Fallout: Equestria - Parallelism

I open my eyes, my frightened gaze flitting over my surroundings, while my head is in complete chaos.

What the fuck has just happened? Where have I gone? How long have I been out?

It take a while before my thoughts return to normal and I am able to assess the situation I am in. A lot of it is because I try to focus on my surroundings.

The interior of an abandoned two hundred year old wooden house. The roof has collapsed in many places inward, and from the holes formed, I can see the sky, densely covered with gray clouds. In the room, almost all furniture and decorations have turned to dust and mold, making it difficult to determine even the original color of the walls. The smell wafting around, I suppose, is not the best.

I feel as if I've just gone through some kind of whirlpool into the abyss. I feel different, my body feels like it's not mine. It's a familiar sense of self. Once, in the distant past, before I was in the Mojave Wasteland, I was treated to an unusual mixture of various drugs. I'd seen a lot of things in my delirium. I left my body, disintegrated into particles, felt unity with the cosmos, reached the depths of the universe, became a brahmin being gently and affectionately milked... In general, crazy ride of absurdity and incomprehensible images.

I don't seem to have used anything like that now... though perhaps that sphere had a similar effect on my brain and nervous system in general. The only thing is, how did I get out of that cave and into that abandoned house? I don't remember a thing.

Anyway, nothing for me to chill on the floor.

I make an attempt to get to my feet. First I roll over on my stomach and get on all fours to make it easier to get up and... I fail that part of my plan with unprecedented shame. The alienity of my own body affects the control of movements more than I had expected. I try to stand on my feet, but instantly lose my balance and, waving my arms haphazardly, fall back onto my back with a heavy sigh. The backpack cushioned my fall—hopefully nothing cracked or deteriorated in it. That shouldn't happen to a gun.

What was that just now? I've never had a problem like that... unless I'm high on some kind of substance. Maybe Pip-Boy will analyze my condition...

I look at my wrist computer and... I stare at my left hand... and it's missing!

Panic is rising in me.

"Where's my hand?!" burst out from me with fear.

I can feel myself starting to choke. Instead of a hand there is... nothing. The skin is covered with some kind of thick and short beige fur. The color is almost identical to my skin. My left limb feels like it has been chopped off, and now it looks like a beige round stump from the side. I turn the front toward me and see a solid formation of the same beige color making an almost complete circle, about the shape of a 'C'. Inside this circle is a small depression with soft looking skin.

I tap them. There is a thud, as if tapping on wood, and images from the past come to mind. When I first arrived on the West Coast, I had seen horses more than once in the territory of the New California Republic. They made a similar sound as they were walking. Before that, I had seen them in holotape-movies and books in Vault 101.

Wait... Wait a fucking minute. Did I turn into a fucking horse?

The next moment the name of what I'm looking at now comes into my head. A hoof. Now I have hooves instead of arms!

It take me a few more minutes to process this information, and as soon as the shivers subsided I start clacking on the Pip-Boy. I notice that it has changed slightly too, the buttons are bigger, but so... 'cups' instead of hands and fingers it is still uncomfortable to click on them. I want to see how Pip-Boy is evaluating my condition now. I probably picked up some kind of mutation from the sphere, but... It doesn't explain the external changes of the wrist computer itself.

Pip-Boy does not detect any deviations from the norm. At that moment I notice that the smiling Vault-Boy now look not like a cartoon man, but like a cartoon horse with big eyes. Out of disbelief and incomprehension, I involuntarily tapping the slightly flickering green screen to see if it's okay with the device.

I look at a few other sections of Pip-Boy and make sure my gear is all right. Nothing is missing. At least something positive.

I look down and see a similar picture... I can't see the outline of my feet, and it isn't because of the shoes, which has also changed. The ends are the same as my altered forelimbs. I move them around.

During my examination and reflection, I am not aware of what is going on around me, as if it isn't there at all. All my attention is focused only on my body.

Okay, Daniel, think with a cool head. Don't jump to conclusions. First, get up off the floor. You're gonna have to get down on all fours this time. I suspect that the cartoon horse in my Pip-Boy is standing on four legs... or hooves, for a reason.

I try to stand up, my knees in all four limbs are trembling a little, but I manage to hold on. I'm standing paralyzed for a few minutes, getting used to my new position and the sensations that followed. I seem to be closer to the floor now. Perhaps I am shorter, though I remember that horses in the NCR were taller than humans.

I try to concentrate on one thing and nothing else: walking. I lift my left front leg and feet like an astronaut stepping on the surface of the moon for the first time. I've forgotten the name of that famous astronaut. I remembered him well in Vault 101, but what is happening in the Wasteland unwittingly supersedes everything you knew about some distant past. I have no time to think about it in the harsh conditions of survival.

The first few steps are difficult for me, because I don't know in what order to move my legs. A couple of times they hit each other, and I fall. It's a pity that the images of how horses move have gone out of my head. It would have come in handy now. I am nearly overcome with despondency from helplessness, I remember how, as a child, I used to climb through the ventilation shafts of my home Vault. Remembering my movements, I make attempt to repeat them now. I am partly successful. I stop falling, but something telling me it still isn't the same.

It take me about an hour, experimenting with all the different variations of movement that popping into my head, but I am able to find the best option. A great relief go through my body, and I smile with joy.

"Yes!" I rejoice.

In a moment of drunken joy, something unusual has happened around my butt. A completely new sensation. The dark blue cloak is getting in the way of something, especially in this moment. I pull the cloak away and... I don't know what I am expected to see, but the presence of a black tail throw me into a stupor. Then come the realization that I can partially control it... and the hunch is right. I can wag my tail from side to side like some kind of dog.

This sight gives me mixed feelings. On the one hand it looks funny, but on the other hand it's too weird. The black color of the tail matches the color of my hair on my head... Speaking of looks: how do I look now?

Thinking about my new appearance make me fear mixed with curiosity.

As I look around, I notice a dirty and dusty mirror on the wall. I approach it with an uneasy sense of dread, the wooden floor creaks with my footsteps, and scrub it gently with my right hoof. It is ineffective, and the glass squeaks nastily. I turn my hoof to the side and wipe the mirror with my fur a few times. Visibility is shitty, but I can make out the illuminating red lenses of my helmet, as well as the beige thing sticking out of it above eye level.

I touch the thing on my forehead with my hoof in confusion and feel that it is my body part, and a rather sensitive one at that. It is unclear how the notch for this part of my body has came to be... Though my Pip-Boy has changed in appearance, why should that surprise me? That's not what interests me at all. What is this beige spiral spear sticking out of my head?

Staring at the mirror, I try to remove my helmet. I succeed on my fourth attempt. It is awfully uncomfortable to work with my hooves, and it is so annoying that I want to kick something with all my might. How am I going to deal with this from now on?

In the dirty reflection of the mirror beneath my helmet, something remotely resembling a horse is looking at me. The muzzle is shorter than I've remembered, and the overall shape is not as sharp. But big eyes with blue irises are peering out at me. The strands of black hair dangled slightly in front of me, and my hairstyle has changed from back to front, slightly raised. The same beige horn on my forehead. Long ears, standing upright.

I touch various parts of his face and head with vivid interest and excitement, like a child exploring a new and awesome toy from every angle. Unfathomable wonders and metamorphoses that can only be seen in a drug-induced delirium. The new appearance is not easy to accept.

Whatever has happened to me, I can only say one thing with certainty...

"I'm in deep mystical shit..."

***

For some reason the global map of my Pip-Boy isn't working, unlike the local map. «Communication with satellite lost», and nothing else. With all other functions in my Pip-Boy there is no problem...

Except for those damn hooves! I hate it!

I am boiling with anger when I miss the buttons a few times. I tackle the issue of self-defense and come to the disappointing conclusion that I have no access to firearms. My hooves unable to pull the trigger. At this point, I am completely ineffective in combat, which begin to bother me greatly. I'm totally helpless.

For fuck's sake!

I can't stand the despair and anger that is enveloping me, and I kick the poor brown chair with my front hoof as hard as I can. I am so overcome with emotion that I ignore the pain of the blow.

My inability to use my hooves, my bubbling thoughts, and my heated emotions eventually exhaust me, and I become thirsty. I uneasily retrieve a bottle of water from my backpack, set it down in front of me, and stare with weary chagrin at the cap, near which my hooves are frozen on both sides.

How am I supposed to open it?

I can't open it with my hooves, and it fall sideways several times. Putting it back upright is an excruciating task for me. The unsuccessful attempts make me desperately angry, and the anger grow stronger with each failure. The dam finally burst, and I freake out: I clamp the bottle between my two front hooves, bring it to my mouth, and... and I sink my teeth into the cap. I want to fucking chew off this obstacle to my coveted and clean water!

Like an animal, I clawe my teeth into the unlucky cap. I want to rip it out! I hate that little metal thing!

Of course, it doesn't budge.

At some point I realize the stupidity of what I've done, and thank myself that no one has seen it. In one moment, it is as if I have been hit over the head with a bottle—one idea occur to me. I grab the cap again with my teeth, and then begin slowly turning the bottle with my front legs, and, oh wonder, I succeed. With joy the bottle nearly fall out of my feet, I spit out the cap on my backpack and greedily suck on the bottle's neck, lifting it above me. The cool and clear liquid moistens my parched mouth and pours further into my stomach. This fabulous bliss make me mumble with pleasure.

As I swallowed the lovely liquid, I feel relieved, my lips stretch into a contented smile. My head is in order and my heart is at peace. Now I can think things over in peace.

I lean toward my backpack, grab the cap with my teeth, and close the bottle with it. My device, which condenses moisture from the surrounding air, will make up for some of the water I drank.

After taking a little snack, I think hard about what I will do with my body, how to be in combat. Can't use firearms, can't hold a sword... My pensive gaze rest on the same dusty brown chair that I've recently kicked angrily.

That's right! I have Pushy! Fortunately, unlike the rest of my weapons and equipment, it has been altered: the gauntlet is missing, and the speaker that reproduced the blow has shifted to the hoof area. How has it changed? Probably because it was on my hand the moment I was dragged into the orb... But none of that matters now. At least I have some tool for self-defense!

"Oh yes!" I exclaime, raising my hoof with Pushy on it. "You and I are going to kick ass."

I spend the next hour mastering the energy knuckles in close combat. Of course, my new physique make my limb swinging skills do nothing more than make my opponents die laughing, but I have a tangible advantage on my side... the stealth field! I will be difficult to hit with the stealth field on. Thanks to my previous experience in such 'intimate' fights, I will get away with no damage, because my opponent simply wouldn't know where to hit.

However, in addition to Pushy combined with invisibility, I have two more aces up my sleeve... and that's two implants: one that deals pulse damage to robots, and one that sets its target on fire. They work well in my transformed body, just like all the other implants. I have to learn how to use these two aces in combat, though, because I used my fingers to activate them, and here I have to rotate my hoof in a special way.

After gathering all my belongings, I leave the building with excitement and enthusiasm.

***

Outside... the usual picture of desolation. The horizon stretched to all sides, deserted plains, with a little wind blowing in and picking up the sand.

I am standing on the porch of a two-story house; from my view of the plains, my gaze drifts to the stone-paved walkway that ends at the house. The wooden fence, the flowerbeds, the garden furniture, the stone path... all weathered, crumbling, and worn. There are no other houses to be seen nearby.

I didn't find anything inside this house, except for some shabby furniture, so I spent very little time looking around. Apparently, it was a country house that was abandoned before the war or something like that.

As I stepped off the porch and away from the building, I look at it. There is nothing unusual about it, an abandoned and dilapidated wooden house. All the paint has crumbled away, leaving no hint that it has been here. The only question I am curious about is...

"What's so special about you? Why am I suddenly your guest?"

There is silence in response.

It is to be expected. I turn my back on him... or my ass, which, given my body part, is closer to the object... Why the fuck would I think of such a little thing? I've got better things to do.

I walk past the collapsed fence. There is no gate at the entrance. No, they hasn't been blown away by the wind; they has never been here at all. The stone path ended... and then there are traces of the once-traveled road. I stare at it.

Where are you taking me?

The global map doesn't work, so this well-trodden path is my only clue as to where I should go. I have no other option, so I follow it.

As I'm walking, my mind is racing through a whirlwind of questions. There are too many of them, all equally interesting to me, but I cannot hold on to any particular one. Thinking about it all without facts doesn't make any sense. One thing is clear... It's not worth sitting in one place. It is necessary to find someone else and find out as much as possible about what has happened with me. And here is an important question: how would people react to someone like me? As usual, they will think I am some kind of special mutant or something like that.

Now the shuffling sounds are coming from under my feet twice as intense as I used to hear. Meanwhile, the thoughts in my head calm down after I concentrated on observing the surrounding terrain and signs of warning danger. Behind every rock can be a threat—the Wasteland never lets you breathe a sigh of relief, so you strain to peer into almost anything that can serve as shelter. My helmet's thermal imaging and Pip-Boy's radar will allow me to track danger up close, no matter where it lurks.

I'm completely focused on seeing and... feeling. In addition to my physique, which I'm slowly getting used to—the new clothes doesn't make me uncomfortable anymore—I've noticed a new feeling. I've never experienced it before, but it never leaves me. At first I didn't notice it because of my emotions and thoughts. It was as if there were barely perceptible streams of air around me. Not the ones that are rubbing my cloak right now, but as if... mystical ones that possess no matter. These mysterious streams cannot be confused with air, for they permeate me, I feel them with every part of my body.

I stop and begin to move my front foot in front of me in different directions, trying to feel it or push it away, but in vain. The streams of something incomprehensible move with the same speed and intensity... though I have no idea how I can determine the 'speed' and 'intensity' of the streams. I am intrigued by these... invisible and barely perceptible streams. I pay attention to them as much as... to my own breathing. When the air is inhaled, but it goes unnoticed until you focus on the process. That's about how I became aware of these piercing currents. I was concentrating on what I was feeling and... I noticed it at a certain point.

I continue walking and ponder the discovery of the invisible streams. Even though I can't physically interact with them, it is as if I can do it... but in some other way. I even looked into the Pip-Boy to see if it detected anything unusual, but nothing important or distinctive.

Eventually the dirt road come out onto a paved single-lane road, running from northeast to southwest. I step onto the hard and weathered, sand-covered asphalt in places, and look back at both sides of the road in confusion.

Both paths are now on equal footing for me... maybe a cap tossed in? Although, in that case, with my clumsy hooves, I aren't able to lift them. Oh... what the hell? I don't mind If I lose three caps!

I take out one of the bags with the caps, scoop three off them onto my left hoof, and flip them up in the air. I'll go northeast if the Nuka-Cola sign end up on top of most of them, and southwest if it end up on the bottom. The caps hit the pavement with a clang. One cap lie title down almost immediately, a second one jump high and fall to the ground—the sign Nuka-Cola is looking up into the cloudy sky. The third roll and... stuck in a crack in the road, stand on edge, and then swaying under light wind. I can't hold back a smile from such a result, which is immediately followed by a short chuckle.

"What a luck..."

The position of the cap will allow me to grab it with two hooves. I approach it, stretch out my hooves to it and... a sharp gust of wind yank the cap out of the crack, and it immediately fall upward. Out of surprise, I staring at the red cap with the frayed writing 'Nuka-Cola'. A sudden gust of wind influenced my choice. It feels as if it was waiting for the moment, since only a gentle breeze has surrounded me before.

"Well... I guess I'll head northeast."

As expected, I can't pick up the caps, so, not to spoil my mood, I left them lying on the road, heading in a northeasterly direction. Eventually the wind would blow them off the road.

***

Halfway through the day. An old prewar bar called the Speedy Pony appeared on my horizon. I stop, step off the road, get my rifle, which I did with difficulty because of my clumsy hooves, and then put it on the edge of the cliff for extra stability and look through the telescopic sight.

I can' t shoot, I wish I could: I would have had the advantage of shooting from a distance.

Nearby are two tethered brambles, two trailers, and some kind of trailer, which is half a car. The two trailers are loaded with worn metal containers and wooden crates. The half-car trailer is noticeably different, as if it's deliberately meant to stand out: it is additionally armored with thick sheets of metal and covered like a cactus with sharpened pieces of junk.

A guard dressed in spiked armor is strolling across the roof of the bar. It is an artisanal armor made of various steel junk, which is studded with sharp metal 'spikes' in the likeness of a half-car trailer. The helmet is matching the rest of the armor in style and materials. A rifle with a scope dangle from a belt on the side of the guard as he's strolling around the perimeter of the roof. His peculiarity is that he isn't a human. He looks just like me. A horse.

I was about to rejoice that I've met one of my own kind, but something about the setting don't appeal to me. I have to make sure it isn't a raider gang guard.

Following the principles of prudence and caution, I choose a route with as much cover as possible, like small rocks, bushes... and only follow it when the guard isn't looking in my direction. If I can't make it to the next hiding place in time, I use the stealth field.

In all the time I've been hiding, not once have I been spotted. I breath a sigh of relief as I press myself against the brick wall of the bar. There are no loud noises from inside, but I can hear the horses talking. I go to the window, turn on the stealth field, and peer slowly through the soiled glass. There are holes and cracks in some parts of the window, so I have no trouble hearing the talkers inside.

The visitors turn out to be three other horses sitting at a table on stools about the center of the room. Their faces are in my line of sight. They are all clad on the same principle as the guard above—the armor also consists of all sorts of junk and is dotted with pointed pieces of metal, like spikes or needles, at varying concentrations. On the table are their spiked helmets, and under one of the legs of the table lies some kind of considerable device, which I understood by its shape to be mounted on the back—to it are attached barrels on either side. Their shape is unusual; I've never seen anything like it before, so it's hard for me to estimate their killing power.

In front of those seated are plates with pieces of fried appetizing meat. But one of the three plates is already empty. Nearby, a fire is lighting in the middle of the room, with the carcass of a two-headed brahmin roasting over it. The sight of it make my stomach growl.

The broken wooden tables and stools of the bar are burning and crackling in the fire. The remaining vacant tables are converted into a barricade at the entrance. The shelves behind the bar are emptied and the decor elements are marred by time. To the right of the bar counter, wooden steps lead up to the second floor.

It becomes apparent that the bar is clearly not serving its purpose at this point. I suspect it is being used as a temporary resting point. And those horses with their spiky armor look more like bandits than travelers, for what good would it do them to eat one of their pulling brahmins? This must be one of the trophies from the recent attack on the caravan. It is not for nothing that I have decided to keep a low profile after all. My fears are confirmed. I must observe them and assess the situation. Besides, it is curious to see how the likes of me behave.

"Delicious!" a man's voice mutters. The color of the horses' fur and hair is markedly different from each other, which is rather unusual. "The meat is fucking great," he add, and once again sink his teeth into his piece of meat.

His contented face, with its dark red fur, indicate his enjoyment of the process. He obviously likes to stand out, judging by his straw-yellow hair, sticking out in different directions like pieces of metal on his armor. Speaking of which, there's an area near his back where there are no 'spikes'... just about the size of that device with the two guns attached. I think it belongs to him.

"That's the tenth time you've said that, Needle. Shut the fuck up," a woman's voice comes. It's a gray horse with short blond-brown hair sitting next to him that said it. Unfortunately, the others obscure the view, and I can't get a good look at her weapons.

Did she call him Needle?

"I can't help myself," Needle says, not looking at the indignant companion.

A third horse with a woman's voice intervene, "When you fucked me last night, you don't throw that kind of compliment at me."

That's the one with the empty plate in front of her. Apparently, by the time I looked out the window, she has already eaten her portion. This horse has a soft yellow coat, blond well-groomed hair... but what makes her stand out the most is that her face, including her ears, is pierced with shiny, colorful jewelry. Also... she has a twisted horn on her forehead, just like me.

Hmm... What's the difference between having or not having a horn on forehead? What does it do?

Attached to her front legs is a holster, each containing a pistol... or something that resembles them: instead of handles, there are some holders shaped for a mouth and teeth. It's not immediately clear that it's a weapon. Interesting.

Needle has chewed his meat enthusiastically, ignoring the horned horse's playful envy. Gray horse smiles and answers her:

"You're just not that juicy."

"I would," Needle interrupts, "gladly tastes other kind of meat in other way. It's a pity that Pin is enjoying it now." There is envy and irritation in his voice.

Pin... Curious, already two names or nicknames have something to do with something sharp.

Gray horse has already devoured her piece of meat. Wasting no time, she gets up from her wooden stool, takes her empty plate in her teeth, and walks over to the fire. Near it, she lifts her front hoof and places the plate on it, brings it under the roasting brahmin, and says, "Thanks to Pin's new plan, there are no dead bodies."

Then with her teeth she grasps the knife and deftly cuts off a piece of meat. It fall onto the plate with a delicious slap...

I'm so goddamn hungry! The smell of roasting meat would drive me crazy if it aren't the helmet on my head.

"So?" Needle asks indignantly. "All trophies are shared!"

The gray horse says, "That's right, and that trophy stays with us. We'll only sell the prisoners in the cellar... Well, except for the colt. Don't forget that and don't fuck my brains out again."

The gray horse returns contentedly to his seat at the table. Indignation continues to pour from the impatient Needle's lips, "We could have had a threesome, but he got her alone! I mean, he's been having his fun with her for hours!" His tone becomes dreamy. "As soon as I saw her pretty and beautiful face, my armor became tight at once! I just wanted to stick my dick in her face, rub... and cum on it! Several times!"

The gray horse rewards Needle with a sudden and unexpected smack, like thunder.

"Fuck you and your fantasies!"

Needle nearly chokes on his surprise, and coughs. A third horse with soft yellow hair and two unusual pistols begin tapping on his back, helping him cough. The gray horse, however, is not going to stop.

"I don't want to think about your dick and... uh... cum while I'm eating. If it makes me vomit, you can be sure I'll 'cum' my vomit on your fucking face!"

The gray horse's tone oozes anger and rage. If I be in Needle's shoes, I'd moderate my desire to talk about my fantasies. The gently pierced yellow horse watches the other two closely, chewing its meat slowly. She is clearly calmer than her companions.

"Fuck, Thorn! I almost choked," he says.

"Your own fault," Thorne hums. And indeed, their names correspond to something sharp. She adds, "You know I can't stand stallion dicks".

Stallions? Is that a description of the male specimen of a horse?

Needle smiles lustfully. That horny smile gives me a bad feeling. Something is about to happen. Whatever he's up to, he'd better bite his tongue. Thorn is clearly not in the mood.

He says, "Just so you know, when you're dead and your body is left defenseless, I'll be sure to take advantage of him, fuck him all over..."

Thorn kicks her front leg into the stallion's face; the blow is so hard that he fall backward off the chair. There is a brawl between the two of them: thuds, heavy sighs, and plenty of swearing.

The same behavior, the same impulsiveness... Horses are not so different from humans. The only thing missing is energetic music. Wait... I just now notice that they speak English! Does this give me hope that I'm still somewhere in the USA?

"Overfuck!" the third horse shouts with the piercings, getting up from his chair. "There you go again!"

My eyes nearly pop out of my head as the gentle yellow horse's horn glows with some kind of silver glimmer, and the glimmer of the same color envelops the fighting horses... And then they fly into the air, away from each other.

I stare in amazement at what is happening.

They. Are. Soaring. In. The air.

Meanwhile, they aren't paying much attention; they don't care. Their menacing gazes are aimed at each other, Needle's nose is bleeding, and Thorn's mouth is bloodied.

"What the fuck is going on here?" A new male voice emerges, which partially bring me out of my stupor and catch my attention. The horse... the stallion with light purple hair is standing in front of the stairs on the second floor to the right of the bar. It is that guard from the roof.

"Thorn and Needle," the pale yellow horse says, looking at each of them disapprovingly. They're still hovering in the air and shrouded in a silver glow, and I still can't pick up my jaw with surprise. The guard with the rifle sighs wearily and rolls his eyes doomfully. He staggers down the wooden steps while Thorn and Needle slowly land at the wooden floor of the bar. The silver glimmer around them evaporates, as it has around that horse's horn.

Something clickes in my head.

Wait... One minute. They went up with the appearance of a flicker around them and a horn... and then the flicker disappeared the moment after they hit the floor. This cannot be a simple coincidence. What is this silver shimmer? What is its nature?

While my mind is bubbling with emerging hypotheses, the light purple-haired rooftop guard removes his rifle from his back and, deftly holding it with one hoof, pokes it sideways on Thorn's armor spikes. She lowers her gaze questioningly, then looks up at the guard.

"Yes," he says, "go get some fresh air."

She reluctantly picks up the rifle, tosses it onto her side, grabs her helmet from the table, and go upstairs. She spits blood on the way up. Now I can see her personal means of protection: a pistol with the same unusual mouth and teeth holder... and a dangling metal chain wrapped tightly with barbed wire.

Thorn... No wonder she has such a name. She's bound to pounce on his victims surreptitiously and strangle them whenever she gets the chance. That's not very effective in a firearms fight, unless she has a fetish for it. Based on her reaction to Needle's words, she doesn't like stallions... perhaps she likes strangling them with this particular barbed-wire chain.

At this distance, I notice that this rifle has a much larger trigger, which can be pressed with the hoof. Of course, there are a few other nuances in its shape, like places designed to hold it with hooves. I think, with the right training, I can shoot from it.

Needle wipes his nose sullenly and returns to the table.

The light purple stallion shakes his head and says, "So many years together and still looking for a reason to kick each other's asses." He looks around bewildered. "Where's Slaughter?"

"Off to the cellar," the horse with the horn responds . "Went to make cuts on the foal, as usual, to jerk off to his torment."

Surprise finally wear off my mind, and the Pip-Boy's charge on the stealth field is almost depleted—I turn it off and duck down, immers in thought.

A colt? It's mean little...? And he's tied up in the basement right now, in agony, writhing in sharp pain with his mouth gagged shut so as not to be deafened by his cries, while raider enjoys and satisfies herself by the spectacle. My hooves itch, I want to wring that sadistic bitch's neck right now! She even has a name... Slaughter... I need to step in and...

I get turn on to other things to think about.

Should I even try to get involved? There are thousands of victims in the Wasteland suffering in this way now. Could my taking out this gang have other repercussions? What if the gang is really bigger and only a part of it is here... and the rest will take revenge on them? Not necessarily me, but other Wastelanders, satisfying their anger by causing more and greater suffering? Some villains are replaced by others, and worse... this has happened many times before because of my actions.

Besides, I'm not in the kind of physical shape to stand up for myself...

While I pondered the consequences, the charge of the Pip-Boy is partially restored. I turn on the stealth field and go back to watching. The rooftop guard has already cut himself a piece of meat and is thoughtfully nibbling on it at the table. He just holds the meat in his hooves, not letting go, and gnaws at it like a predatory beast. Needle chews his meat with a dejected face.

"Not so enthusiastic about meat now, are you?" the gentle yellow horse with the horn grins.

He is silent.

The guard chews and gnaws at the meat in silence for a moment, then his face begin to frown, his eye twitching. Finally he hits the table with his hoof in an irritated manner—the two raiders and everything on the table jump from his hard blow.

"Fucking Stable Dweller, fucking Calamity!"

The gentle yellow horse responds with a sour smile. She asks, "Are the thoughts of what happened still haunting you?"

"I hope someone has already posted a reward for their asses!" the guard continues, ignoring her comment. "The two of them covered up all of Old Appleloosa! Good folks got killed! Fucking bastards!"

What's so special about this Old Appleloosa that he's so angry?

"Remember, Sharp takes the news calmly," the horse with the horn says, "and you should take his example. You should always take an example from the boss."

Sharp is their boss... Well... but where is he? My Pip-Boy only shows six red marks and five neutral marks. From what I've seen and heard, it's Pin, Slaughter, Thorn, Needle, the rooftop guard, and the horses with the horn and piercings.

The guard chuckles contemptuously.

The guard from rooftop says, "He's calm as long as he doesn't get fucked up. That's when he has even less patience than when the stallions mess with Thorn. Remember what he did to that new mare who made that joke about the size of his dick?"

Her pierced face contorts in cold terror.

"Well?" he demands answer.

The mare—I think that's a better name for a female specimen—speaks in a quiet voice, "He raped her with blades... everywhere he could..."

"Exactly! And she was one of us! A member of the Porcupine! So cruel to execute her because of a silly joke... That's why we shouldn't make an example of him. We lost the only place where we sold prisoners. We're fucked because of it. Unlike Sharp, I understand the consequences. I also want to know how the fuck they managed to cover the whole fucking Old Appleloosa?! It was a wonderful place with awesome dudes, I heard they even got a sexy singer, and I was so excited to see her!"

That's why. He likes Old Appleloosa, and not just because they regularly sold slaves there. He likes the slave traders who lived there. I wonder how those two had managed to cleanse an entire settlement. What exactly did they do?

Judging from the guard's reaction, many of the gangs or loners who sold slaves there are now forced to look for another place to sell them. The consequences of this act have affected everyone in the area, and I still intend to step in and add my own?

I don't want to take responsibility. I'd rather stay out of it and leave these... Porcupines. They'll sell the slaves, they'll be alive... and if I try to save them now, someone is likely to be hurt or killed...

I've completely forgotten about the foal. He will not be sold, and neither will the attractive mare-slave. They are both in the spotlight, they won't be left alone so easily...

I sit down from the window and look helplessly at my trembling hooves.

Should I mind my own business? They're not the kind of people you can change your mind with words. They have a calm and mundane attitude toward cruelty amongst their own kind. Sharp, Slaughter... If I kill them... others will take their place. Usually the factions influence each other to some degree, hold each other back... The territory the Porcupines control will be appropriated by other gangs, and probably worse.

What should I do?

From the window come the angry voice of the guard and the sound of a broken plate. Still can't get over what happened to Old Appleloosa.

"Shit!"

"Look," the pony with the piercings, judging by her voice, delicately intervenes, "you need to relax.

"You're right... We should try out our new fuck toy."

"Hey!" Needle says with concern. "I'm next in line!"

"Why don't we compromise? When Pin gets enough fucking, we'll go do her together? How's that sound?"

"Sounds fair to me!"

I heard the mare's upset voice. She says, "You don't want to do me? I am, unlike her, interested in fucking."

"You don't want to be beaten," the rooftop guard says in a snide tone. "I want to imagine our prisoner as that bitch Littlepip. Let all my anger out on her!"

Needle's worried voice speaks loudly, "Just don't touch her pretty face!"

"Relax... her face won't be hurt by my hooves. I like it, too."

All three of them laughs. I find my teeth clenches tight with anger and my hooves trembling with fury, as if they are thirsty for the bastards' blood.

Okay, Daniel, we don't need emotion! Think coldly, pull all the information together, and make a plan of action. We need to free them, and they have information about the area we're in. The members of the Porcupine gang, though they told us a lot of interesting things, unaware that they might be overheard. It's rare for such scum to be chatty and generous with information about themselves. I am extremely grateful to them. They've given me more motivation... So...

Even though their leader's gone—he's probably on a reconnaissance mission—it's for the best. Fewer opponents. Then I can give him a warm welcome in the form of an ambush.

The next thing to decide is the mare with the horn and the piercing, she must be neutralized first. The silver flickering, the flying in the air... it's obviously all her tricks. I wish I could ask her how she manages to do it. I could really use it. I don't know if Slaughter and Pin are horses... or ponies, as the guard put it—judging also from the name of the sign, that's a common definition of them as a species here—that have a horn that has potential danger to me. Unfortunately, all paths except the main entrance are blocked: sneaking in unnoticed won't work.

The hornless ponies aren't as dangerous. They'll be a lot easier... unless they've got their own tricks.

I have the surprise factor on my side. I got two fragmentation grenades on me... one I can use to neutralize the three at the table at once. That will be hard to do with hooves, so I have to be prepared beforehand and learn how to throw it and unplug the pin. The others will run in on the explosion, and I'll activate the stealth field and deal with them with Pushy. If I can't get close enough to them, I use the implant 'Hyperfrequency Emitter'.

Sounds good. I hope everything goes according to plan and not fucked up.

***

I spend a few minutes learning how to throw a grenade, trying to simulate a successful throw. But I am wary of throwing it, because the Porcupines inside could hear the sound of it falling.

I turn on the stealth field, hide my backpack and the rest of my equipment securely between the rocks, so it won't interfere with the fight. Quietly I get close to the front door of the bar and get ready to throw my lucky grenade. They just can't miss the opening door.

To the left of it, the first window is missing glass—apparently it fallen inward. Air is circulating through the resulting hole with a howl. Standing beside it, I peer inside. The three sitting raiders are facing me.

Great!

I clutch the grenade with my front hooves and bring it up to my helmet. To remove the pin from the grenade, I use one of the helmet lugs to hook the pin on it. All that remaine is to yank at the right moment, wait two seconds, and throw the grenade onto the table of the raiders.

Taking a deep breath and mentally preparing myself, I remove the pin and throw the grenade inside.

Have some hot potato!

The 'potato' successfully fly through the window, heading in an arc toward the raiders, but it doesn't hit the table as I've planned. It flies higher... meet Needle's right cheek, goes tangentially, and falls behind him. That unexpected slap makes him flinch and he jumps up on his stool. The grenade end up behind him, between Needle and the rooftop guard, and before anyone can shout anything, it explode deafeningly.

The whole thing blows to hell. I can clearly hear the debris of the furniture crashing into the wooden door on the back side.

I push the door open loudly, and then rush inside, heading for the epicenter of the explosion.

The wooden table at which the three Porcupines were seated is shattered along with the plates, the roasting brahmin flipped on its side along with the creche. The guard is dead, and Needle's breathless and bloody body fell right on top of the mare with horn. The spikes of his armor made extra piercings for her face.

It was Needle's corpse that saved the gentle yellow mare from the blast, but it also crippled her... She's howling in pain and can't see a thing. I walk over to her, throw the piled up body back, and strike Pushy in her bloody face. A blue flare engulfs her head, there is a sound like the deafening vibration of tight rubber, followed by a nasty smacking noise—her face turns into bloody mincemeat from the specific sound of the shock wave. The face that has been ripped open gives me a clear indication that the horn connects directly with her skull.

I lift my hoof with my Pushy. The bloody bits have stucked to it slams back onto her head. I just throw the rest away.

There is the clatter of hooves on the wooden floor from above. I waste no time in lurking behind the bar and getting ready to use 'Hyperfrequency Emitter' on one of the Porcupines. It will be the one with the horn, as it is a potential threat because of its unknown flicker or glow. Thorn is immediately out of the picture, leaving only Pin and Slaughter.

The first to appear is a stallion with brown hair and a gray mane. He is unarmored and wet with sweat. There's horror and shock on his face at the devastation and the corpses he seeing. I am instantly drawn to the faint dark orange glow on his forehead. A pistol with a long magazine is floating beside it, surrounding a shimmer of the same color as the horn. Presumably it is a pistol with a machine-gun firing principle.

The horn... My heart is beating madly, and my body is shuddering with excitement. I'd better not miss!

It is too risky to wait for Slaughter to find out if she is a horned pony. I unleash an incendiary charge at Pin. The reddish halo of energy reaches the stallion in less than a second, setting him on fire from head to hoofs. He is completely armorless, which only assists in the full effects of the charge, which in turn maintains the blaze of fire on the victim's body. The shrill howl of agony must be hearing from miles away.

I should put an end to this suffering... No one deserves it, but I think that the prisoner he raped for hours would be glad to see him die a painful death. And it is not for nothing that I'm staying behind the bar, because the others show up.

Thorne stays on the second floor, standing on her hind legs and aiming down with her rifle. She begin to look out for the attacker. Her stance is confident and reliable. It wouldn't hurt for me to learn something like that.

A second later, a cherry-colored mare runs past me... also without armor and... hair on her head and tail. There's no fur on many parts of her body, indicating numerous deep wounds in the past.

Slaughter...

I am lucky she is not a pony with a horn. I would have kicked her right in the face, but then Thorn would have seen it from the stairs.

The cherry mare runs up to Pin who is burning and running around.

"What the fuck? Water! Where is it?"

The heart in my chest feels like it's clenching into itself. My body goes numb, and I glance frantically at the metal bucket standing next to me...

Slaughter rounds the bar and trips over me.

"What the...?"

I must act instantly. I swip Pushy on the back of her bald head. A blue flash engulfs the cherry-haired mare's head, and blood splatters on my helmet with a clucking sound. I hear Thorn's angry voice in the screams of a torch-burning Pin.

"You're using StealthBuck, scum?"

I try lift my head and look up the stairs, in that moment Thorn fires. The bullet whizzes over my head and punchs a hole in the wall behind me. Obedient to instinct and an acquired reaction, I duck out of the line of fire and hide behind the corner of the bar. The second shot, however, get me at the last moment. My back leg is pierced with a sharp pain.

Ah... S-shit!

Looks like the bullet is in deep. Doesn't appear to have hit any bone. Which I can tell by looking in the Pip-Boy.

"Get out!" she yells. "You'd rather die from a bullet than be strangled by me! Although... You know what? You'd better stay there. You killed my mates, and you don't have to die so easily!"

"I'm not happy about that," I tell her.

Pin, meanwhile, has fallen to the floor, still burning, screaming hoarsely and calling desperately for help.

I need to come up with a plan to get out of this confusing situation alive. After all, the stealth field doesn't completely hide me from the enemy. Besides, I can't run with a shot leg. There's no point in using the stimulator; I need to get the bullet out first.

Well... I have no choice but to move on three legs. I have trouble getting the hang of four legs, and I can't fight her in close combat on three. And, judging by that chain and her passion for strangling stallions, she can stand up for herself in close combat. To get close to her would be like signing my own death warrant.

I look at my right hind leg. Oh, crap... it hurts so bad.

I have only one 'trump card' up my sleeve, but to use it, I need to distract the enemy or talk to her. I'm looking around distractedly, as if searching for an answer. My gaze lingers on Needle's dead body. I feet myself smiling involuntarily.

A dirty method... but I don't see any other way right now. I don't think it will work, but why not try it?

Thorn probably knows she shot me, since there was no ricochet against the wall, but she won't risk approaching me, because she doesn't know where she shot me or how serious it is. And she also probably realizes that if I haven't taken any action so far, I'm not a serious threat. Sooner or later she will make the first move.

"Hey, dickhead! You got some kind of broken StealthBuck," Thorn snickers. She didn't react in any way to the death of Pin, who at this point has gone completely silent.

"You think so?" I ask.

"Of course, you're not completely invisible!"

StealthBuck can make person completely invisible? Such a device would not be superfluous for me! If I survive, of course...

"Why are you afraid to come near me?" I try to keep my voice smooth and calm. She mustn't think she can get rid of me easily. "You told me not to come out. I'm waiting for you."

"Do I look like a fool?"

"Yeah."

My answer confuses her and silences her for a few seconds. She quickly picks herself up.

"Oh, you... Rest assured, I will cut off your tongue!"

"And will you satisfy yourself with it?" My rhetorical question messes with her head. "Or aren't you into stallions?" No reaction. She mustn't guess that I'm eavesdropping on them, or the dirty method wouldn't work. "Oh, you're silent. So I guessed it."

"So what of it?" There is anxiety in her voice. The bait's taken, all I have to do is pull.

"I just like fucking mares that aren't into stallions," I say in an arrogant tone. "The thought of my cock deep inside you already makes me horny."

"You... " she's trying to hold back her anger. "All you studs are fucking the same! And you all deserve to be strangled!"

I try to speak in a muffled and slightly dramatic voice.

"Oh, so many words, and she's afraid to come near me. Afraid of a stallion who takes whatever he wants from life... Afraid that such a stallion will come up and fuck her helpless in all her holes again..."

I can only hope that she does have some trauma associated with it in the past. Again, a dirty method, but all means are good in battle. She must react to what I say as Needle's horny fantasies.

"And will choke on the cock deep in her throat..."

Her desire to strangle stallions cannot arise out of nothing. It must be revenge for similar abuses in her past. From my hiding place I hear her breathing loudly through her nose because of the rage that overwhelmed her.

"She'll be nothing more than a cumbucket."

A furious scream is heard, followed by intense and furious rifle shots at my hiding place. In between shots, she shouts one word at a time, "I! Will! Never! Again! Let! A Stallion! Use! Me!"

The gentle clicks of the emptied magazine reaches my ears. This is my chance. I am ready to use 'Hyperfrequency Emitter' by this time. I rise from cover and swing my right hoof, launching a halo of red energy at the gray mare. It quickly reaches its target; Thorn is squealing from the fire that engulfed her, and then she starts running at me.

Wow, her anger is so strong that she's still able to move consciously!

I barely manage to get away, and Thorn can't stop or turn around because of her speed, so she hits the brick wall behind me and falls down. She looks unconscious. The yellow-red fire is slowly burning her body under her armor. Some of the energy just dissipates into the void, and the remaining charge energy inside her body won't be enough to kill.

In any case, she doesn't deserve a painful death. She could find only one way to numb the heartache of constant humiliation in the past. Revenge was the only thing that allowed her to somehow come to terms with what had happened.

I feel sorry for her... But she has cruelly strangled quite a few stallions who, though not always decent and kind, were someone's sons, lovers, husbands, and fathers... Thinking about her victims slightly dull my pity, allowing me to finish her off without much remorse.

The cycle of hate will never end... It's scary to think about.

***

I sit down... or rather, painfully, I flop on my back on the wooden steps leading to the second floor. I struggle to get my helmet off, and the disgusting smell of burnt bodies reaches my nostrils. Fortunately, I hardly pay attention to it, as my head is occupied by a painful wound in the leg. I must to get the bullet out while I still have a chance... but how can I do it with my hooves?

My distracted gaze falls on the body of a light-yellow mare with a horn.

How do you manage to manipulate objects from a distance? Could it have something to do with the surrounding energy flows I've noticed earlier? However, I still have no idea how to interact with it.

I tap my horn in frustration.

Ugh... I'll have to find another way. Perhaps one of the prisoners will help me? They might wonder why I didn't use my horn. Welll... First it is important to stop the bleeding.

I pull out a bandage in one of my armor pockets. It takes a few minutes before I can bandage the wound with my clumsy hooves. I have to get creative, using my free hind leg to get a good grip on the bandage. I end up wrapping the edge of the bandage under the applied layers. The main thing is to hold and retain the blood inside.

I struggle to get up and look helplessly at the stairs.

I never thought that the stairs would be a serious obstacle for me. A Deathclaw seems easier than that.

Without my boots and helmet on, I climb the stairs to the second floor with only three legs. But it costs me ten humiliating and agonizing minutes. It seemes like it would be a great method for torture.

On the second floor, I feet like I am on top of the world. I want to scream with joy! But I will be misunderstood by the other prisoners, saying, "What was I cheering about?"

I waddle toward the room with the door open. I cautiously peer inside and see a very... disturbing and sad picture. It isn't the first time I've seen anything like this, just unusual to see a rape victim in front of me... and it's not a human being. The mare, with her four legs tied together, is lying sideways on a single, dirty old bed. A disheveled mane with a mixture of hair in light shades of purple and pinkish-purple. Her tail matches her mane in color set, and at the moment it is pulled to the side and tied to her legs so it doesn't get in the way. Her purple hair is slick with wet sweat and... white translucent fluid, mostly in the inner thighs.

Her mouth is gagged with some sort of rag. There is tear-stained mascara under her eyes, her makeup is ruined, and... Well, Pin has done to her face what Needle has longed for.

She reeks of salty sweat and cum. Her pained and desperate gaze make my heart squeeze. A spark of hope flashes in her amber eyes as she looks at me. I am speechless for a moment, as I have no idea what to say or how to respond. For some reason I begin to feel a pity that reverberated with weakness in my four knees.

She has a horn... with some kind of ring on it. Curiosity helps me out of my stupor, and I ponder for a while that the ring is probably meant to block magic.

The purple pony stays still, silent, and keeps her amber eyes on me that fills with the desperate hope that her torment might be over.

"I'll help you in a minute," I say.

I don't know how to remove the ring or what the consequences might be, so I try to untangle the ropes and leave her to herself. I get them off, and I, not forgetting my shot leg, immediately retreat to a safe distance. Just in case. Once a rescued prisoner attacked me instantly, I don't want to make that mistake again.

The purple-haired mare tiredly and with trembling knees try to get up. Silent and speechless, she seemes afraid to even take a breath. Soon she hesitantly crawls off the bed and slowly approaches me. I should assume a fighting stance, but I don't... I just let her come to me. Her lips are trembling... she is about to burst into tears.

She throws herself into my arms and cries softly. I don't expect her to hug me... I can't stand like a pillar, so I hug her back. I try to calm her down and reassure her.

I say, "Hush... It is all over now."

It takes about a minute before she puts me down and sits on the floor. She looks down at herself and... after that she is afraid to look up at me. She clutches her front legs bashfully to her chest, as if she wants to close herself off and hide from me. With trembling hooves she awkwardly removes the ring from her horn, stand up, and walks past me with a stiffened pace.

Well... Those who have survived this kind of humiliation react differently to the release. Their emotions jump incredibly, like voltage from bad wiring.

Her retreating footsteps fall silent for a while, but I hear the clatter of hooves on wood again. She begin to descend the stairs... and most likely goes outside.

Where exactly is she heading?

I get up and follow her, still feeling a pain in the back of my leg. I need to forget about my injury, so I have to concentrate on walking again with my three legs.

What have I worked so hard to get up here for? What have I climbed such a "peak" for? Now I have to free the prisoners in the basement, so they can help me with the treatment.

Limping, I go down to the first floor, clumsily pick up my helmet and boot, and then make my way out of the bar. Outside, I see the freed pony digging into one of the three makeshift trailers with her unusual shimmer. It's amber in color, like her eyes.

I wonder, if I could use that kind of shimmer, would it also match the color of my blue eyes?

I waddle toward her. She is using her amber shimmer to wipe herself with a wet towel, occasionally dipping it into a metal bucket of water. When I approach her closely, she is almost finished with her water treatment. I notice that the sight of a wet and damp mare is mesmerizing and hold my attention... Drops of water is glistening on her purple coat, her pink-purple mane sagging under the weight of the water. I feel a rush of lingering excitement.

Something is wrong with this... ah, yes. There is no woman in the object of my arousal! What the fuck?! What is my body's sudden reaction to a creature I haven't seen before? Perhaps because I look like that very creature, my body's reaction is quite natural. However, the arousal to fully soaked and wet bodies is part of my personality... part of my character... my tendencies... and only applied to wet women's bodies...

The violet mare slightly keeps away grom me, the towel hovering between me and her... like a shield. I feel myself staring thoughtfully at her ass... As I ponder, I also don't notice that her wet rounded side bore some kind of drawing in the shape of a gold-plated bottle cap. A tattoo? There's hardly any fur in that area of her body. Interesting...

I am stuck in the maze of my thoughts again, staring shamelessly at the rape victim. Shaking my head, I look into the amber eyes of the worried blue pony.

Water is dripping slowly from her pink-purple mane...

Daniel, keep your shit in line!

"Excuse me," I say, smiling embarrassedly at the resulting awkwardness. Considering what she's been through, I feel like a moral freak. "I just... My thoughts are confused by wet and moist bodies. It's my kinks. Don't take it personally."

The mare sighs quietly in relief. She clearly isn't in the mood for conversation. I'll have to get her interested if I'm going to heal my wound. I can't do it myself.

"How do you feel?"

"Disgusting," she answers in a hoarse voice. Her horn glows an amber shimmer, and she continues to rub herself with the old towel, absorbed in that glow. She glances sideways at me. Then, with her mystic glow, she use a brush and tidies her rosy-purple hair.

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

She stars at me thoughtfully and smiles bitterly.

"Only if you have a time machine so you can go back in time and prevent an ambush on us."

"Once I find it, I will certainly use it to do so."

The purple horned pony humms with a smile. She relaxes a little after my response to the joke, and isn't as aloof and wary of me.

"Thanks for... freeing me."

"You're welcome," I smile softly. At this point, I focus all my energies on ignoring the pain and concentrating on being as friendly and welcoming as possible. She needs to feel comfortable and safe.

"My name is Daniel... and you?"

"Daniel? Hmm. That's an unusual name."

Unusual name? I've never heard that before in my life. Apparently pony names have other origins. I'm not surprised... Needle... Thorn... Pin... Slaughter...

"And my name is Bluerise."

"Bluerise? You look like an early morning in the sky yourself. Pleased to meet you."

The pony smiles softly at my compliment.

"In my case... I have no words for how please I am to meet you. Hmmm..." She looks up at the sky, draped in gray clouds. "Sunrise. It's almost impossible to see clear skies and sunshine in the interior of the continent... But on both coasts you can."

"Born on the coast?"

"Yes, on the east coast... But enough about that. Where are my other friends?"

"Prisoners? In the basement. I haven't had a chance to see them yet... But be sure there's no one else around." I scrolls on the ground with my left foot with Pip-Boy, drawing her attention to it.

"Oh, PipBuck. Rare and expensive stuff... I certainly wouldn't be in an ambush like that with him."

What did she call him? PipBuck? Why exactly that?

"Oh..." she sighs with horror. I realize she has noticed my back foot without a shoe. The layer of bandages around the wound is "soaked" with my blood. "You're hurt!"

"Yeah... so I went looking for someone who could help me get the bullet out."

"Sit down, put your wounded leg forward... I'll take care of it." she says. I obey. "Why didn't you pull it out yourself? You're a unicorn, after all... With your telekinesis, you could have pulled it out safely."

A unicorn? Like in fairy tales? I've had enough surprises today to last me a lifetime. And also, that mystic flickering is... telekinesis? Oh, I remember what that is. Scientifically speaking, the manipulation of objects at a distance in such a way has not yet been confirmed, and its presence in the world is extremely unlikely. I'm not sure how to tell her I can't use telekinesis just because I don't know how it works. Apparently it's a common thing for a pony with a horn. Should I tell her the truth about my body metamorphosis? Or wait with her after all?

"During the fight with the Porcupines, I... got hit on my horn. Until I get checked by a specialist, I don't want to risk using my telekinesis."

"I see," she says, pulling the bullet out. I stoically endures the pain. "PipBuck must have notified you if there is any damage related to the horn... "

She throws away the bloody bullet.

Uh-oh. I screwed up... I need to get out of this somehow.

A memory flashes through my mind of testing my device for possible malfunctions when I woke up after I had touched the sphere, but not yet doing a full inspection and diagnosis of all systems and subsystems.

The mare turns to the wagon and begin to rummage through it.

"You see, it's not quite working. The global map doesn't work at all, the other modules are slightly damaged... including the module responsible for analyzing my condition. So I'm not sure about the true state of my horn."

She comes back to me with a new bandage and a bottle of disinfectant alcohol.

"I don't know about these devices... So I don't know exactly what or how it's supposed to work." The purple pony shrugs her shoulders.

That was lucky she tought in that way.

She removes the previous bandage, soaks a new one in alcohol, and wraps it around my leg. I feel a sharp pain in the wound, but again I hold myself together and don't make a sound.

"So... The wound has been treated, now the healing potion can be applied."

"What?"

"Well... you saved my life. I don't mind spending a healing potion on my savior."

The pony clearly misunderstood my confusion. She thought I was surprised by her generous gesture, not by the very existence of the healing potion. Though, judging by her tone, it is some sort of rare and effective medicine. I am about to object and say something about my "PHOENIX" implant, but she holds some sort of opaque bottle corked with a wooden stopper to my face.

"Yes, I know. It tastes disgusting, but the wound will heal before you notice."

For some reason I don't want to refuse her... She looks at me with almost pleading eyes, sincerely wants to help. And it's true, it's better to take the treatment now. I never know what the Wasteland will bring me next.

"I can't use telekinesis... Can you help?"

"Of course," Bluerise replies, and using her amber telekinesis, she uncorks the cork and bring the neck of the bottle to my lips. The pungent smell of the bitter liquid hits my nose, and it almost make me grin. The purple unicorn begin to slowly lift the edge of the bottle as I swallow the nasty liquid. Not only is it disgusting in my mouth, it is also scalding!

"Thank you," I say after I take my last sip. Bluerise puts the empty bottle in one of the drawers on the cart. "Oh..." I sighs involuntarily.

The effects of the potion gives me a ticklish sensation, especially around the wound area. It is quite pleasant. The usual stimpacks only made me want to scratch the wound while it healed.

After ten seconds, I stop feeling pain. I peek under the bandage and I see no trace of the wound there. I can now safely step on that leg. I am lucky that the bone was intact, otherwise the medication wouldn't have helped me, it might have done me harm: the bone might not have healed properly because of its own fragments.

While the wound is healing, Bluerises steps back to the brahmin tied nearby. She strokes her with care. I approach her after I recovered and struggled to put on my shoe. I didn't tie the laces, but I shoved them inside the shoe.

I don't envy ponies without horns... how do they tie their shoelaces? Apparently, they have a knack for using their teeth. You have to know how to use your mouth.

Sounds... controversial.

I stand next to Bluerise. She speaks grudgingly and bitterly, "There is only Betsy left... Spot was burned... I saw her body as I was leaving the bar, but I was like in a trance... walked by. I longed to wash that... abomination."

Her body begin to shake, she looks like she feels bad at the memory.

It's hard to stand by when someone needs support and care. I reach out my front leg and put it on her shoulder. She flinches in surprise, but doesn't turn around. Unobtrusively I'll distracte her with a little chitchat, if I can.

"There are three trailers..." I say and look at the objects I mentioned. "I doubt everything can fit in their spiky half-car trailer. How did the Porcupines plan to haul all their trophies and their own trailer of supplies?"

"With the help of prisoners. They'd harness them and make them drag them behind them."

Oh... I haven't thought of that. Ponies are, after all, in a certain degree of intimacy with horses, as humans are with monkeys. The purple pony, meanwhile, was gradually calming down and relaxing.

"And where to? To Old Appleloosa?

"Yeah..."

"What kind of town? I've never been there."

"Located north of here. A dangerous place for those who value their own necks. It was one of the closest towns where the slave trade was openly welcomed. The raiding gangs there were like their own. Selling loot to each other, having fun, getting fucked, reveling in liquor. But as soon as the Porcupines heard from us that two ponies had defeated Old Appleloosa... Anyway, the chief must go exploring ways to other, more distant towns and settlements, where they could sell or trade trophies."

"I think these Porcupines were a threat to the caravans. Why wasn't someone hired to catch or kill them?"

"Raider gangs aren't stupid, after all. They move from place to place all the time, hiding. Usually pick the perfect places to ambush caravans or travelers, hide somewhere. Which makes them hard to spot, and if someone accidentally or intentionally happens to be near their temporary lair... they'd never come back alive. They were lucky if they were sold as slaves. Sometimes the raiders pretend to be common travelers. You were lucky enough to stumble upon a little stopover by chance."

So I was right about the Porcupines temporarily occupying the Speedy Pony bar building.

"How do you know their tactics?"

"Often the mercenaries who went in search of raiding gangs disappeared without a trace. Or from slaves who once went in search of gangs under contract. And more than once caravans encountered travelers who later turned out to be raiders. One is hard to distinguish from the other when they don't wear specific armor, and cleanliness and hygiene are almost equally lacking in raiders and travelers alike. I've been driving caravans for years, I must be aware of such dangers... You know, you should know this yourself, you travel too."

"I'm not from around here. I don't know how things are in this region. Thanks to you I now know that there are the same problems here."

"The Wasteland is indeed everywhere. It has established its own order in every corner of the continent. And where do you come from?"

"From the west," I answer without thinking. Bluerise came from the east, so it will be easier for her to lie about what goes on in the west if she asks... She does lead caravans, though, and should know something about a lot of places around here.

"Hmmm... There are a lot of religious cults and factions on the West Coast near Hoofland... Yeah, it's hard to envy you, the religious weirdness up there, and the uncomfortable recriminations about you being a lost soul and needing to be purified and stuff like that. No wonder you wanted to get out of there. Though we have enough religious cults of our own, like The Unity..."

She looks at her shoulder, where I've put my hoof. She smiles softly, looking at it.

"Okay, you're good to talk to." Her amber eyes make direct contact with me. "Thank you, Daniel, for... trying to help me. I appreciate that." She gently removes my beige hoof from her shoulder. "But I'm not the only prisoner here. Come on, let's go free my friends."

Bluerise goes to the bar, and I follow her.

Once again I'm amazed that the way ponies live isn't much different from humans. Pony raiders are no different in behavior from human raiders. They still move from place to place to make it harder to spot, look for places with a good opportunity for an ambush, try not to reveal the true "field" of activity. It even kind of scares me that the Wasteland has done to such cute creatures what it has done to humans.

Hoofland, as I understand it, is some huge prewar city or metropolis, but I've never heard of it, even though it's on the West Coast. Then again, ponies speak English. According to Bluerise, I can also deduce that I am somewhere in the interior of the continent, as evidenced by the gray clouds that completely cover the sky. The sun can only be seen on the coast. From this there is only one disappointing conclusion... I'm on a completely different continent, but somehow, by some miracle, English is spoken here.

Perhaps the ponies are the result of some kind of experiment or something. Who knows. I'll figure it out little by little.

***

In the basement, the first thing that catch my eye is a foal tied to a wooden table, its body completely covered with thin and shallow cuts. In his mouth is some sort of rag. He's staring at the ceiling with an aloof look and a weeping face.

I feel a keen desire to smash that sadistic Slaughter's head one more time.

There is a lamp on the table, a yellow light illuminating the basement. Next to the table with the foal lay the yellow stallion, securely chained to the concrete floor. His head is closest to the table and secured face up, and it is wet for some reason. No damage or signs of abuse are visible on it.

Did the raider make him spit in the ceiling?

Bluerise follows me down into the basement. She rushes first to the stallion and then to the two ponies tied to the pipe. One of them has turquoise fur and the other has orange. All of the captives are dressed in some sort of rags, and none of them are horn-bearers like me and Bluerise. All but the foal on the table have joy and happiness on their faces.

"Oh, guys, how are you?" Bluerise asks.

"Fine..." the turquoise pony replies. "And how are you?"

"I feel like crap. But thanks to him showing up." Bluerise turns on me with a shadowy smile on her lips. "Eventually the worst is over."

Bluerise begin to untie them. I go over to the stallion and start to unchain him. I wonder what Slaughter was doing to him.

"Why are you on the floor?"

"Gravity, my friend."

I smirk.

"But seriously?"

"The sick bitch was too lazy to masturbate, so..."

"Oh..."

"Yeah." He grimaces, and stick his tongue out in disgust for a while. "Licking an unwashed, dirty and smelly raider... I'm gonna throw up."

"How did you manage to make it through without throwing up?"

"That sly-ass bitch found something to motivate me with. If I just... distract her well with my tongue, it would make it harder for her to torture the foal. His painful mooing distracted me from the nasty stench, so I could..."

"That's... commendable," I say in all sincerity.

"Yeah, well... I'm going to rinse my mouth for a week. I hope I won't have nasty nightmares."

At this point, I completely release the yellow stallion and concentrate on the foal. He is completely unresponsive to me. Bluerise joins me almost immediately, as soon as she freed the turquoise and orange mare and asked them to bring medicine.

In addition to Bluerise's request, the three captives left us almost immediately for several other reasons: to drink water, to change clothes, and for the stallion to rinse his mouth thoroughly. Before they left, they all thanked me. The turquoise pony hugged me vigorously, and the orange mare expressed her gratitude with words and a respectful nod. As for the yellow stallion, he patted me on the shoulder and told me he would set me up with a good drink sometime in New Appleloosa.

I am surprised that none of the prisoners were killed in my surprise attack. That's good.

"That is just awful..." Bluerise says. She looks sadly at the numerous cuts on the brown colt's body.

"I take it he is not yours? And your caravan doesn't know him?"

Bluerise shakes her head negatively, adding, "He was already with them, tied up, lying in their spiky trailer. He had the same blank look in his eyes."

I try to touch him, but he flinches violently and mumbles painfully. I back away with fright, and Bluerise squeals in surprise. Could it be that he is reacting this way because of his wounds? Or is it a reflex of sorts?

"Probably..." I begin to ponder aloud, "He's only been touched to hurt... and he developed a reflex, a painful expectation of torment."

"What a monster these raiders are!"

"It seems to me that it was only Slaughter who tortured him like that. I overheard them talking. They are indifferent to her perversions."

"All raiders deserve to be punished..."

"Of course. But it's worth remembering that they too are victims of the cycle of hate."

Bluerise looks at me with interest.

"Raiders breed violence..." I remember Thorn, who was regularly raped by stallions and strangled by them for even more pleasure. "And the victims who survive the torment go a little nuts, become raiders themselves... and the torment of others makes them feel good... depending on their own trauma."

My gaze involuntarily focuses on the foal's cuts, both fresh and old.

I say, "I suspect Slaughter was once abused in a similar way. In no way am I making excuses for her, but it's important to understand where most of the abuse comes from."

"Hmm... I've never really thought much about it."

"It's natural. And it's kind of normal. Survival is paramount in the Wasteland, but... but at the same time, the worse we live, the worse we treat each other... so we think less of others..."

"Here's the medicine!" comes the voice of the turquoise pony behind us. She leaves a yellow metal box with a pink cross and three pink butterflies in the center. Then she kindly leaves us again.

"You like to talk, I see," Bluerise tells me.

"When you travel alone for a long time, sometimes you just want to talk about things for hours."

"I see... I like a good conversation with someone, too." Her amber eyes look kindly at me. "Especially with ponies who think of others at least sometimes, even if it's... raiders, who shouldn't deserve that."

I feel a rush of blood to my cheeks. It's nice to meet someone who appreciates understanding and empathy for others, doesn't consider it a weakness and doesn't sneer. It's uplifting, and it lifts my spirits.

"Speaking of others," I say, turning to the brown colt with the disheveled mane of pale yellow. "Not only do you have to think about them, but you have to do something for them."

Bluerise's pink-purple mane sways with her determined nod.

***

For about half an hour we've looked for a way to approach the foal's treatment. During that time he managed to realize that he was not going to be harmed. Bluerise spoke to him in a truly maternal and affectionate voice, stroking him gently. Such a tone and voice would melt anyone's heart; it was as if she had forgotten what she had experienced an hour ago.

The colt gradually began to realize what was happening, but remained stubbornly silent. Bluerise was sympathetic to this. The rest of the time, when he began to walk, he was beside her.

Upstairs in the bar, the rescued caravaners has already had time to change and arm themselves. And just as I thought, that construction with the two guns is attached to their backs—all three of them have them attached there. At this point, the caravaners are examining the bodies of the raiders, removing their armor. The energetic turquoise pony, who hugged me after my release, repeatedly kicks the dead body with cherry hair in anger. I share her feelings; I find it hard to be indifferent to those who inflict suffering on others for pleasure. When I was younger, I was noticeably less restrained than I am now.

Speaking of youth. The turquoise hornless mare is clearly younger than the orange. It can be seen in her energetic and cheerful demeanor, in her voice, in the liveliness of her movements. She might be about seventeen or so.

I walk past them outside to get my backpack, sleeping bag, and weapons. I follow them, and I hear their voices.

"Oh, baby... Are you okay?" The voice of the turquoise mare is impossible not to recognize. "Hey... don't be afraid of me. I'm not as mean as that raider!"

"Dash!" Bluerise's soft but judgmental voice comes. "He's having a hard time adapting."

There is a brief pause, but Dash's perplexed voice says, "Adapt?" That is followed by a heavy sigh from Bluerise. I get to my gear in the meantime and slip it on.

"That means getting used to it. It's not easy for him to get used to after what happened."

"Ahhh... I see."

"Blue," the yellow stallion's voice intervenes.

"What?" Bluerise asks.

"I looked over the two our trailers and the trailer of the Porcupine. The only thing missing is the StealthBuck ordered for New Appleloosa."

"Hmm. Maybe one of the raiders appropriated it?"

"No. I've already looked over their bodies. The whole bar, too. Dash and Juice say they didn't take it."

"Weird... Oh, listen. When the fight started downstairs, one of the raiders once told Daniel that he had a broken StealthBuck. That he didn't become completely invisible..."

"It's hardly him..." the stallion objectes . "I was checking to see if he was functional. It was fine, running like clockwork. I doubt our friend broke it."

"Or ended up damaged in the fight. There was a grenade explosion..."

The missing StealthBuck? Well, I certainly didn't take it. The yellow stallion said he looked all over... Who could've taken him? Of the remaining Porcupines I know, only the ringleader went on a scouting mission...

Scouting... When it's important to be undetected...

My heart falls into a void, my legs buckles.

Oh... no...

I lift my left foot to look at Pip Boy's compass, and a metallic clang rumbles from inside the saloon. Screams and gunfire follow.

"Gold!"

"Everybody upstairs! My telekinesis isn't working on him! Run!" Bluerise shouts.

I rush to the entrance. I burst inside, and see something huge and metallic disappear into the second floor with a clanking sound. No doubt it's Sharp. The leader of the Porcupines. Apparently, he has been following the escapees. I throw off all my gear again and ran as fast as I could after the ringleader. Running in this body I'm still not used to, so it turns out slowly.

I wish I could make it!

I'm trying to run, and I catch a glimpse of Gold at the wall... with his neck stabbed through. His body breathless. Lying there because I let my guard down and didn't look in PipBoy...

No, shit... No...

Through sheer force of will, I overcome my self-deprecation. Next time I'll think about it, I need to do my best to save the others right now!

I go to the exit to the roof... It's a ladder in the form of metal rods nailed to the wall. All of them are slightly bent... probably from the sheer weight of Sharp's armor. From up here, I hear the gunfire on the roof.

"Pointless!" Sharpe's low gruff voice comes. I have my helmet on. "Surrender and stay alive!"

"O-okay..." Bluerise says frightenedly.

My new physique make it hard for me to get up to the roof.

"My whole gang got slaughtered... You're all going to answer for this!"

"I did it," I says, climbing onto the roof.

A huge metal tank, dotted with spikes, slowly turns toward me. It's completely encased in metal... No wonder it's an impossible task to penetrate it with bullets. There's a pointed blade sticking out of his helmet... with the blood of the stallion he just killed. He just rammed it.

How did he manage to get inside without being seen? Do StealthBucks also suppress the sound coming from inside the stealth field? Moreover, why did he turn it off? It's quite possible that it had run out of power by then.

"Really?" he asks. The openings for his eye are protected by a dense grid. I wonder how limited his field of vision is? Or it doesn't matter to him. He's like a rhinoceros ramming everything and diverting firepower, and the rest of the Porcupines have his back.

"Sure. So let's fight." I tap my front hooves against each other. My right hoof is still wearing Pushy. My 'Hyperfrequency Emitter' implant won't have much effect on it... the armor will block the charge... I'll be lucky if some of it gets through the bars on his eyes and blinds him. I need to remember everything I know about the leader of the Porcupines.

I turn back thoughtfully, and then look at the frightened and resigned slave caravans. They obviously seen him in battle before, so they are sure it is useless to fight against him. Bluerise, at some point in his sudden appearance, shouted that her telekinesis wasn't working on him. Most likely, she wanted to lift him into the air, as that delicate yellow pony with the piercings did when she separated the fighting Thorn and Needle.

"Why fight? It's better to surrender. I'll sell you as a slave and you'll live."

"Chickened out? I thought you had big balls. Look, maybe you wear that big junk on your head, too, as compensation for your little cock."

Sharp stops talking abruptly. I prepare to use 'Hyperfrequency Emitter'.

"You son of a bitch...!" At those words he rush at me. I swing my hoof, aiming for the bars protecting his eyes. A red halo of incendiary energy crosses the air and hits the head area. As I expected, most of the energy ignites and dissipates outside, but...

"My eyes!" Sharp cries painfully.

...The plan for his eyes went well.

His speed don't allow him to stop in time. I dodge the rushing metal machine. I almost do... but I miscalculate my odds. The spikes of its armor snag on my cloak, drag me down with them. The last thing I feel is a sharp, piercing pain all over my body.