Fallout: Equestria - Parallelism

The 10th of the Month of Heather, Ellowday. The forty-eighth day of my stay.

I shudder as if from an electric shock, and open my eyes abruptly. My front leg trembles while I wipe the cold sweat from my forehead.

It's so strange to no longer feel the hands and fingers with which I just strangled my Brisa. I can't feel them now. I just felt them in my sleep, when my fingers were clutching the throat...

My eyes are covered with moisture. I gasp. I get out of bed and run to the bathroom, turn the valve and wash my face with cold water. A deep breath in and a long exhale. I dip my face in the cold water several times, feeling relieved after each time.

I look in the mirror, at my tired blue eyes.

Everyone dies from my decisions. No matter what I do, everyone dies or suffers sooner or later. I have already gathered around me ponies and a griffon whose fate I care about.

Lemon Star...

Bluerise...

Motley Cloud...

Ferris...

It's always scary to take responsibility for others. And... I'm terrified... taking responsibility for the fate of those with whom I've already become close. I don't want to do that.

I've even laid with some of them already. It makes me feel strange at the thought of it. Conflicting. Calm and friendly, disdainful and disgusted. If it weren't for my fetish for wet bodies, I'd hardly be in these situations. And yet... This antagonism grows stronger every day.

Is it because I'm getting closer to some ponies? Is it because I'm afraid I'll see them die one day? Or the very fact of being intimate with a creature that is not human?

If I were originally a pony... No, falling in love in the Wasteland is dangerous. Every day could be the last for one of us. Lilac was lucky to survive with her lover. She treasured the moments after he died. And I treasure mine with Brisa.

I need a change of scenery... I need a distraction. I need to get back to my search for the Dome. But first I need breakfast, and then...

I'm looking at my Pip-Boy tapes. Now I have a visit to the Steel Rangers on my schedule, and at the same time I need to visit Greenkeys and practice my magic lockpicking, and ask the Captain about the incident with Private Smoozy. Also... Motley... she was in the Enclave a year ago. Her information might be relevant and perhaps useful to others. Defense, infrastructure, tactics, etc. I don't know if the Enclave is planning any invasion anytime soon, but there is never little information about a potential enemy.

Motley's father learned something that caused him, in fact, to be executed, passing off his death as heroic on the battlefield.

"Took you long enough to sleep," Motley's voice interrupts my thoughts as I already find myself in the main hall. The pegasus is sitting relaxed in a chair with a glass of yellowish-orange liquid. Apple juice, most likely. "How thoughtful you are... Didn't you sleep well?"

"Good morning to you, too," I mutter wearily, and yawn involuntarily. It's that feeling when I see her without sadness or sorrow; my mood lifts. What a good mare she is. I'm even a little jealous of her, because it took me longer to recover from the consequences of my actions. "Well... a nightmare from the past."

"Oh."

"It's okay. I'm used to it now. It has to do with how I lost love."

I'm too late to realize what I've said, seeing in Motley's eyes how she intends to speak—because she knew, briefly, that I-

No. I don't want to think about it! I feel bad enough after today's nightmare.

"No, please... I don't want to think about it now."

Motley nods softly. Her face returns to its former grim look. Apparently she's remembering her own, too.

We need a bit of distraction. With what? What to tell her? What to ask her... Think. What should I tell the pegasus? Оh... Right... The memory orb.

"Before I fell asleep, I looked through the memory orb from the Northern Soul. It belonged to a pegasus. And you know what, now I know how pegasi feel when they fly. I'm filled with envy."

"Yes... It's the most beautiful thing there is," Motley agrees. "But the wings are too sensitive. The slightest hit and damage is felt much more strongly than in other parts of the body."

"Like on my horn."

"I guess... I don't know much about your anatomy."

"You know, that explains why I noticed the smile on your face when I was just checking your wings for damage."

The pegasus presses her pretty lips tightly together and turns her head slightly, hiding her beautiful blue eye from view and leaving only a lovely amber one to my gaze.

"Yes... Because of the sensitivity. Gentle touches... Pleasant... I won't lie."

"My horn feels good from gentle touches, too. Earth ponies can be jealous of our extra sensitive zones," I chuckle. Motley backs me up with a giggle.

"Okay. Where's the Captain? I need him."

"Practicing his shooting. I think he picked up the sawed-off shotgun you found in Billy the raider's warehouse. Captain says he likes that weapon."

"Then I'll go to him," I say, heading for the lower levels of the bunker, where the firing range is located.

"I'm with you," Motley says suddenly, rising from her chair.

"Nothing against it... In the meantime, I have one suggestion for you."

"And what is that?" the pegasus' attention is focused entirely on me.

"I need you to make a report, give me up-to-date information on the Enclave: their capabilities, tactics, armaments, forces, combat techniques, and the like."

"What?" the pegasus is amazed. She was clearly not expecting such a suggestion and request. "To give the secrets of the Enclave to just anyone..."

"Well, what have you got to lose? You're not in the Enclave anymore anyway, and besides, you're a traitor."

"Don't say that," the pegasus mutters softly, turning her head down in sadness and sighing wistfully. "As if this were commonplace to me."

"I'm sorry," I hug the pegasus. "I understand your reaction to that word because of what it entails. It's okay, you're my most loyal. Saved my beige butt so many times in Red Spark."

"You saved mine, too."

"Well, it's my responsibility. You followed me, not the other way around. I was talking about how you're not going to get any better in the Enclave one way or the other."

Oh... Well said! I only made it worse. The pegasus is indistinguishable from a grim cloud now, her mood visibly tossing in different directions depending on my words. Why would she react like that to my opinion? Or is the subject too sensitive for her?

"I'm sorry to phrase my thoughts in this way. Anyway, the information you know about the Enclave could save a lot of lives, quite good, though flawed ponies."

"Okay... whatever you say. I'll do it."

I hug the pegasus even tighter.

"Good pony. I'll make it worth your while."

"How will you repay me?"

"We'll think of something. Whatever you want."

"Deal."

"You take me to the Steel Rangers and pick me up in twenty-six hours at the same place. I need to study with my magic hacking and repair teachers."

"Whatever you say. I'll get some of my stuff from Stable 53 to bring over here in the meantime. I have a feeling I'm going to be stuck here for a long time with you... all of you." Realizing her caveat, she corrects herself. "All the more reason to tell Cherry about the Northern Soul."

"Do you have any other stuff left over there?"

"Well, of course: I was wearing power armor, and I had some high-tech gear with me, too."

"That's right, I didn't run away with empty pockets. So... You're taking someone else's, and you're taking them skillfully," I grin playfully.

"You make it sound like I'm a sneaky thief!" the pegasus looks at me seriously, and then she lowers her head awkwardly. "Maybe a little, just a little. Yeah, and all the gear's in crap condition after the... incident with the former team members."

"I've seen the aftermath," I mutter, remembering the place I visited on a tip from the head scribe of the Steel Rangers. The pegasus looks at me with interest. "I saw the whole thing. I can only assume you were fighting against your own."

"Yes..."

"What did they want to do?"

"They wanted to know what happened. When they found out what I had done... They decided to bring me back by force. Even my special pony wanted me to surrender voluntarily, because then they wouldn't expel me or execute me, they'd just put me in jail for a long time."

"You didn't want to go back, did you?"

"Yes. And... I hated everyone at that moment. I felt like my lover and the squad had betrayed me. All they wanted was to... mitigate the consequences of my crime... I..."

I can feel the pegasus' body trembling. Her breathing has quickened—just like mine this morning. She's ready to cry. I hug her tighter and pull her to me. She rests her face against my neck.

"I'm awful... Torturing others... Killing friends and loved ones..."

What a good start to the morning. Just beautiful.

Motley sobs softly, hugging me back.

"You're not awful. Circumstances are just the way they are."

I keep hugging her until she calms down. Hugging ponies is nice, especially Motley; too bad with such a sad excuse.

With a confused look, the pegasus pulls out of my embrace.

"What is it?" I ask.

"I... Yeah... never mind. Another bout of self-condemnation."

"What's bothering you?"

"I... don't deserve..."

"Don't deserve what?"

"To be hugged."

"Why?"

"Because I'm... a-awful pony..." her voice is ragged and choppy, as if with a sense of shame throwing these words at me.

I smile and hug her again.

I don't know why I feel like hugging her. Why I relate to her with such warmth. She tortured her sister's suspected murderer without any hard evidence, obtained a rather dubious confession through torture, and then killed him. She was driven by a thirst for justice, because she had originally sued him. Everyone is subject to emotion... and she's... She's just like the rest of us. She did wrong, but I have no right to blame her.

"And I think you deserve a hug," I say. "It also feels good to hold you."

"But..."

"Don't argue with your superiors," I mutter and smile.

The pegasus responds in kind, adding, "As you command... colonel."

"I'm going to go get some breakfast now, and then I'll pay the Captain a visit."

Motley follows me.

***

"Captain," I turn to the ghoul, who levitates Billy's sawed-off shotgun and fires it at the target wall, occasionally doing rolls and tactical maneuvers, "we need to talk."

"What do you want to talk about, sir?" the ghoul asks, stopping his shooting practice and turning to us.

"You remember Private Smoozy?"

"Yes, sir," he pronounces, delaying his answer.

"Can you tell me why you reacted so strongly to the question about the suspicious unicorn that was spotted by the pegasus?"

"That is classified information, sir."

"I think I, as the highest ranking, have a right to know about it. Especially since this information will come in very handy in catching criminal families."

"If that's the way the question is put, sir. This was a training exercise. This apprentice had to run secret training errands without getting caught by base personnel."

"What kind of exercise?"

"The Northern Soul is one of the training grounds, really, the exercises are secret from the rest of the camp. Only a few officers know about it."

I'd already forgotten that for him, the base still serves its strategic function.

"What was the nature of the exercise?" I ask with genuine curiosity. I seem to be onto something interesting.

"Preparation for service in The Controllers," the Captain answers easily and simply. The name makes my twists in the head start to vibrate, like frightened bedbugs after a mattress has come into motion.

"I know about them..." I mutter, not believing my ears. This is the straw that will help me find the rest of the keys, or maybe the entrance to the Dome itself! "And what was this apprentice's name?"

"Eric Frost."

Holy shit! My assumptions about Eric were confirmed. After his first face-to-face meeting with the Controller, he told himself that he wanted to be one of them. Strangely, I didn't recognize his appearance when I looked in the memory orb, since I'd seen him in a picture with his wife. Maybe I didn't remember it well. And that was three weeks ago.

"At the time," the Captain goes on, "he was just beginning to learn—but he had already shown great hopes. He had amazing potential, both intellectual and magical. His logical mind and love of mathematics and accuracy made all the difference: he was a good manager of knowledge and abilities. He turned out to be a true professional in a very short time. And that was the only time he was noticed during the training exercises. I remember he was just beginning the tests and trainings composed by a special branch of the staff. He completed the rest of his exercises within the base without a hitch. Who would have thought that an ordinary bookkeeper would become a Comptroller—usually it was always the other way around when agents created a legend for this or that personnel."

"Do you know much about The Controllers?"

"Only that they were responsible for the security of a major project that had the name of the Dome, " the Captain explains mundanely.

My twists go into a wild, unrestrained dance.

"Do you have information about Dome Project?" I ask with a blaze of curiosity.

"No, sir."

And it immediately goes out, as if a bucket of ice water had been dumped on it.

"The Controllers didn't give me detailed information. Even those who were particularly involved in the project were not aware of everything. Fragmentation of information, in other words. If, after all, The Controllers couldn't protect those involved in the project from the Stripes, the prisoners wouldn't give up all the information to the enemy anyway. Only the Director, Princess Luna, and the initiators of the project themselves, the Ministry Mares, had full access to the project. The Dome is the future of Equestria. That's all I know. It was my responsibility not to leak that the base was a training ground."

"Was the project completed?" I ask hopefully. At least he should know that!

"Unknown, sir."

Son of a...

"At the height of the war, when almost all the Pegasi were also rebelling, hiding behind the clouds, there were great rumors circulating about it. Some say the project was successfully completed, others say it was a total failure, and still others say the project was taken over by the Stripes. I have very little faith in the latter; apparently, this rumor was started by the Stripes themselves in order to agitate the Ministries and tickle the nerves of our great country. However, sir, even this version has its place."

"Why?"

"There was turmoil, murder and betrayal in the ranks of The Controllers at the time, and even Eric was involved. There was no telling whether all that was worth believing. So there were rumors that the project had collapsed or that the Stripes had taken over, but I was sure the agents loyal to the state had resolved it and settled everything. After that there was complete silence. No rumors, no orders from The Controllers—nothing, sir."

It's in the middle of a war—there must have been the megaspell dropped somewhere around that time. The silence can be explained by the fact that the Captain does not know about the end of the world, or that the state is busy with other problems, such as the Pegasi rebellion. However, the betrayals and murders within the ranks of The Controllers and Eric's involvement in them make me concerned.

"You mentioned the Pegasi rebellion," I say. "What do you know about it?"

"Not much. The cowardly traitors have closed behind the clouds!" he exclaims angrily. "I hope Equestria is looking for ways to bring the main rebels to justice. Of course, there weren't traitors everywhere. Here, for example, at the Northern Soul. My soldiers are not miserable cowards! Defending their country and doing their duty no matter what! Running away from their duty! Abandon their country at the most crucial moment! How could they? No wonder the state has allowed crime to proliferate in cities like Vanhoover. And the war with the Stripes, and the rebels, and the criminals, and the problems in the ranks of The Controllers... So much has fallen upon our homeland. What is she being punished for, sir?"

"I have no idea. These are hard times, Steel. You can't give up. You're doing the right thing, and so are your soldiers at the Northern Soul. I admire your loyalty and fortitude in these difficult times."

"Serving Equestria! Thank you, sir," he says excitedly and salutes.

"One more question. What do you know about Eric Frost?"

Okay, that leaves us to pull the last string—Eric. He left his memories behind for a reason; maybe they'll lead me to the trail. But what was Eric doing it for? Was he the traitor The Controllers thought he was? But for what purpose?

"Nice kid. Knows how to get his way, no matter how difficult the challenge. Sensible and considerate. Mastered hoof-fighting to perfection, developed excellent reactions and senses. Within a few years he had honed his skills to the level of a professional. He was even more experienced than his fellow agents. True, he was quiet and would only answer when approached directly. As I mentioned earlier, he had a lot of potential, sir," the Captain's radiation-damaged yellow face shows a smile. "What happened to him after training, I don't know, but a temporary place of residence was written into his file for the duration of his training. Not far away, in a little town east of the Northern Soul, North Park."

"Do you remember the address?"

"Unfortunately, no, sir," the Captain replies guiltily.

"It interested me that you mentioned Eric as being involved in treachery among The Controllers. Why would he be involved all of a sudden?"

"Well... I mean, he became a full-fledged agent, which means he had a direct connection. Before the connection with The Controllers was cut off, there were accusations of betrayal directed at him. I'm not sure, it's just a rumor... If he is a traitor, then... it's very sad, sir, that such a skilled and talented agent sold out to the Stripes."

"Well, okay. Anyway, thanks for the information. It was very helpful to me," I say sincerely and without sarcasm.

"Always at your service, sir," the Captain salutes again. "May I ask you a question?"

"Sure, what is it?"

"May I," the Captain begins, levitating Billy's sawed-off gun in front of me, "have this weapon for the duration of the operation to catch the criminal families?"

"You can have it if you want it," I say, smiling.

"Thank you, sir!" he smiles.

"You're welcome. Good luck with your training," I say and head for the exit of the shooting range.

"What are you up to?" Motley asks me when we're already out of the training room. "And who is Eric? And why is he on your interest list?"

"A pre-war figure, as you might have realized... And stallions are definitely not his type. Besides, it's been two hundred years. He was married... to someone he loved very much. She was murdered, and he was trying to find his place in life. To begin with, his main goal was to find the killers and get revenge, even if he went to jail."

"He can be understood," the pegasus says.

"Yes. He willed without his knowledge to become involved in the creation of the Dome, and that is why he interests me, since he is now the only breadcrumb to 'Legacy of Equestria'—unless, of course, it's a myth and an elaborate scheme to divert the Zebra Intelligence. Later, Erik was personally introduced to a Controller because he began discussing prohibited things. Apparently, he decided to use the Controllers' extensive powers to find the killers. The memory orbs associated with Eric Frost will help me get to the key cards of the Dome, and maybe the project itself."

"Sounds fine to me..."

"What? You're not interested in the Dome at all?"

"No. That's the least of my worries right now. I also think you're wasting your time. Looking for it won't get you anywhere. There hasn't been any information about it in the Enclave either... as far as I know. Speaking of which. I'm going to go make the report."

I nod and glance at the departing pegasus. I blink, realizing I've been staring at her cutimark with its swirling autumn leaves.

"What are you thinking about?" I hear a familiar voice and turn to its source—the gray griffon pacing slowly toward me. "And what are we staring at?" he asks with a lustful smile.

"What do you mean?" I ask innocently. "And what are you doing here in the first place?"

"I was on my way to get something delicious and then I saw a sweet couple... Talking peacefully and warmly."

"Talking about where we're going after the Steel Rangers base."

"I missed that. I saw your gaze go over Motley's butt.

"What are you talking about, anyway? I was just watching my partner walk away and wondered. It was a bad angle from your position, so you imagined something far from the truth."

"You make no secret of the fact that you find her attractive?"

"What, you don't think she's attractive?"

"Argument accepted," Ferris smiles. "Does she know?"

"About what?"

"That you like her."

"Oh. What makes you think I'm partial to her?"

"How? You two got noticeably closer in Red Park. I'd be certainly stealing her for myself."

"So why wouldn't you?"

"Stereotypes..." the griffon mutters resentfully.

"What?"

"Well, you ponies in Equestria have loved all sorts of romantic stories about griffons and pegasi since time immemorial. Strong males, confident and fearless hunters... Mares are attracted to such things when a massive griffon treats them like... prey. We also have big—"

"I got you."

"-wings, I mean," there's a sly, winning smile on his beak.

"So why don't you steal her for yourself?"

"Motley is flexible... Griffons are attracted to strong individuals, especially flying ones. But confident pegasi are incredibly few. So it's more the wet fantasies of mares about griffons, not the other way around. Griffons are attracted to strong and proud females, of which there are plenty among my kind.

"Did you have one of those?"

"Oh, yes..." he says dreamily. "Agile and untamed. Trying to fuck her and not let her seize the initiative is a challenge... But that's the point. Male griffons like to fight, and female griffons want to lose to those stronger than them... Ponies are compliant by nature, which is why mares don't even want to... 'wrestle'. Even though Motley is similar in behavior to a griffon, she won't be able to resist me in bed."

"She's a good fighter, actually."

Ferris raises his clawed paw, clenches it into a fist, and unclenches it.

"I have no problem grabbing her and not letting her out. Pin her to the bed and fuck her. It's too easy for me, as you can see. I'm not interested in that kind of thing. It doesn't even excite me. I'm much more interested when... the prey resists a little. No forcing, that's not what you're thinking. It's a contest for initiative."

"Then you can't handle a uni—"

"Most unicorns have trouble holding a huge griffon in telekinesis. If I grab them by the horn, they can't use magic. So ponies aren't my type. Weaker male griffons prefer ponies because they couldn't overpower a female griffon."

"Griffons like to be dom?"

"Always have and always will. But we've gotten away from the conversation... Why don't you want to fuck Motley?"

He has a simply delightful and straightforward way of putting the question.

"Yes," Ferris smirks, "I can see in your eyes that you want to."

Oh, those griffons.

"Stallions aren't afraid to give the initiative to mares," I say, trying to change the subject of conversation.

"Boring... And low. Don't fall in my eyes, don't let Motley saddle you if it comes to that. You must dominate, rule, and humiliate."

I shake my head condescendingly.

"Unless it's playful," I say. "It made me wonder: how do you feel about gay griffons?"

"Depends on who the active is. A male griffon that can overpower and fuck another male griffon? Oh. That's a hell of an alpha male. That's the kind I respect the most. The fucked one, on the other hand, I view as the female griffon."

"What if they change roles one by one?"

"Then they're both like female griffons. A male should always dominate... So? We're getting away from the original topic of conversation again. Why don't you want to feel her warm moist softness?"

Is he phrasing questions in this way on purpose to excite my fantasy? It only distracts me from my complex treatment of her.

"That's a tough question. I don't even know. I don't want to take responsibility for her life."

"Ah, you're not just feeling attracted to her... Are you starting to like her on a deeper level?"

It gets to him!

"Yes. That's why I don't want to hurt her in any way. I wouldn't forgive myself if anything happened to her."

"Huh... Well, then, do your best to make sure nothing happens to her. You can't guard against everything, after all. But that doesn't mean you have to be afraid of responsibility. It's one thing when you don't want extra responsibility, and it's quite another when you're afraid of responsibility. You just have to learn to accept the consequences for what they are and make a conclusion. Everybody has some kind of responsibility. If you don't know how to take responsibility... You're nothing more than a slave."

I just nod. Ferris pats me on the shoulder and leaves to the dining room.

***

Motley makes the report, and I continue to sharpen my teleportation skills. The spells related to breaking and repairing are quickly mastered, but teleportation takes much longer, as it did when I studied the magical barrier. My tendencies affect my magical abilities, so I cannot sufficiently master barrier and teleportation: they require too much of my inner magic to use several times in a row.

The less magic I have, the longer it will take to regenerate. I can maintain a barrier for no more than two minutes—if it is not attacked. Otherwise, I am capable of maintaining the barrier for twenty seconds. Trying to hold the barrier a little longer will cause a severe headache, as well as a sharp pain in my horn.

Telekinesis actually requires no magical input. Repair and lockpicking spells require relatively few magical resources, but still more than telekinesis.

Time runs on the clock, and my teleportation skills improve a bit through practice. Theory is just a collection of text and symbols, and without practice it loses all meaning. I don't use teleportation in practice, I just try to concentrate magic to use it and disperse the spell at the last moment. I do this in order to learn to use less magic to apply teleportation. However, I still teleport at certain intervals. The main rule of improving spells is repetition, so as to reduce the cost of using them. The right concentration of magic is the key to success. Throwing magic left and right not only depletes it quickly, but also reduces the effectiveness of the spell itself.

I'm automatically good at concentrating and focusing spells in the areas of lockpicking and repairing, since I'm perfectly proficient in those areas without magic, and it doesn't take much practice to improve efficiency.

So, it's time to finally teleport again...

Okay, concentrate the magic in the horn... Flash.

A painful bump against someone's body. I'm lying on top of someone. The spell worked right. It didn't seem to teleport me into the wall...

"Oh," I groan simultaneously with someone else. "What the..."

Did I miss and miscalculate the point of teleportation?

I see the beige pegasus underneath me and scattered scribbled pages of paper on the floor.

Holy... If she'd been even a few inches in the wrong place, I don't know what would have happened!

"What the fuck?!" I say in an angry, loud voice and look at the pegasus lying beneath me. Our faces are only a few inches apart. I can smell her breath—it reeks of sweet almonds. "If you were any closer to where I teleported to, we'd probably be dead or worse!"

"I- I'm sorry... I-I didn't know you teleported here," Motley mumbles guiltily, pulling her gaze away and pressing her ears down.

What on earth was she doing here? And why didn't I notice her when I teleported? It was as if she was hiding, or trying to keep out of my way, but she couldn't think I was teleporting that far away.

How careless of her. Shit... And yet I hadn't teleported again in a long time during my training session before, so she clearly didn't expect me to actually complete the spell.

"Okay," I sighed heavily, looking at the frightened, guilty pony. "Lucky nothing bad happened. Come on," I say, helping Motley up, "get up. No lying on the cold floor or you'll catch a cold. Have you done your report on the Enclave yet?"

"Y-yes," the pegasus hesitantly squeezes out a statement, looking at the scattered papers while I pick them up with magic, putting them in one small stack.

It seems to me that the almond pony... ugh, Motley just doesn't want to look me in the eye because we almost got hurt. Either that or she didn't expect me to get so mad at her. It was my fault, too, for being inconsiderate; her death would have been on my conscience if I had been so close. I hate it so much.

Once I've managed to collect the papers, I look at them.

"I'm sorry again. I really didn't mean to..." Her voice turns to a guilty whisper at the end.

"Oh..." I sigh, glancing over the sheets at the apologetic pony. "I'm not mad anymore," I smile, feeling the remnants of anger still in me. But it's under my control. I won't let anger control me.

Motley cautiously lifts his multicolored eyes at me, and, noticing my faint smile, relaxes.

"Nothing irreparable has happened to us," I add, thinking about the fact that I'm the only one to blame. "And that's all that matters."

Motley is cheered up, and, judging by her facial expression, she's relieved. There is a silence, during which I read the text she wrote. Though I'm focused, the silence feels a little awkward in this case.

"Well done, you've made progress in your training," she says, rubbing her front leg with the other.

"Yeah... thanks," I mutter, trying not to look away from what I've written. My gaze keeps sliding over the text to roughly understand the content. "This is exactly everything we need, isn't it?"

"Everything known to an Enclave scout, which I was, is here. The Enclave rarely changes anything, even in decades. So are we going?"

"Sure. Now I'll get Violet's power armor and we'll head for the Steel Rangers... Also. Don't hide when I'm training. Teleportation isn't very accurate yet, since the farther away you go, the bigger the inaccuracy. I might not arrive where I planned."

"Okay..." she replies in a guilty tone. "I won't do it again."

"I don't want," I say, continuing to read the report on the three surviving sky pegasi cities, "to have your death on my conscience."

"Here I am... my own fault."

"No. I didn't check the surroundings thoroughly. This is all my fault. I could have teleported right into you... Merge with your body or tear you apart."

Motley looks horrified by my words.

"I didn't think it was that serious..."

"Teleportation itself is a dangerous and powerful spell."

"I just didn't want to distract you. And looking at you... made me wonder."

"On what?"

"I was thinking about what you said when we left the Crater. You said that... killed your first love. How did that... happened? What happened?"

My focus disappears in an instant, and I stare blankly at the pages she's written out on the approximate number of pegasi behind the clouds, not knowing what to answer the pegasus.

"I understand," she continues, sighing excitedly, "that it's not easy. And... Oh..."

Killing her loved ones now worries her. My situation is similar to hers, though I don't know the details of her accident. This morning I learned more about what she had to do with her squad.

My heart shrinks from the painful memories, and I sigh deeply, trying to keep my composure. The glowing purple mushrooms reappear before my eyes. My body tenses. I want to burn them all to the ground.

I take a deep breath, and then exhale...

Inhale...

Exhale...

I'll tell her. It's the subject that's occupying her the most right now. Even though I am somewhat resigned to what happened, I will never be cold to it. Perhaps the pegasus would feel better if I told her about that fateful day.

And... she told me about herself. How does it work in the Wasteland? You give to me and I give to you. A barter.

The pegasus shifts restlessly in her seat.

"Hallucinations," I answer honestly. "Hallucinations have happened. We looked into a cave out of curiosity. There were special... mushrooms. Their smell affected us. We were... It was like we were in a dream. I don't know how we ended up there... on a spaceship... I don't know what she imagined, but I imagined that we were abducted by aliens. We... recently watched a movie about them, so I... When one of the aliens attacked me, I started choking him, and I choked him until he fell silent and went soft. After a while the effect went away, and I saw who I had choked..."

"Oh..." the pegasus sighs in shock. She walks over and hugs me.

She doesn't say a word.

"I'm afraid to take someone with me anywhere. Afraid of... of doing it again. I don't want..." The text of the scribbled pages about the Enclave in New Pegasus in front of me loses its clarity—my eyes hurt from the moisture. "More deaths... because of me..."

I feel her front legs hug my neck. My fur on my cheek makes contact with her beige fur on her warm cheek. It tickles. It feels good. Cozy. I don't want it to stop.

"Thank you," I say after a while.

"And to you. For sharing this with me," she mutters, letting me go.

No... More hugs.

I'm about to hug again, but I hold back just in time. I want another hug from her. They make me feel better...

"And... what did I want to do?" I say in a distracted voice. I can't remember where I was going after the reports.

"To go to the Steel Rangers with the... Violet's power armor."

"Oh, right... Let's go."

***

"Motley," I ask with a wistful look on my face as I sit in the copilot's combat Vertibak chair, "can I launch a rocket? I wanted to do something like that incredibly badly when I first saw this combat Vertibuck. "

I'm actually referring to the Enclave's Vertibirds, but the pegasus doesn't need to know that.

"Okay," Motley sighs. "Just don't turn a random stranger into mincemeat, unless, of course, it's a raider."

"Yehey!" I exclaim cheerfully, and immediately press the button, launching the rocket. The rocket flies forward with a loud hiss, leaving a white plume of smoke behind it and heading toward the rock. The rocket explodes against the rock, forming a small yellow-orange flash, followed by a deafening explosion. I bang my hooves against each other with joy like a child.

Motley barely smiles... at my childish behavior, which makes me a little embarrassed. It also makes me embarrassed that she knows about my past. About the horror I've done.

"I hope," Motley begins, flying up to the base, "Berry has warned everyone of our arrival. Otherwise..."

"She saw the Vertibuck and should have described it. We're in no danger. I hope so."

"If anything, I'm not a skilled pilot and I'm not likely to react in time to a flying missile."

As we fly closer and closer, we see small silhouettes of ponies in massive power armor stirring, focusing their attention on us. They point their guns at us, but do not fire. After a moment, a spotlight flashes in our direction. It flickers at regular intervals, as if to attract our attention.

"Looks like," Motley notes, "we're going for it."

We land, the engines go silent.

"Well," the pegasus says, "it's time to get out. I hope my wings don't interest them..."

"That leaves us to rely on 'Berry,'" I say.

Outside we are greeted by Lemon, fully equipped in power armor.

"Hello!" the familiar voice comes out. She still prefers to hide her appearance, even from her 'brothers and sisters'. "It's good to see you. It's been a long time waiting for you."

"Why we needed to hurry?" I smile.

"Indeed. Look, Motley... Unfortunately, I can't take responsibility for two ponies on the base grounds at once. Besides, you're a Vanhoover mercenary, and Vanhoover flying ponies aren't much liked here."

Just as I thought, Lemon had already made up a legend for Motley. Good for her.

"Don't worry," the pegasus replies. "I'm still uneasy indoors surrounded by ponies in power armor."

"Good. You can take to the air from right here. No one will shoot at you."

"Wait for me tomorrow night on Venture where you landed last time."

"Then... have a good day," the pegasus nods and flies away. The Steel Rangers and turrets keep their sights on her until she flies far enough away.

"You were right to tell her earlier not to land here Venture."

"I remember your warning. Just thought I'd play it safe. And yet the Steel Rangers will take my pretty girl away, too?"

"Unfortunately, yes. I can't change their minds. Let's go see the Elder. She doesn't have any meetings right now."

"There's still the Enclave's power armor in the Vertibuck, which I was supposed to give to your head scribe."

"Don't worry. He'll know all about it."

***

"So," Largo Breeze says, looking up after reading the report from Lemon. We are now in her office. "The Northern Soul is fit to set up another base, despite the radiation background in some of the rooms," the Elder reflects aloud, but I interrupt her. There is no one here but me, Lemon, and the Elder herself.

"It's not a wise idea at the moment, Elder," I say.

"Are you interrupting me?" she frowns.

"Yes. I advise you not to develop the idea of taking over this facility. There are several reasons. And I ask you to listen to me first, and then decide what you want."

"Let us hear your tale," the Elder says without much enthusiasm.

I tell the Elder the same thing I told Lemon when the latter mentioned that the Rangers would want to occupy the site.

"...So it's best to wait now until Steel Sun gets used to me. It is a known fact that the entire unit is not transferred entirely without substantial reason. If I order it now, he'll get suspicious of me—and then bye-bye your the Northern Soul."

"Hmm," the Elder sinks into thought, focusing his gaze on me. "All right, so be it," she waves her hoof. "I'll give you no more than a month. Then we'll see. How's the search for the Dome going?"

"Pulling at straws so far. Went to one abandoned Stable, but the key card wasn't there, though it should have been. That means it's going to be hard to find. Unless, of course, I happen to find it under a rock. And I almost forgot: do you know about the Enclave?" Largo Breeze is, to put it mildly, surprised at my words.

"What Stable?" she inquires.

"Deep inside the ruins of Red Spark; you can't get there anyway. So... what do you know about the Enclave?"

"We've known about the existence of the Enclave for a long time. What's that part of the case?"

"Directly," I say, pulling out a stack of paper from my bags containing all the information available to a recon officer about the Enclave."

Largo looks at me in surprise, and then at the papers. She takes them with a frown and begins to read them. As she reads, the Elder's eyes widen more and more.

"Is this a detailed up-to-date description of the Enclave?" she asks, barely hearing the words, as if not believing them.

"It is the very same. Believe me, the source is reliable. From a former Enclave recon officer. It's been about a year, so the information is fresh. I think you can glean valuable knowledge from it and you'll be ready in case the Enclave shows up."

"Why should they suddenly appear?"

"I don't know. Call it a hunch. They've kept their noses down and done mostly just reconnaissance for enough time—because they've been preparing for something. So it wouldn't hurt you to prepare for their arrival, either: you never know what might happen."

"This information is invaluable. We will take the necessary steps," the Elder says, nodding. "Do you have anything else to report?" I shake my head negatively. "Good. You go to the head scribe, Willford, and give him the blueprints, or at least a copy—I don't care—as long as we have one copy. Dismissed."

"That went pretty well," Lemon tells me outside the office door, glancing at it before doing so.

"Not bad? I got the Vertibuck, the blueprints, the Enclave power armor, the report... And she treats me no better than a skeleton on the road."

"Don't be so hard on her. She's made mistakes in the past and now she's responsible."

"I know how heavy the burden of the consequences of our decisions are."

"Well, okay. Have fun. I'm sure Iron is looking forward to seeing you: so much work you've given him with your findings."

I nod and head for the workshop.

The gray unicorn is chatting excitedly about something with several scribes in the main workshop. I wait on the sidelines while they discuss their primary business. After a few minutes of this impromptu council, they disperse, and Iron is also about to go somewhere, but I immediately stop him.

"You were looking for me, weren't you?"

"Seduce me Celestia! Of course!" the old pony glows with happiness. "I was sure you could do it and find the Enclave armor. Let me make a copy of the Vertibuck blueprints and give you a holodisk that has the whole book on magical repair written on it. I knew you could do it, so I prepared an electronic version of the book for you in advance so you wouldn't waste time copying it. Read at least a little: you don't have to read everything, because there's a lot of unnecessary stuff in there. In practice, I'll show you later how to properly allocate your magical powers when repairing complex technology. Come back tomorrow morning."

"No problem," I reply. I already know where I'm going now—to practice lockpicking spells, unless, of course, teacher Greenkeys is busy with something important. "Oh! I almost forgot. My second PipBuck has the blueprints copied from a certain weapons factory, The New Features."

"I've heard of it. The equipment there covered many kinds of firearms, from the small-bore pistol to the anitmachine rifle."

"So, I managed to get drawings of their equipment..."

"Really? A rusty horseshoe, that's great! We'll be able to modify our own equipment and workbenches to achieve greater efficiency in firearms and adapt them for other needs. Thank you, my friend."

"But in exchange for that, I need spark batteries."

"I'll try to get some fully charged batteries, but I can't promise anything. After all, that sort of stuff can't be found on the road."

"I know."

After making a copy of the Vertibuck blueprints and the factory hardware, and getting the holodisk, I head for the Greenkeys' apartment, though I doubt I'll catch her: it's daytime, and everyone is busy with important things to do.

I get there and find that she's really not there. I decide to go to the room where I first saw her. Fortunately, there I find her, but she is extremely busy and says that she has a lot of work until tonight, but then she will take care of me and my training.

'Take care of me' sounded a little double talk. She's happy to see me.

I have no choice but to go back to the workshop, since almost all the scribes have gone to the surface to study flying transport; it's relatively quiet.

I learn that the Vertibuck has been dragged into the base's railroad depot, since the interior was not meant to host any kind of transport. I have a feeling it will soon become more than just a railroad depot. I wonder if there are any railroad cars or any locomotives?

Right now there are only a few scribes and a couple of guards in the workshop, apparently to prevent the loss of expensive gear. After loading the holodisk into Pip-Boy, I see that there is a lot of text. It will take about forty hours of uninterrupted reading just to read to the end. Now I know how complicated the master level spell books are.

I understand the engineering part almost without a problem, but when it starts combining with magic, it becomes difficult to master the material. It's not really difficult, but it's not really easy to learn either. However, during my time in this world, I gradually become aware of the magical concept—though my understanding is somewhere on an average level, not higher.

I study the book of spells until the evening. My head just can't take so much theory anymore. It feels like I have bugs in my head right now, panicking from the influx of text, running a marathon through my brain. I definitely need a drink, and I forgot the booze in my bunker. I'm gonna go to Discharger. Maybe I'll run into Maneuver and Lemon on the way, though with the tension between them it's unlikely they'll show up together.

***

After I buy myself a bottle of the strongest whiskey I can find, I go up to the second level and sit down at a free table. I sip my drink little by little, and a pink mare comes up to me. Oops. It's a stallion. He has a light shade of pink with a mane and tail the same color, only much darker. I haven't seen stallions with this coloring yet, I've usually seen it among mares. I even imagined Flow for a moment because of mental exhaustion. He has a bottle of bourbon with him.

"Hello," he begins in a sanctimonious tone. "What are your motives now, slaver?"

"What makes you think I'm a slaver?" I wonder a little.

"Well, what are you, if not one. Cool gear and all."

"Oh, please," I groan in exhaustion. "Don't brainstorm. I've already spent over four hours studying the spell book, especially from the Pip-Boy screen."

"Pip-Boy?" he asks confusedly.

"PipBuck... I misspoke. I can't catch my train of thought anymore, just the lines from the book beating against the walls of my mind, demanding attention, and I want to drown them out with alcohol, at least for a while. And you talk like you know me."

"Bubblegum," the pink stallion replies.

The nickname makes me all tense. Lilac's breathless body is in front of my face, and the voice goes off behind me, "One less parasite."

"Oh, I see you remembered," he murmurs.

Every word he says, every look he gives me, every breath he takes... It's all so annoying! My jaw is clenched in anger. Why did he even come up to me?!

"Why are you here?"

"Actually, this is my house," the pink stallion says. I want to punch him in the face! "I'm protecting it. And I don't like you being here."

My teeth are clenched to the point of pain. I feel a growing shudder that I want to unleash... against the asshole's face!

"As unfortunate as it is to admit it," he adds. "Most of my brothers and sisters are happy to see you. Especially today. The Vertibuck and its blueprints, the Enclave's power armor. Everyone is squealing with delight. How much could some pa—" he stammers before the last word, looking up into my face, "pony from the Wasteland."

Quiet, calm down... Keep your cool.

"They say," Bubblegum continues, "you were able to infiltrate the Northern Soul and have been to Red Spark... In those impassable ruins with raiders and radiation. You really shouldn't be pissed off. Though you hold yourself with dignity."

The confusion eases my anger a little.

"What do you mean...?"

"I wanted to test your self-control, given your reaction when I... Anyway, never mind. I'll keep my opinion to myself. Since most ponies seem to like you so much... I won't upset them, and I also won't force you to set up the Star Paladin because of my ploy."

Lemon is responsible for all my actions. If I beat this fucker up, she'll be the first one to get in trouble, and her being overweight has made it hard enough as it is. I have to at least hold back for her sake.

I sigh deeply and carefully, as if I'm afraid that one move of mine might push me into action.

"So," the pink stallion continues, "how did you get into the Northern Soul?"

"Simple and graceful—a distraction and a run for your life."

"Not bad. How did you survive Red Spark?"

"Picked the right allies."

He nods impressed.

"You amaze me. I envy you."

"Yeah?"

"Just because I'm pink... Don't you have something to say about that?"

Honestly, I don't care what he looks like, I want to break every bone in his body.

"No," I reply.

"And you don't want to tell me to suck your dick or anything like that at all?"

"Uh... what?"

I can't understand at all, what does that have to do with anything?

"I'm already sick of it because of the color of my fur. One fucking time after another. So what if it's pink? So what if my mane is pink? What's the difference? Is that a reason to pick on me? It pisses me off, and I'm always getting into fights over it. I wonder if I can hold back this time."

"You want—"

"Yes. I want you to not be petty. You obviously hate me, so you won't hold back. You'll spill the shit on me. You're going to be a test for me."

"Why?"

"The Steel Ranger has to be strong like steel. I want to learn to control myself. If I survive the worst insults, it will be easier from here."

"That's not how it works. And I don't want to inconvenience the Star Paladin if we beat the crap out of each other."

"Let's go outside the base, then. You don't have to hold back there."

Oh... What a... Too... tempting offer. Beat him half to death... I might even make him pissed off.

Wait... What's pissing him off? That he likes to fuck other stallions? Or that it's a stereotypical prejudice because of the color of his fur?

"No," I say through effort: restrained, slow, choosing my words carefully. "I feel like beating you up, but not insulting you because you might prefer sausage to flower."

"I'm not interested in either. What pisses me off is prejudice. Anyway... I won't tease you anymore. You seem like... You seem like a nice guy. You're good for us, so I'll leave you alone."

"Thank you."

There's still an echo in my body from the shivers of my anger. I should get some air and cool off in the fresh air, but... it's cold outside.

I shiver.

I have to think in the opposite direction. Where can I warm up and relax? A warm shower? Boring and lonely. Someone's embrace? Oh! Good direction... Motley? No, far away. And why her? Because of today's hug?

Greenkeys? That's right. That's where I'm going.

I end up at the Greenkeys' apartment. I'm almost out of alcohol on the way... Thanks to the implants. I lift my foot to knock—the door opens, and behind it stands the mint pony with a bright mane. When she sees me, she's all bright with a smile.

"I was wondering when you were going to visit me. I need to see how your lockpicking skills have progressed."

"Sure, I'll show you what I've learned," I say and walk over to the practice lock in her room. Concentrating on the lock, I effortlessly use my magic to open it.

"Look at you," she nods approvingly, "really progressing. You're learning fast: your magic is adapted to this craft, after all. Those who have no talent for it achieve everything through long and difficult training, but you do in a couple of weeks."

"I'm a fast learner," I smile.

"No. It's just that you've mastered a screwdriver and a bobby pin, and now you just apply those skills magically—luckily, your magic responds with 'consent' to lockpicking spells. But you still have a lot to learn. It's a pleasure to study with such a... capable and diligent student. Let me show you."

We practice together all evening.

She shows me her tricks, and I try to repeat them, which I do with varying success—although I waste a lot of my magic. Surprisingly, this time the unicorn is more in tune with me. With such solid and kind support, I'm confident, which affects my success. I'm definitely enjoying myself with her... learning, even though I'm already feeling tired.

"Wow," Greenkeys is pleasantly impressed after hours of training. "You never cease to amaze me. You can pick any lock in seconds, just don't do it so often," the minty pony looks at me, sweaty and tired. She puts her hoof on me. "Your magic isn't used to using it this often yet. It will take time to perfect it, but you'll do fine, considering how you're progressing. Now you need to recover and rest."

Her horn glows with a silver light, and I sigh frantically at the pleasurable sensations in my pelvic area... in my crotch. She wraps her magic around my sack and stimulates me under my tail. Slowly and gently. I can feel myself becoming rapidly aroused.

Greenkeys whispers in my ear, "I can help you," and leans down to my neck and greedily sinks her lips into it.

My back arches from the rush of pleasure, from the pleasant and slightly ticklish touch of her lips on my neck; she breaks off and pokes her nose into my shoulder fur and inhales deeply. It turns me on how much she enjoys me.

"I love the smell of you..." she adds, continuing to play her magic down and not touching the most important place that is beginning to grow hard. She touches my shoulder with her tongue and leads it to the kissing spot on my neck, causing a pleasant wave of pleasure. "You want to feel that tongue down there again... don't you?"

"Yes..." I say with a gasp.

She dives under me and pokes at my almost hard organ with her nose, and inhales my scent again. I sigh convulsively at the sudden touch of her wet and elastic tongue.

***

The 11th of the Month of Heather, Greenday. The forty-ninth day of my stay.

I am in a tight and warm embrace, and my head is at the level of a mint-colored chest that slowly goes down and up, and I breathe in that pleasant scent of her fur. Greenkeys has her lovely front legs wrapped around my head, and she rests her head on top of me without touching my horn.

It feels so good. I feel incredibly lazy, and I don't want to get up. Let the Dome go to hell.

I lie still for twenty minutes, and then I feel the mint pony move and take her time to release the embrace.

"Good morning, how did you sleep?" Greenkeys asks, stretching lazily and yawning sweetly.

"Fine. From the second time you guessed my preferences... I'm impressed with your creativity."

"I read a lot. I am, after all, the proctor for the Order of the Quill of an entire Steel Ranger unit. I'm always drawn to knowledge, to the study of something... or someone. Stallions like the attention to everything underneath. What else do you like?"

"What's all about me... You don't even give me a hint what turns you on the most."

"Well..." she turns her head and looks up at the ceiling. I do the same. "At least you're already turning me on anyway."

"And in what way? My charm? My voice? Satisfaction techniques...?"

"It's all secondary and almost irrelevant to me." She turns her head toward me, looking me in the eye, and brings her hoof to my forehead. "That's what." For a moment I'm surprised, raising an eyebrow. Now that's something I wasn't expecting. "Yes," she adds, taking her hoof away and looking back at the ceiling. I, on the other hand, look at her expectantly. "Yes... That's what I appreciate the most. You have a rather extensive knowledge of locks, and I understand you're also good at technology. If you can survive Red Spark and the Northern Soul... then you possess not only knowledge, but also a reasonable amount of confidence."

"Well... I wasn't the only one."

"I know that, but since others followed you, even Lemon was among them, that... means a lot."

"Didn't the Steel Rangers send her to watch me?" The minty unicorn snorts and smiles at this question, looking at me again with her silver-colored eyes.

"Imagine if a high-ranking pony of some organization went after some wanderer. Silly, isn't it? She followed you because she saw something in you that appealed to her. Members of the Steel Rangers, to varying degrees, always value intelligence in others first."

She also wants to be more with people who don't stare at her obliquely because of her extra weight.

"But you still don't like ghouls... Neither does Vanhoover."

"Oh, you know how to ruin such a heartwarming moment. Yes, there is such a thing. Ghouls can go feral at any moment, once they've experienced strong negative emotions. Ghouls have significant hormonal fluctuations all the time. We can't risk the lives of others. And yes, just because we don't like ghouls doesn't mean we don't accept them. If a ghoul has extensive knowledge, the likelihood of going feral drops substantially, since educated individuals are supposedly more aware of their emotions and behavior."

"And how do you yourself feel about ghouls?"

"Neutral, as long as they're not around. Although looking at the necrosis of the skin up close is... creepy, to say the least. And then there's that disgusting smell of decomposition. I'm too... sensitive to smells, in case you haven't noticed how I've been burying my nose in you all the time. I can't stand the smell of decomposition and putrefaction... You know, you and I have gotten off on the wrong foot."

"I agree. And I'll probably go, too. For a training session with Iron," I say and look at the PipBuck—it's half past ten.

Wow, we slept a lot. I'm full of energy, though, and I'm ready to ride a Deathclaw.

I get out of bed and go get dressed.

"There was disappointment in your voice," she begins, still lying in bed. "Did I say something wrong?"

"Just the sudden thought of ghouls has dispelled my mood for soulful conversation, that's all. You know," I say as I get dressed and gather my gear, "I will say, after all, what I am attracted to in others. Yes, I, too, am attracted to educated, sensible, and more or less confident individuals, but... in the Wasteland, where education is a critical problem, I only need to see them as reasonable and inventive, with a thirst for new ideas and learning, and some sense of humor. Well... And, in addition, an awareness of their emotions, beliefs and behavior. The ability not to make hasty decisions that you'll regret. In other words, to be able to analyze yourself. That's it, nothing more specific," I ponder, pausing for a moment, but after a few seconds I continue. "And then again... In addition to personal characteristics, I am noticeably attracted—rather, tangibly aroused—by so-called body language and everything connected with it. Also wet and clean bodies." By this point in my monologue, I manage to pull myself together completely. "So, did you hear what you wanted to hear?"

"More than that," she nods, smiling weakly. "Thanks for the company."

"You too, my mint. And don't take my disappointment with the ghoul theme personally."

"I don't."

"Оh. Good for you," I wink. "Until next time."

"Yeah," she pronounces, continuing to lie in bed.

I leave the apartment. I walk to the head scribe, Iron Willford, to finally apply that theory I've been working so hard to learn. Now, with a fresh and clear head, I should easily be able to master those spells. On the way, I stop at Discharger and have a meat casserole with mashed potatoes. I seek out the head scribe in the workshop and find him looking at the copies of the Vertibuck blueprints on his desk, carefully examining every detail.

"I hope you're not too busy?" I call to the scribe, approaching him. He looks up at me and barely smiles.

"I thought," he begins, "you were coming in early."

"Business," I say, absent-mindedly looking at the blueprints.

"What other business can young ponies have but bedtime?" Willford Sr. chuckles "Come on, I've got till noon for now, then I'll be busy organizing and coordinating the scribes. You've given us so much hassle by bringing in the Vertibuck, but you've also given us a lot of opportunity. My daughter is just indescribably thrilled with the Vertibuck you got."

"Hadn't you managed to capture a military flying transport before that?"

"No. After the fever bombs fell, the Enclave collected almost all military equipment and technology, leaving only places with potentially high risk of death for their soldiers during capture, like the Northern Soul. And such a takeover would have attracted extra attention—they wanted to minimize their presence. If they did engage in open conflict, it was in territories outside of Equestria, like the Griffon Kingdom."

"Know enough about the Enclave. And still couldn't find the armor?"

"Naturally. They collect technology just like we do. Only they possess many more personnel. Though only a small fraction of them are combat personnel, the rest are ordinary civilians who sometimes by their stupidity—or by compulsion, like the Dashites—fall into the hooves of some raiders, slave traders, and so on. In general, the information comes from them, not from the soldiers. The Enclave is the biggest threat to all the Steel Rangers. And here we have Prince and Kings."

"Are Kings really that powerful?"

"They're self-righteous assholes, so they almost never cooperate with each other, but I give them credit. Some have not only experience, but also powerful weapons and technology. I'm curious, though, where did you get the Enclave's power armor?"

"Red Spark, the leader of the raiders, had it. A trophy. Turns out the tip you gave me to start the search was confirmed. The Enclave was there. But the conflict was between the soldiers themselves, judging by the battle tracks. I found out at the Crater that there was a group of raiders nearby at the time, and they took one corpse, and with it the armor and trophies. It seems they even got into a fight with someone else, maybe another group of raiders, or maybe the masters of Vanhoover, so the rest of the trophies went to someone else."

"Strange..." the elderly gray unicorn thinks deeply.

"What is?"

He looks me in the eye.

"The Enclave usually keeps an eye on their own, especially the soldiers. Even the dead ones, if their bodies are found."

"What about the Vanhoover Jammer Tower?"

"That's no problem. It's enough to get inside the radar 'dome'."

"Strange indeed that it wasn't traced in such a case."

Motley and the members of her squad were lucky they hadn't been followed here in the Wasteland. Or maybe they were, but they lost the trail. Motley had traveled far north of New Pegasus, which is in the clouds near Hoofland.

"Anyway, thanks again for the power armor and the Vertibuck."

"Can I ask you something?" I ask, remembering the following.

"What kind of request?"

"Can you give me, besides the Spark Batteries, some other rare power armor components that are hard to repair with my magic at this stage? And I need some sort of tracking device that I can set up in some place and track it through PipBuck."

"Of course," Willford looks at me, squinting. I need that sensor for Venture, so that I always know where she is. "I won't even ask why. The Star Paladin trusts you, and I will. And let me have a quick look at the armor you're wearing."

"Why?" I wonder a little, looking at my armor with confusion. "What's wrong with it?"

"I haven't seen armor like that... I'd like to take a look," Willford replies with sparks of interest in his eyes. Without further ado, I remove all my gear, followed by the armor, and hand it to Iron. He examines it, using several tools and connecting several wires to it. As he examines and analyzes it, the older scribe's face becomes more and more surprised.

"Do you know what it is?" he asks rhetorically, placing the armor on the tool table.

"Know what?"

"It's a stealth armor."

No shit... I've been wearing a stealth armor this whole time and didn't know that?!

"Only," Iron continues. "There's no stealth field generator."

"I noticed that the armor was missing a module too, only it never occurred to me what it might be."

"No wonder," he says, looking at the armor. "It distributes external energy throughout the material, reducing the pressure on your body at one particular point. The layer of high-tech fabric is very dense, which protects your body from the effects, whether it's high or low temperatures or radiation. However, the armor can easily be repaired without parts or tools by any skilled technician, using only magic repair spells—susceptibility to magic is very good for its repair. These fabrics are an excellent conductor for magic, just as copper is for electricity. I mean, for that reason, magic stitches fabrics together quickly. It's true that the armor plates are ordinary, and they have to either be reconstructed with spells or replaced with new ones."

"So all armor except the plates can be easily repaired, no matter how bad the damage?"

"Yes. By the way, if there was a stealth module here, we should assume that the armor should also tolerate the invisibility spell applied by the armor carrier as well as the action of the StealthBucks."

"So it turns out that the duration of StealthBucks effects is increased?"

"About twice as long. You know that the smaller the object, the less energy it takes to create and maintain a stealth field around it, right? The magic will have no problem spreading through the armor as well as the external energy."

So the stealth field duration of my modified PipBoy increased.

"So will you take this armor for your project?" I ask reluctantly.

"I could, but no. And it's not because there's no generated stealth field. Rare material plays a big role. The composition of the rare fabrics won't allow me to use the technology, but the idea comes in handy in creating lightweight power armor with stealth mode. So... personally, I don't need it." I look at the scribe. He makes a facial expression telling me not to mention this conversation in front of the other Rangers. "In any case, I'll be more preoccupied with the Vertibuck right now than I am with my dream... I mean, the project. Enough talk, my dear apprentice. Let's get down to training."

"With great pleasure!" I utter, putting Nightwatch armor back on.

***

The time spent studying with Iron Willford flies quickly and unnoticed, like a bullet whizzing past the face of an 'accurate' raider. Iron is a wonderful teacher, able to engage with his subject: he explained quite clearly and simply, and I easily grasped everything on the fly. Of course, there's fun in learning with Greenkeys, too—but Iron acts like a father, noticing how closely I listen to him and that I do have an aptitude for the craft.

I am, he says, progressing very quickly—as if I've been a repairpony without magic all my life, but I have a great tendency to use it—and I learned how to wield a wrench and a hammer in my mother's womb. Nevertheless, this job requires patience, endurance and attention if I want to make miracles. Of course, even at this rate of mastering spells, I'm a long way from Willford's skill. Still, there are some aspects of being a professional repairpony in this world that are a little different, all because magic plays a big role here, and many of the technologies are based on it. Like PipBucks.

Ponies... everything on a silver platter. Mankind had to work longer to create technology, and these guys basically reached our level with magic. Lucky bastards.

Eventually my skills have increased significantly, just like with the Greenkeys' lessons, I shouldn't use these spells over and over again: I need to take a break to let the magic get used to such a quick learning process. Iron even joked that it was as if I hadn't used magic until last year. The joke made him laugh, but not so much for me—he was closer to the truth than he would have guessed.

Simply put, I don't have much magic. It's slightly above average, though, since I've already trained my magic a bit—besides repair and lockpicking—on teleportation and barrier spells. The only thing that's easy is telekinesis. Really, what's so unusual about it? You take an object and move it with your mind. Such a careless observation might make a strong impression on the scientists of my world.

So, after finishing my training, Willford Sr. asks me to come back to practice some more—and to see how far I get in the spells.

I take some power armor components, which will come in handy when I repair Motley's Enclave armor, and a small electromagic beacon that can be tracked over great distances. That's what I'm going to install in Venture in the navigation system, so that I can detect the returning signal, that is, me, if I get lost in some wilderness.

I'm also finding out more about spells that slow down the deterioration of weapons and equipment. The better I know them, the more effective they will be. I also find out about spells that damage tech, which don't really sound like much, and at first glance I don't really know why I need them. But! As Dr. Zero responded to my comment that taking apart machines is an unimpressive activity, "That's when your life is threatened by a functioning robot, you'll wish I were around."

Indeed, even such spells are not unnecessary. For example, if I have nothing to shoot and my opponent has a powerful weapon. Or if I'm attacked by a deadly, high-tech robot. I might be able to disable something in the weapon design or some important element of the system. True, as Iron warns, some technology has protection against such deleterious effects. That is, the same spells that prevent deterioration.

And all such spells are in the book provided by Willford. I'm burning with an unbridled desire to learn something like that. The pans will certainly last longer now...

After training, I seek out Lemon in the bunker, who happily agrees to come with me again. She is comfortable in my company.

***

I climb the huge gray boulder that Venture is supposed to land next to. I lie down on it—although the surface is more or less flat—and think, for example, about the hardness of rocks...

Lemon is standing next to me in her power armor.

"How's it laying?" she asks.

"It's not the soft bed of the Luxury, of course, but contemplating the clouds is a separate pleasure. Plus, there's a lot to ponder. For example, why the rocks are hard. I mean, maybe they're actually soft, just tense up when we touch them."

"Oh, yeah," Lemon giggles. "You always make something up that doesn't make sense."

"Why doesn't? It makes sense," I say in all seriousness.

"Yeah, well... Oh, I can hear the roar of the propellers already."

After a few moments, the source of the sound itself appears. My lovely and incomparable Venture soars effortlessly among the gray clouds like a swallow. She is so delightful in this evening time. I feel a joyful smile on my face.

"She's transformed since the last time I saw her. A new outfit in the form of a matte gray hull."

"Troy Steelmane did his best," I say.

"As you can see, this family is the only one who keeps their word honestly."

Yeah, except they didn't originally believe we'd be able to get into the Northern Soul alive, and they just wanted to get me out of their manor.

The Vertibuck lands, and Motley comes out of it. Lemon walks over and hugs her, then goes up inside. I follow and hand the pegasus the Spark Batteries.

"A gift," I say with a smile.

"How nice. Thank you for thinking of me," the pegasus hugs me.

"It's nothing special, my grateful angel. It's just compensation for those batteries we used to blow up the bridge in Red Spark. And there's something about you that's got you hugging lately," I remark with a restrained, sly smile.

"Well... it's..." she says hesitantly. "A rare thing in the Wasteland."

"Giving gifts?"

"Yes. I mean, no. I meant that Spark Batteries are quite rare in the vastness of the Wasteland, and also expensive," her smile is curvier than the lines a child draws in his early years.

"You're welcome."

We set a course for Heavenly Harbor.

Back in my nest, I go to get some of my gear and tools. Using the blueprints, I set up a beacon that sends a barely perceptible but steady signal that I can track with the PipBuck.

Ferris goes hunting, and I decide to examine Motley's power armor, which she took from Stable 53, in an attempt to repair it. At a glance, I realize it will take more than a day. Without tools and magical powers, it's impossible to repair it properly. Well, at least I'll try to fix what I can. I'll put into practice what I've learned from the repair spell book and from Willford.

"How much you do for Motley," Lemon says, coming up behind me. I set my tools aside and look at her. "It's envious."

"What do you mean?"

"Giving her expensive Spark Batteries... Fixing her power armor which isn't easy either."

"Great opportunity to put spells into practice. Skills need to be honed and kept up to date. Motley, by the way, is doing just that right now."

"You mean the flying exercises?"

"Exactly. I want my friends to be provided for. Our lives depend on it. Spark Batteries and serviceable armor mean my flying friend is as effective as possible in combat."

"What about Bluerise, whom you gave twenty thousand caps to?" the lemon earth pony openly displays her smile of disbelief. "Also for fighting?"

"Investments. Just investments. A trader on our side in Vanhoover would be useful."

"And nothing else?" the mare asks still with the same smile.

"Yes."

Lemon's green eyes focus on me. That 'I-don't-believe-you' smile doesn't disappear from her lips.

What is she up to...

"I have long noticed your generosity... But it's clearly displayed towards those you value or... who you care about. I think Motley is lucky to be attracted to a stallion like you."

My lips are tightly pressed together, my cheeks burning.

Lemon, for fuck's sake!

"Ha!" she exhales, looking at me and smiling even wider. "Now you've given yourself away! I can see you care about her already."

"How did you guess?"

"Just poked a hoof in the sky," she shrugs, smiling victoriously. "I wanted to test your reaction. And I hit the bull's-eye."

"Don't tell her."

"Even though I can figure it out roughly, I'm still going to ask. Why?"

"I don't know. Yes... I confess. I'm starting to think about her more often."

"Did something happen between you two?"

"You could say that."

"Oh, did the lock and the key meet each other?" Lemon asks, playing with his eyebrows.

"No."

"I suppose she'll also enjoy the feel of your cock inside."

"Lemon!" I almost shout out, feeling the heat on my face.

"Hush," the lemon earth pony raises her hooves. "I'm 'Berry' to everyone, don't forget. And what did I say wrong?"

"Don't make me think of her in that way. I'm actually on a case here."

"Oh, right," she takes a quick look at the energy weapon mangled elements of the Enclave's black power armor. "So... what happened?"

"It's hard to say. I don't fully understand it myself. I like her, so I don't want to take responsibility for her. She deserves a quiet life."

Lemon laughs.

"Her and a quiet life? I mean, she's a former Enclave scout. She plays with fire the same way you do. And thanks to her wings, she can escape any situation."

But not the situation that Brisa and I found ourselves in.

"Although," she continues. "You can't escape everything, given the world we live in. The Steel Rangers are comfortable living in isolation from the rest of the world. We try not to get involved in anything unless the situation involves technology. We avoid deaths by starvation, disease, the environment. Comfortable and safe conditions. The best place for a family."

"What do you suggest?"

"Accept the fact that you might lose her."

"I've lost loved ones before. It hurts. Especially if I'm responsible for their lives."

"And who says it's easy to lose loved ones? We all have to deal with it. To be afraid of mutants is not to go to the Wasteland. I'm still haunted by the fate of my parents in Stable 66. It happened twenty years ago, but I can't stop thinking about it. The uncertainty poisons me. Anyway, think about it. I did tell you the truth about Motley being lucky enough to have your eye on her."

"Why?"

"Because I think so. That's all. I'm also jealous of her... I envy her that she has no one. Unlike me. Well, I won't interrupt. I'm going to try something else with the Heavenly Harbor security system. I have some ideas," Lemon says as she turns to leave.
I'm alone now. Alone with myself and my thoughts.

***

The 12th of the Month of Heather, Cyanday. The fiftieth day of my stay.

As soon as I asked the Captain to come with me on the mission, he just glowed with joy. It's a good thing he wasn't literally... in his case. His assignment, like mine and Motley's, is to visit North Park. Lemon stayed behind to keep up with the bunker's computer systems so that the robots wouldn't malfunction during the fluctuations.

We headed to North Park after breakfast.

"It's chilly here, like a snowman's ass, but beautiful nonetheless," I remark, looking at the little town before me from the roof of the old three-story hotel. It's dark and windy now; I use my helmet's night vision feature.

Along the way, I ask the Captain if he knows the town personally. He replies that he knows it in general, as he's been there a couple of times on assignments.

This small town is located in a kind of gorge between the Vanhoover region and the mountains to the north. This is one of the passageways into the Vanhoover region. Next comes a labyrinth of gorges, and then the territory of the Griffon Kingdom begins.

To the north, a thick snow-covered forest can be seen beyond the town, stretching from one to the other edge of the gorge and consisting mostly of spruce trees. Almost everything in town is covered with snow. North Park is dominated by small buildings and houses no higher than five stories, mostly residential. In the center of town is the town hall, which is flanked on both sides by an old highway that runs from south to north and, judging by its size, is the main street. White yao guai walk along some of the city's streets.

Fine, the adventure promises to be interesting.

"So how are we going to find Eric's house in this town?" I ask, turning to the Captain. "It could take days."

"Let's ask the residents," the Captain replies.

Of course. The conversation with the skeletons promises to be extremely informative. Or is he talking about the yao guais?

"We could go to the mayor and ask him for an address. Or at least talk to the ponies who keep the records."

That makes sense. There's got to be some information about the residents left at the town hall. That's how we decide. I bring my Apostle—Defender, Whispering Night, the shock sword, and the revolver of this world.

"We move out to the town hall, find the address, and then look for the house."

"Roger that, sir," the ghoul salutes, lifting Billy's sawed-off shotgun with a magical grip. Motley just nods in her helmet.

We go down to the hotel and encounter a few feral ghouls along the way, which we have no problem dealing with. The Captain is surprised by the aggression from the civilians. I explain that they apparently worked for the zebras and were traitors. Steel Sun believes these words, as if I had said that water is water. Here the ghouls do not obey him—it proves that he has a unique connection only with the feral ghouls of the Northern Soul.

Strangely, there is almost nothing useful inside the hotel, just bicentennial dust and dirt. Sometimes I wonder if marauders have already worked here before me. They could not loot only what is locked with difficult locks, of which there are not many, and inside the safes only old papers and pre-war coins of different weights, and therefore also values. I only bring coins. In the hotel owner's safe I find a local magnum and a couple dozen rounds of ammunition, the rest of the contents being documents relating to his business. I take the gun and the ammunition.

The Captain doesn't like me breaking into safes. I have to convince him that I am removing these items to investigate the capture of criminal families and that the weapons may belong to one of them. He believes it again. After this incident, I send him off to inspect the area so I can go through the chests and lockers myself.

"I genuinely feel sorry for him," Motley utters as soon as Steel Sun is gone.

"Why?" I ask, focusing on another safe in one of the rooms with time-damaged furniture and crumbling wallpaper.

"I don't even know," she approaches the window. "It's all jumbled up in his head, present and past. Although it's as if he can see the past and feel good about it, it's just a product of his imagination mixed in with his memories. An illusion."

"Who cares? What matters is how he feels. If he feels good, why dispel them? It's like a virtual simulation."

"There's nothing good about it," she objects, coming toward me. I'm distracted for a moment and look at the front of her fully enclosed helmet. "Would you accept this?"

"Well..." I turn back to my study. The lock yields, clicks, and I open the door. Inside there's nothing but pre-war documents. "Shit!" I irritably close the safe door, and we head for the exit.

"So would you accept it?" the pegasus greedily waits for an answer.

"Personally, no. I don't need it right now. That's something everyone decides for themselves; some are really better off choosing a life of illusion."

As we walk out into the corridor, we witness an amusing scene: the Captain stands near the remains of a pony, with barely a trace of her dress on it, and tries to flirt with her. It's both funny and sad—as well as a little frightening.

"...bored? Perhaps we could after..."

"Stay on the mission, Captain," I tell him. He turns abruptly to me.

"Oh... Daniel... sorry. Got distracted. I'll keep looking around the area. Excuse me," he turns back to the skeleton, bowing slightly, "duty calls to me, as you see." And walks on. I feel sorry for him for his fate as a crazy pony.

"Why did you do that?" Motley asks me. There is a sense of disapproval in her voice. "We're holding up here anyway—"

"Not anymore," I interrupt her softly. "I don't want to waste time looking through all the rooms. It's a waste of time."

In spite of his quirks, the Captain is an excellent fighter, even shooting accurately with the sawed-off shotgun, occasionally pulling out a medium-caliber pistol.

When we leave the hotel, we head toward the town hall through the snow-covered alleys: the main street is too well shot, and there are occasional white and brown yao guai walking along it.

Shots can be heard nearby.

Maybe the masters are wandering around here, or the Crater raiders. I'd better watch out for open ground, lest I catch a stray bullet. I explain the stealthy movement to the Captain that zebra agents could attack us at any moment and we need to be on our guard. Once again, he believes like a little child. It's even embarrassing that I manipulate him so easily.

"Sir," the Captain addresses me as we step down the narrow alley between the wooden houses. The snow crunches quietly beneath us with each step, "Shouldn't we tell the animal control to isolate these predators? They could be harming civilians."

"Well," I say, peering around the corner for dangers to cross the street to the next alley ahead of us, "you could, and it wouldn't be a bad idea to remove them. You find anyone who does that, let me know, okay? "

It sounded extremely ironic coming out of my mouth.

"Yes, sir. We go to the mayor one way or another and complain to him about this mess."

"Fine," I reply, surveying the area and crossing the street, with the others following me.

Carefully making our way through the alleys, we get close to the town hall. It's a medium-sized concrete building, the walls of which are decorated with unpretentious patterns and elaborate stone carvings. The town hall is only two stories high, and somewhere in the middle is a small clock tower on the roof, which stopped its ticking a long time ago, about two hundred years. There are yao guais wandering around, mostly white. We'll have to try to get in through the back door, if there is one and it's not blocked.

"And the clock doesn't work," the Captain quietly resents, "what is this nonsense?"

We go around the town hall, keeping a short distance from it so as not to attract unnecessary attention, and then enter the little alley behind the town hall, where at this moment there is only one yao guai, interested in the contents of the garbage can nearby. On the back side of the town hall, the walls lack the elegance that is observed on the front side.

I don't want to kill him for nothing... But I have to. I pull out my rifle and shoot the white bear in the head. I hit it right in the temple; the animal collapses heavily on the snow-covered sidewalk next to the garbage can. As we approach the blue back door, we discover that it is locked, and just as I take to using magic to break it open, Steel Sun is again distressed by such an action.

"What are you doing, sir?" he asks in all seriousness. "This is a criminal offense! When my squad and I decided to kill a couple of animals to make a stuffed animal for the general, we almost got court-martialed! Good thing the general liked the stuffed animal..."

"Captain, there's no time to go through the front door," I say, picking the uncomplicated lock. "We are operating unofficially so that enemies or criminal families will not guess that such an operation has been conducted against them. Consequently, the officials will not assist us beyond normal civil rights. Besides, we stand out too much from the crowd, so flirting with unfamiliar bored ladies is not recommended."

"Are you saying, sir, that this is a top-secret operation with a certain carte blanche?"

"You just realized that now?" I ask rhetorically, and the lock immediately clicks open for me. "Great, let's go in."

"Well, why be sarcastic, Colon—" the Сaptain hesitates at the sight of the red helmet visors staring back at him. "Excuse me, Daniel."

It's a bit dark inside the town hall, the dim light coming in through the broken windows. It turns out we're in the building's interior garage, where several half-dismantled cars are parked.

As expected, there are ghouls. We are the first to open fire on them and have no trouble dealing with them.

We move deeper into the building through polluted corridors, which occasionally contain the skeletons of long-dead ponies, various garbage consisting of office papers and documents. There are also feral ghouls, radroaches, and big rats, which I fucking hate.

A huge radroach is found in the dining room. To avoid wasting ammo on it, I use my telekinesis to grab a nearby metal frying pan and beat the roach to death. Its disgusting pieces remain on the frying pan. It's disgusting.

"Radical method of dealing with parasites, Dennikadze," Motley comments. "You bent the frying pan for nothing and made it dirty."

"I'm a real terror to the radroaches. They better not mess with me or they'll have to deal with my frying pan," I play along and put the dirty and bent frying pan on the stove.

"Unhygienic."

"But that's not our problem."

There are a fair amount of broken desks and other office furnishings in the rooms, and plenty of agitation and propaganda posters like "Pinkie Pie is watching you. Always" with a picture of the pink earth pony.

We look for the room where data on the residents of North Park is kept.

A short time later, we finish a 'fascinating' exploration of the town hall and find a room that hides the information we need. We have to dig through old and dusty documents to find Eric Frost's data. Among a cloud of names, we find his address, 28201 South Street. This leaves us to find out what part of town this street is in.

I look at the map of the city hanging in the same room, and it turns out that South Street is on the south side, just south of the hotel where we actually landed. It turns out that we went in the exact opposite direction.

I look at the map on the wall confusedly.

"What happened?" Motley asks, standing next to me and looking there, too.

"We were outside his house when we were in that hotel," I explain.

"Huh..." she responds, as soon as she realizes what's going on, and laughs resoundingly.

"It's funny to you, and we wasted a lot of time."

"Oh, come on." The front of her helmet looks in my direction. "A walk in good company will leave a pleasant experience no matter the destination or time."

"I agree with you there. All right, we'll go back there now. Just let me quench my burning curiosity that keeps asking to see the mayor's office. Maybe there's something valuable or important in there."

The office on the second floor is empty. Literally nothing but rotten furniture and cabinets. Dust and darkness. My sense of past experience tells me that there must still be something entertaining left in places like this, and I take a closer look around the room. The Captain says again that I am violating the civil rights by checking other pony's belongings without permission.

Sometimes I just want to tell him to go fuck himself, just to keep him busy!

I ignore his comments and continue my task of finding something useful. After a few minutes of researching old documents and reports, I'm finally rewarded: I find a mention on the back of a comic book Unstoppables that shows a pony in a deep blue tight-fitting suit with a purple cape and a mask. On his head is a wide-brimmed hat of the same color as the cape. For some reason it brings up an association with Silent Ghost, though they have nothing in common with each other. Anyway, on the back is a set of numbers written, 512522. It looks like a code, a cipher, or an address. I don't understand what it's for, but I'm taking the comic book with me.

I look around more in the desks and cabinets, but I don't find anything useful: a lot of papers that could be used to stoke a fireplace. After finding nothing else, we head toward South Street.

***

"Nice house," the Captain pronounces when we arrive at the address we received at the town hall. "I have almost the same one in Canterlot..."

"Yeah. Let's go see if we can find something," I mutter impatiently once again as I head toward the entrance to the two-story wooden house.

I wish there was something here about the Dome or The Controllers.

The walls of the house, once painted a perfect white, are now, after two hundred years, noticeably faded. Broken windows, broken walls in some places, no front doors, and the white paint is almost all peeling.

We examine the house closely, but find nothing of value or indicative of Eric or his involvement with The Controllers. It looks like the most ordinary prewar house, still containing a TV, old furniture, a refrigerator, a stove, and a few decorative items.

It's a waste of time—there's nothing here. Another disappointment. The trail to The Controllers is gone again.

"Damn it..." I kick the nearest chair. One of the wooden legs instantly flies off. Motley comes up to me and puts her hoof on my shoulder. I sigh deeply and turn to her, nodding appreciatively.

Really, it's all about calm and control. Not rushing. Think it through properly. What do we know? What did we find interesting here? Oh, right...

"So," I turn to everyone, "any idea what the set of numbers we found on the back of the comic book might be for?"

"It could be the code to a safe or a secret door," Motley ponders aloud. The thought had crossed my mind earlier, but nothing of the sort was found in the town hall upon inspection.

"Or a safe-deposit box number," the Captain mundanely expresses his opinion.

Wha...? Oh. Shit, that's a really smart one. Clearly, he's a resident of the pre-war world.

"Let's go for another breadcrumb," I say.

As we approach this particular bank, I look at the compass. As expected, there are hostile creatures inside the bank, about half a dozen of them. I carefully and slowly peek out the window: there are four white, fucking yao guais wandering around the lobby! I immediately lower my head so they don't see me.

"What's out there?" Motley asks.

"Bears in ushankas with balalaikas," I mutter quietly. "They look big, but what they're doing inside the bank, and in such numbers, I have no idea. I noticed a few more turrets on the ceiling. There must be a terminal somewhere to activate them. I'm guessing it's at a guard post somewhere inside. I'll go activate the turrets, and then you open fire on the yao guais from the front entrance."

"Understood, sir."

"How do you plan to get inside the building and go undetected?"

"Just go with the plan," I say, activating stealth mode on my device. "As soon as the bears are dead, I'll disable the turrets," I mutter, and invisibly enter the bank.

The yao guais are distracted by the door opening and closing, but don't do anything else, just sniff suspiciously and get wary.

Step by step... Slowly and carefully. Watch where I step... My heart leaps with mounting thrill and unease. If one of the creatures accidentally glances in my direction, and... No, not a thought. I slip behind the wall with the metal grating behind which are the work desks where the money is handed out, and almost run into another bear, which I can barely get around.

After sneaking past the animals, I find myself in the service corridor. There's a yao guai in the corridor, too; while the charge lasts a few more seconds, I pull out my Whispering Night, insert a magazine of hollow-point ammo, and shoot the bear in the head, hitting its eye with a smacking sound. With a thud, the body sprawls on the concrete floor. The bears in the main hall are alert and alarmed, judging by the slight growl. I must hurry.

After walking down the corridor, I find the door to the guard room—it is locked, and on a very reliable lock with additional magical protection.

It takes me about twenty minutes to break the lock and bypass the magical protection.

Inside the office there are a lot of screens and monitors, which display the premises of the bank. Surprisingly, the cameras and hardware still work, so I can see all the rooms of the bank—the entrance, the lobby, the offices, the vault... Stop. There is someone in the vault! Not a ghoul or a raider. It's a mare, but because of the black-and-white screens, and even with a small lens, it's impossible to see more details of her appearance.

The pony looks physically exhausted, lying in a corner, curled up. Still alive. And it looks like she's trapped, as there are two bears roaming near the metal door to the vault, preventing her from leaving the vault unnoticed. How did she even get in? Well, I'll ask her about that later, but right now we have to deal with the bears in the hallway.

There are several lockers at the guard post, inside which I find and requisition medium-caliber ammunition and pistols. There are also police batons. On a small table is a terminal from which I can control cameras and turrets. Oddly, it's not password-protected—apparently, this was compensated for by the closed door.

I activate the turrets in the hallway, though I could activate them in the vault, but then they would have slaughtered the mare. Only Lemon could reprogram the turrets to attack specific targets. Who knows what happened to the software two hundred years later.

In the hallway, two turrets start firing at the bears. They, in turn, roar at the metal 'bees', and one swing of a paw with sharp and strong claws is enough to gut the turret—though the second manages to destroy one animal before it is turned into a pile of scrap metal as well.

During the shooting, the Captain and Motley burst into the room. So, the need to wait to disable the turrets is irrelevant. I run to back up mine, pulling out Defender and getting it to work.

In the corridor, I see the bears already distracted by the ghoul and the pegasus; by this point, another individual is lying dead. Two remain, who immediately lunge at my partners. I aim my shotgun at one bear and fire a very loud round. The pellets enter his skin with great force, and he howls even more in pain. Motley uses this perfect moment to aim and fire several plasma charges into the beast's head; it turns into an orange goo pile.

I deal with the bear that the Captain has taken over. This ghoul is quite adept at bouncing and dodging the ferocious predator's attacks, causing him to crash into furniture and tables. Just when I want to point the muzzle of my shotgun at the bear and take aim, its skull is already exploding from a shot from Billy's sawed-off shotgun almost at point-blank range.

"Heavy, bastard," the ghoul exhales, reloading.

"Everything okay in here?" I ask concernedly.

"Yes, sir. I hope the animal rights activists don't eat me alive for this deed. They broke into the bank, though! So we had to take action within our means."

"Yeah. You didn't need to run to our rescue, we could have handled it ourselves."

"I'll worry about you anyway. Come, there are at least two bears left near the vault."

There's no point in looking around the hall; there's almost nothing here but pre-war heavy coins. Once down in the vault, we tackle the two bears at the metal door and want to open the door, but it's blocked from the other side. I go to the door with all my strength to knock.

"All the bears in the bank are dead," I say loudly. "There's no more danger."

My companions look at each other in confusion, but then the door opens and a turquoise-colored earth pony with a white mane jumps out. She's dressed in an armor of warm animal skins from several species. She immediately encloses me in an embrace.

"Rescue! Praise Celestia, I am saved," she says, and then opens her embrace and freaks out when she sees the bright red eyepieces of my helmet so close, and pulls back.

"Relax, we're not going to hurt you," I say, taking off my helmet. "Who are you and how did you end up here?"

"My name is Flyrose. I got trapped when I was running away from the fucking yao guais!"

Now I can see what the wind brought the bears into the bank building.

"Well yes, the vault was an excellent idea," Motley says sarcastically.

"Do you have any food?" the turquoise pony asks hopefully, looking me in the eyes. "I haven't had anything to eat or drink in days."

"Why did you get so far away from Vanhoover?" I ask, pulling out my provisions. As soon as I pull out the food and water, the pony stares at them greedily. She's about to devour my supplies with her eyes. I can see her gaze and hand over a few cans of non-pre-war canned corn, a box of fresh sliced carrots, and a couple of bottles of purified water. She greedily opens them, and devours the food that she can barely remember to breathe, eating everything without a trace and licking it thoroughly.

"Fih fhanhs," she says with her mouth full, oblivious to my question. I think she said 'Big thanks'.

It's amazing how she took us so lightly, believing my words that I wouldn't hurt her. However, if she had supplies with her, she probably spent a week or more here. The persistent critters were chasing her. Or she accidentally pissed them off, and they didn't want to let the intruder go. And she didn't care who was in front of her now, as long as he gave her food and water.

"Eat and then we'll talk. Now I'll take care of the locked cells in the vault."

"Uh-huh."

I ask the Captain in advance to check the perimeter so he doesn't see me cracking into the already unnecessary safety deposit boxes. He nods and leaves to wander around the bank; I work on the locks.

Basically all of them are complex, even an experienced thief can't break into them. Some, on the other hand, are open and empty. I begin to open one box after another. For the most part, inside are old pre-war coins, once-valuable papers related to a small business or the right to own something of value, weapons, including only pistols or revolvers and their ammunition, chemicals and expensive medicines. In other words, nothing special, although worthwhile good caps are plentiful.

It's the turn of the box whose number is written on the back of the comic book. It was strange to leave it between important documents related to the activities of the city: it felt as if the magazine had been put in that desk on purpose in the hope that it would not be quickly discovered. Trying not to think about it, half a minute later I open the safe deposit box, though at first it gave the impression that it was almost impossible to crack.

In this safe deposit box is a ball of memories and a note. The note reads, "Backup code to open the door: VSHNVGLZPSN032014DVC. Nothing else is listed. I put all the contents of the box in my bags, as well as many other valuable items.

"Still," I ask as I walk over to the pony, who looks like she's drunk after having had her fill, "how did you get here?"

"Well," Flyrose begins with a woozy tongue and a loud breath. "I went looking for a cello. It's such a stringed musical instrument."

"And how did you look for it here?" Motley wonders. She never took off her helmet, by the way. "You can't find it in Vanhoover, can you?"

"Only rich masters own musical instruments in Vanhoover, and there are none for sale, you can only buy from others," the turquoise pony explains. "True, they charge high prices for them, not to mention they're hardly willing to sell. It's cheaper to buy an anti-machine rifle than to buy back some exquisite musical instrument, like a cello. So I decided to try my luck in the Wasteland on my own and find an instrument. I have a homemade one, but it's only a pathetic parody."

"What kind of work did you do to take such a risk?"

"A waitress in a restaurant. It pays too little to afford the luxury of a cello. Besides, there's barely enough caps even for a decent meal."

"I take it you're not much of a fighter, and you can't lockpicking," I say, pointing with my hoof at the safes in the wall.

"I can, but only the easy ones. Wielding a screwdriver and bobby pins with your teeth is very difficult, you know."

"Then why not hire someone experienced?"

"That was originally what I wanted to do, but when I saw the price for finding an item whose location was not even known, I reconsidered my decision and gave it up. I was thinking of temporarily providing..." the earth pony is embarrassed and lowers her head, "a certain kind of service in order to get enough caps. But I knew it was dangerous to do, since you could very easily be made a slave or killed."

"What about borrowing caps?"

"I don't want to borrow, and who would lend an ordinary waitress that many caps for a musical instrument? I'd work it off later, playing for an audience. But no one cared. I have no connections... Even the Vanhoover banks don't lend out such huge sums without a guarantee that the customer can pay back the loan, and with a huge amount of interest."

"And what did you do?"

"After managing to save enough caps, I bought myself at least some warm armor and a gun, and then I went looking. I knew there was no point in looking in the ruins, which were not far from the city; everything there had been searched and examined a long time ago. So I went as far away as possible, to a place where not many explorers had been, hoping to find a cello or at least another string-and-bow instrument, so as not to live in misery, counting every cap."

"In Vanhoover," Motley says, "it's dangerous to live in poverty without influential acquaintances."

As I see it, Flyrose likes to talk.

I once looked for a violin for Agatha. I didn't get much of a reward, but I pleased the old woman with a magnificent work of art—a violin that had its own name 'Soil Stradivarius'. And in the Wasteland there was another radio station on which tunes played on this violin were broadcast. It was an interesting time when I was very green and naive. No less so now.

Maybe I'll give Flyrose a cello if I can find one.

"I travel a lot, anyway, and if I manage to find a stringed musical instrument with a bow, I will certainly bring it to you. For a symbolic fee—can work off playing it."

"Really?" Flyrose looks at me with great hope in her eyes. It seems that if I say no, she will completely lose faith in a better life.

"Yes, if I do, of course. Now go home. At 'Oasis of Vanhoover', find the Bottomless Chest store and tell the owner named Bluerise that you're from Daniel Evans in case you have any problems with caps and need a job right away. Well, and so that if I find a instrument, I can find you through it."

"Oh, thank you very much, Daniel," the pony hugs me again.

"Can you make it to Vanhoover on your own?" I ask, opening the embrace.

"Yes, I can. At least I knew how to avoid trouble, until I screwed up by accidentally drawing attention to myself from the yao guais."

Flyrose says goodbye and leaves, leaving me alone with Motley.

"You haven't even known her ten minutes, and you're already forcing Bluerise to get her a job?"

"I'm not. In case she can find something for Flyrose."

"She'll look for you. Believe me. She's said so much about you... She obviously owes you a favor... or her life."

"Do we have any chance of finding a rare musical instrument?"

She removes her helmet, and shakes her head slightly to shake the pressed brown mane a little.

"No idea. However, given what you've already found, you stand a good chance of discovering it," she smiles at me.

Her smile warms my soul... and keeps my spirits up.

"A close friend of mine from the New Pegasus Enclave Academy loved music. Even knew how to play a musical instrum—"

"Sir." I hear the Captain's voice, after which I spot him in the aisle. "I found something."

"And what is that?"

"You'd better take a look for yourself," Steel Sun replies impressed. Motley and I look at each other bewildered and follow the Captain with interest.

After a few turns, we find ourselves in a room whose walls and floor are made entirely of dark metal. In the room there are a lot of pipes, from which white steam emanates from time to time, a few consoles, valves, wires... It might be thought that this is the engineering level of the bank, but that is not what attracts the Captain here at all, but the slightly rusted metal floor, in which I can see the borders of a rectangular frame that barely stands out against the general background.

A hidden hatch!

I check the consoles, looking for the right button that would open the hatch. After a few seconds I find it on the side of the hull of one of the consoles. The doors open welcomingly, graciously presenting to our view the metal steps going down.

We go down and find what the code from the note from the safe might well match—a huge steel door in the shape of a gear wheel with the yellow numbers '67' on it.