. And naturally, the most advanced technology was used in the creation of the complex, including knowledge from various fields of endeavor."

"You know, that's when such connections and technology were used, I can' t help but wonder what could have been created in this Project Dome... And yet it is in theory that it could exist. Even after your memory orb, I still think it's a myth. Too much hackneyed over secrecy. Maybe it's even possible that the Project Dome was a universal cover for a lot of different projects in the Vanhoover region."

Interesting thought.

"All right," the griffon adds, yawning. "I'm going to go take a few hours' nap, and then I'll fill in for you. Let Motley sleep."

"And then she'll take your shift?"

"No. I'll keep watch until dawn, and then I'll look at the street situation and determine the way to the center."

"Are you sure that these few hours will be enough for you?"

"Yes," he answers confidently, without blinking an eye.

"Then who will keep watch over us while you explore the streets?"

"Edge."

"It sounds to me like you don't trust Motley," I mutter quietly and slowly.

Ferris smiles and says, "Once again I admire your insight. Yes. I don't trust pegasi too much."

"Why?"

"Well, let's just say I associate them with the Enclave because I've crossed paths with their units a couple of times before," the griffon says in a serious tone. "I'll tell you honestly: it's crazy shit. No one stands a chance against them alone. Unlike the Steel Rangers, they can fly and are protected by power armor, so they're as dangerous and deadly as a dragon fart."

Sometimes it's hard to know what's being expressed here literally and what's being expressed figuratively. Does Ferris really know the dangers of dragon farts? Has he seen the dragon?

But that's not so important... What matters is that if Ferris finds out that Motley really was a member of the Enclave, then... Well, I think he's already figured that out, considering how professionally she's acted in battle.

Ferris goes to bed, and Edge stays beside me, brushing his feathers with his beak.

"Aren't you going to bed with your owner?" I ask the bird. The one responds with a brief shriek.

"You sleep and I'll keep watch," I tell the bird. It responds by letting out a muffled shriek so as not to wake the others, and turns its head sideways, looking at me with one eye.

I sense that the bird is looking at me with suspicion. Does Edge not trust me? It is quite possible that he stayed of his own free will, or that Ferris asked him to. This griffon never lets his guard down, I see.

Talking to a bird... I must have lost my mind. Taking my situation too lightly.

Edge turns away and continues brushing his feathers.

So as not to waste my guard time... I read books on teleportation, barrier and repair. Exactly reading, since spells make noise. But everything is better learned before I go to sleep. I always need to keep my skills and knowledge sharp.

I'm already burying my nose in a repair book with the urge to sleep, and then Ferris replaces me, and I finally give myself over to the dream world like Motley.

I dream that I'm running from a horde of feral ghouls through the sewers, and I have no weapons or armor on me. I am completely naked, not even wearing my Pip-Boy, but I am human in this dream, and because of that I cannot run properly, because I am a little rusty at running on only two legs. All in all, the dream is extremely difficult.

When I wake up abruptly because the ghouls have caught up with me in the nightmare, I see that it is morning. The griffon is getting his gear ready, and Motley... is already ready to go on, judging by her bored and unhappy look as she lies and stares at the ceiling.

I want to hug her and tell her everything will be okay, but I quickly dismiss the urge, in case she wants to be alone with her thoughts.

"Did you remember to wake me up?" I ask sadly.

Since I was human in my dream, I am not immediately aware of the hardness of my hoofed limb, so from the urge to wipe my eyes I almost knock my eye out.

"Ouch," is heard from me. The griffon notices this and chuckles lightly.

Asshole.

"You were sleeping so soundly and peacefully, we didn't want to wake you," he smiles.

"I eagerly believe you... Just take the noodles off my ears," I say ironically, pretending to brush something off my ears. The griffon chuckles. "You just wanted to leave me here, I'm sure of it."

Today is the first day of calendar autumn in Equestria. The 1st of the Month of Heather, Redday. Thirty-ninth day of my stay.

We're going southeast, but before we do, we set fire to the pony remains on the balcony.

***

The 3rd of the Month of Heather, Ellowday. Forty-first day of my stay.

Advancing through the ruins of the city, we proceed according to the same tactics set forth at the beginning. Ferris is in the distance and does not engage in open combat unless absolutely necessary, while Motley and I are the strike force that takes all the attention. And for good reason. Several times this tactic saves us. We would have died if it hadn't been for Ferris. We get caught in a magical trap in the form of an impassable barrier, from which we can't even escape by teleportation... but Ferris helped us get out. I was right about him, after all.

The trap installer is a lone raider-ghoul and unicorn who specializes in barriers. Unfortunately, he doesn't give away any useful information about being organized. He simply does not know it. Naturally, it is dangerous to leave him alive.

The closer we get to the center, the stronger and more experienced the raiders are. Take the unicorn, for example, who could hardly be called a raider. He seems to be normal, but he is aggressive and horny. He looks for more or less attractive mare raiders, traps them and fucks them until he gets bored in his lair, subjecting them to all sorts of kinks. He traps us because he saw Motley and wanted to fuck her. I think he had a problem with rape and kink in Vanhoover. So he had to flee here, satisfied with dirty, mutilated and disfigured raiders. He ended up turning into a ghoul from his years in Red Spark. He's lucky his dick didn't fall off in the process.

All raiders are rapists, though, but this one leaves his victims alive long enough, and he doesn't have the sadism of the others.

As the saying goes, the further into the woods the bigger the mosquitoes. This is the shit of the shit itself. Some raiders have grenade launchers, flamethrowers, miniguns. The armor, too, is tougher than that of those who inhabit the outskirts of Red Spark. As a result, we meet experienced and deadly opponents. You might say, veterans.

Along the way, we encounter many different and sometimes rare junk like explosives, which the raiders discovered while exploring the ruins or found in other raiders, and keep them in their improvised hiding places. Some raiders individually keep their goods from others, and if this is discovered, usually such a non-generous mate is beaten to death and then abused over his or her body, or vice versa, abused first and then the guts are released.

This is known from Ferris.

As for the junk we encountered... It's a shame to leave it behind, but at the same time I don't want to drag it along with me, since it takes up space; at first the dark griffon takes it to the Sunset Hotel vault, and once we get far enough away from it, we look for a new place to temporarily store it. Why? There might be a chance to come back someday.

When we make mistakes during combat, or even before, we get badly wounded for one reason or another, so we have to spend a lot of medicine and time on treatment. Most of the treatment is done by me and Motley. If I get wounded, Motley treats me, and vice versa if she gets shot. Ferris is lucky. He has the advantage of fighting from a distance: he thinks less of taking someone's life, and feels safer in the relative safety of his position.

On top of that, we manage to get into areas with high levels of radiation, so we have to spend packs of RadAway and RadSafe. Thus our stock of medicines come to an end. Fortunately, at least the ammunition situation is okay. For now—mostly due to the fact that the raiders have a lot of them. I'm surprised there's so much.

Ferris tells us he's never been this deep before.

Motley, in turn, gets a little more talkative. She inserts her comments and sneers more often, but she does not yet try to make jokes, unlike Ferris. I can only assume that this is the effect of me and Ferris being mostly cheerful and funny when we make jokes about each other, which makes her more emotional and open-minded than before. Obviously, the pegasus is no stranger to friendly company, but she prefers not to interfere much in our conversations. For now.

We reach the river, which divides this labyrinth of ruined buildings into two parts. The only thing that connects them is the bridge. A huge bridge, supported by two pillars in the form of huge columns, from which huge metal cables, most of them already torn by time and dampness, stretch from the top to the road surface of the bridge at an angle.

This bridge is the only way to get to the opposite side. The eastern part of the city is immersed in deadly levels of radiation because of the megaspell, except for a small 'pocket', the part of the ruins near the bridge, where it is relatively safe to be. This part of the city is surrounded by impassable ruins and deadly levels of radiation. Earth ponies... and unicorns can't fly, so the only way to get there is over the bridge.

It is possible to get over the air, but Ferris sees through the powerful scope of his anti-mechanical rifle that the airspace above the river is protected by ground forces in the form of raiders with grenade launchers and machine guns. So we can fly over the river only if we get very high up, because below that we will be spotted, after which we inevitably get under the lead rain of machine guns, located in the windows of the buildings on the opposite side. Swimming in the river is also lethal—it's so saturated with radiation that even if we get close to it, it will fucking kill us. It's like that river in the Pitt... and the bridge...

Brings back bad memories.

We need to get to the other side, because from the raiders' conversations we eventually found out, putting down all the swear words, that their leader is on the other side of the bridge. The bridge is the only one that survived the megaspells, but it's barely even standing on its pillars, even though the raiders are patching it up in every way and making some kind of repair, but still maintaining it.

There are a lot of buildings on the bridge, built by raiders mostly from parts of transportation. So there's a lot of defensive positions, which even I would have a hard time getting through invisible, much less without any fire support, and on the other hand there's a lot of cover. No wonder there are so many structures on the bridge—the bridge is still surprisingly strong, and apparently heavy loads were carried across it before the war, since it has managed to stand up to the present day.

Now we're not far from the crossing and we're looking at it through a broken window in one of the old establishments selling various household products, pondering a plan of action.

"So what are we going to do?" Motley asks.

Interesting question, if I still knew the answer to it.

"Get over the bridge and kill the boss," I say.

"Can you be more specific? With details and backup plans."

"I'm thinking... about an idea," I begin. "The raiders mentioned that this is the only way to the other side, right? Now, what if we blow up that bridge, and then the raiders on the other side of the bridge are trapped? And we wouldn't have to get to the other side."

"You didn't think the raiders might have an escape route?"

"The raiders say it's the only way," I say. "No, the raiders may be deliberately telling false information, of course, but something tells me it's true."

"Maybe only the 'commanders' of the raiders know about the secret way? If every raider knew about it, the enemies could sneak in through that very path and strike a crushing blow. Raiders don't know how to keep a secret."

"Look around," I point with my hoof to where we are. "Have any other psychopaths besides us crawled this deep into this unfriendly asshole of the Wasteland? Why would they be so secretive? We blow the bridge, and that's it—the raiders on the other side starve to death. Destroying logistics breaks even strong armies."

The griffon thinks aloud, looking at the bridge, "I think, yes, the raiders are trapped and isolated will eventually kill each other. Only the ones on the outskirts will remain, but that could take weeks... Okay, we'll think about it later... We can't blow up the bridge from above. It's a pretty solid structure. We'd have to use enough explosives to hit the weak points in its concrete pylons. The only way to get to them is from the air, but you can't get killed by the radiation from the river. Plus the main problem will be the machine gunners on the other side and a couple of snipers. We need to find at least a small window on the left or right side of the bridge to set the explosives."

"Great," I say. "So you have to sneak to the other side to disarm the machine gunners. Then you set the explosives, and we blow up that bridge."

"Where do we get explosives capable of destroying the big pillars of the bridge?" the griffon asks.

We really do need a stronger explosive here than what's in the frag grenades and mines we previously found in the raiders' stashes and storage. Where would we find it? A couple of bags would be desirable, too...

"How about using spark batteries as explosives?" Motley offers.

That's an idea! I remember how the Boomers were able to make a fairly powerful explosive from a microfusion cell, but making explosive compounds isn't really my thing. However, Motley... now that she suggested it. She mentioned earlier that she knows her way around explosives. Certainly, she's quite good at throwing grenades... Oh her body movements, they often distracted me with their smoothness and accuracy...

"Motley, show me how many batteries you have," I say to her.

She shows me everything she's carrying. Not as much as I'd like, but still enough to take the bridge to pieces. I guess.

"I can use these batteries," the pegasus begins, "to reinforce both frag grenades and mines, but it would take all my ammunition to make explosives capable of destroying the bridge pillars. Raiders have almost no energy-magic weapons and ammunition as it is, and as far as I know, they're incredibly expensive in Vanhoover because of the energy crisis. What am I going to shoot with then? Magic?"

"With your charm," I mutter, and the pegasus is immediately silent, her lips pressed tightly together. The helmet covering her eyes makes it hard for me to judge her reaction. "You'll amaze everyone around you with your superior body movements." Ferris chuckles. "You have another rifle that uses standard powder ammunition," I add. "So it's not a problem for you."

"Um... Uh..." This is the first time in my memory that she's so out of control with her speech, though I've noted her skills before, perhaps not in this way... That's when it comes to me that it's more like flirting. Now I see why Ferris is giggling—and I thought it was because of my lucky joke.

"That's not the point," the pegasus gathers her thoughts. "Like I said, spark batteries are rare in the Wasteland and very hard to find, and I'm trying to save them anyway."

Such an argument.

"Don't worry, we'll go to the store and get you some spark batteries, okay, angel?" I say with a fatherly smile.

"You say that like you're a father and I'm a whiny filly who's been promised a toy just to keep her quiet," the pegasus mutters.

"Isn't that so? You complain about not being able to get what you want..."

"Daniel..." she mutters threateningly.

Oops. I think I'm starting to go too far.

"Calm down," I hoof it up to her. "I hear you, I just wanted to lighten the mood. No problem making up for the loss of your precious ammunition. That's it, relax."

"Okay..." she replies a little later. "I'll make the necessary amount. There are enough materials in this store to make them."

"Nice. I knew I could count on you."

"I can help you, Motley," Ferris says. "I'm pretty good at explosives, just give me some instructions."

"Okay," she agrees. "It'll be faster then."

"Well.. We just have to figure out how to get to the other side."

The dark griffon says, "Yes, it's preferable to clear the north side—there are fewer enemies there than on the south side of the bridge."

"I can get you across by air," Motley mutters. "But to do that, I need to know where I can land on the other side undetected."

"Can you get me up?" I clarify.

"Only if I take off my combat saddle and you leave your weapons and bags here. I'll come back for our gear on the second ride."

"Why wouldn't Ferris do that?" I ask.

"He'll be the distraction from the south side of the bridge. All the raiders will be distracted by the thundering shots of the anti-machine rifle. Including those raiders on the rooftops—then I can fly you up to the buildings on the north side while everyone is looking south. You and I will quickly eliminate the snipers and machine gunners, I'll fly back for the explosives, quickly set them and detonate them."

Wow... Motley's got a good plan of action. I like it. The only problem, as she mentioned, is a safe landing spot where we can land undetected.

"Excellent plan," the griffon smiles. "I can divert their attention south of the bridge, at the same time making sure no one crosses the bridge to this side. Only you must do everything quickly. I can't hold them off much longer. Not enough ammo."

"It's decided," I say. "That's what we'll do. How will you mine the bridge?" I ask the pegasus.

"I'll plant some explosives at the cables attached to the pylon closest to us, and, of course, the pylon itself—I'll plant the largest amount of explosives at its base on the east side. First we blow up the base of the pylon, and then, after exactly one second, the cables as well. That way we'll give the parts of the concrete pylon above the roadway an acceleration and they'll fall right onto the bridge, which will collapse most of it."

"Great! Then let's get to work," I say.

***

I wait while Motley and Ferris prepare the explosives. I spend the wait practicing a teleportation spell. I have a feeling I'm going to need it.

So after two hours of making explosives and getting ready, we head to our positions. Motley and I move as far north as we can, up the river. In this case, flying between the impassable ruins so no one can see us from the other side of the river.

The view beneath my hooves is breathtaking. The pegasus sees it all the time, apparently. I wish I could fly and see it every day, too. How can Motley be so moody at all with these abilities?

And... I'm pleased with the way the pegasus holds me with her front legs. My life is in her hooves right now. One careless move and she'll drop me and I'll turn into a flapjack. I'm not allowed to move.

I don't have any weapons at all. I had to empty my pockets. All that's left is my hooves. But I do have something that can't be taken away from me: a horn.

Motley begins to gain altitude, the ruins and wreckage of buildings below me getting smaller and smaller and more distant. Falling from such an altitude becomes more and more frightening. I do my best to feel like a motionless dead weight to the pegasus.

We fly over the brown and muddy river, dropping lower to the tallest building on its north side. The raider-sniper and raider-gunner are distracted by the gunfire going on to the south.

Everything goes according to plan!

"Now," Motley says , "you take the machine gunner and I'll take the sniper."

We already know how many raiders are on that roof. And we know how we're gonna do it. All that's left is to choose our targets. Motley will do it. She's a flyer, she knows when, at what speed and altitude to drop an object so it hits the target... without getting hurt.

And yet I swallow nervously, relying on the skills of a pegasus.

Motley flies up to the mare behind the machine gun and, slowing sharply and lowering her altitude, releases me practically at point-blank range to her. She starts to turn the moment my body lands just on top of her, dropping her onto the concrete roof.

Uh-oh!

I feel a little choked up, but I waste no time and punch the mare in the back of the head. Her face hits the concrete roof with force.

The raider unicorn... He turns his sniper rifle toward Motley, but she manages to get all four legs into his sides and back in flight. She uses his body as a support, stopping her flight and doing a graceful backflip and folding her wings. Of course, the raider can't withstand the force of the pegasus landing in him... and he flies down screaming, taking his rifle with him. Motley, after a flip in the air, lands on the spot where the sniper was standing.

I am distracted by her graceful flip in the air after hitting the mare in the back of the head and pressing her face into the concrete. She passed out from that one.

Motley turns to me and, seeing that I'm okay, nods and flies high into the air.

"Wow," bursts out of me as she rises high into the air.

I can't stop admiring her body movements. It's like... a separate art form.

While Motley goes to get her combat saddle and my gear, I inspect the machine gun. I remove it from its stand. In my telekinetic grip it swayed slightly from side to side due to the weakness of my telekinesis.

It will come in handy for clearing sniper and machine gun nests inside buildings.

We located all the nests with my thermal imager before we left. And now with Motley, who's back, we're clearing them. I activate the stealth mode in my Pip-Boy, open the doors, and shoot the raiders with my machine gun. It rumbles, filling the raiders with lead and turning them into a bloody red sieve.

Thanks to the machine gun, I decide to save on my ammo for Whispering Night... Anyway, the whole place is rattling with gunfire.

Of course, Motley takes care of his targets in different buildings and floors to speed up the cleanup process. The machine gun magazine runs out of ammunition on the very last raider. He manages to shoot me while I pull out my revolver and fire back.

I grit my teeth in pain and let out a little howl.

"Son of a..." I groan, sitting down in the chair next to me.

I check the site of the hit. Thanks to the armor, the wound isn't deep, but... it's in the neck. I quickly pull out and drink a strong healing potion to stop the bleeding... I'll get the bullet out later.

"Everything okay?" Motley asks over the radio.

"Yeah..." I mutter heavily, feeling the wound on my neck heal rapidly. It itches and burns slightly, especially from having a foreign object inside. "Set the explosive..."

Motley manages it in more than ten minutes, while the rumbling shots of Ferris's anti-machine rifle rumble down the other side and distract the raiders' attention there.

"All set," the pegasus says over the radio.

"Turn on the fireworks."