Fallout Equestria: Invisible 9

Chapters

Prologue: Wartime
Chapter 2: To Protect Ponies
Chapter 3: On Site Procurement
Chapter 4: After Orders
Chapter 5: Party
Chapter 6: Quick Thinking
Chapter 7: Heart to Heart
Chapter 8: Life and Death
Chapter 9: Who are you?
Chapter 10: Will O Wisp
Chapter 11: Memento
Chapter 1: Awaken Operative
Chapter 12: What do you want?

Prologue: Wartime

War, war never changes. It starts small, like a pebble rolling downhill, but that pebble knocks loose others, which knocks loose others until an entire avalanche is falling down the hill. Unstoppable, uncaring, it can only destroy everything in its way until it comes to a rest.

In Equestria that avalanche came to a rest to the sound and heat of balefire.

In war, those caught up in the avalanche find themselves pushed to an extreme that can bring out both the best, and the worst, in people. For every terrible new weapon that was unleashed upon the field of battle, new methods of healing were developed, for every savage slaughter, sworn enemies would show each other mercy.

Some, however, pushed into the darkness for their own gain, their own vanity. The fog of war hides many sins, and even great injustices can be rendered invisible.

Darkness. Cool, calming, familiar.

“Neun null neun, Tikhiy Soldat Klinok, Awaken Operative.”

The darkness faded, light growing to fill my vision. It was indistinct, hazy, so I opened my eyes and resisted the urge to squint. The lid of the stasis pod slid up smoothly to reveal the sterile white room that held my pod.

“Respond.” A voice in the air, an order.

“FT-909-SBS Razor Wind.” I responded to the order, rote, familiar, correct.

“Operative confirmed. Proceed to briefing. ”

My joints unlocked and I climbed from the stasis pod, walking to the white door set in the white wall which slid to the side to reveal an almost identical room. Opposite was another white door, on the left hoof wall was a locker, shiny steel reflecting the harsh lights. In the locker was a set of black barding and a matching beret that bore a brass plate stamped with the numbers ‘909’ and an image of three curved slashes, the same image on my flanks. My cutie mark.

I do not remember how I got my mark, only that it was tied to my spell. I do not remember much... But No. It is not important, it is not the mission. only the mission is important.

Donning the boarding I covered my dark green coat in black ballistic weave fabric, perched the beret on my head and stepped up to the next door and into a third room. It was, again, just as stark and white as the last two. Turning to my left I faced the screen set into the wall and waited.

The screen sparked into life with a run of text and numbers flashing across the green hued window. A map appeared, small dots appearing in a cluster.

“The mission” the voice said again, “The target is a legion general directing the XXII battalion.” An image appeared, Zebra, like most targets, wearing legion armour and laurels of leadership. Three more zebras appeared, “secondary targets, Army chain of command.”

I nodded, this was not the first time I had toppled a battalion. I was mildly surprised when another image appeared, another Zebra, lower ranked than the other targets with horizontal stripes.

“This captain is to survive. Intelligence suggests that this battalion will defect if chain of command falls to this Zebra.” The voice explained, “exfiltrate after neutralising targets. Marauder squad with Proditor attaché will oversee defection.”

The screen faded, my briefing over as a drawer below the screen slid open revealing dark ceramic armour plating, a dulled steel knife and a suppressed pistol. Manipulating them with my hooves I strapped the plates to my barding, sheathed the knife and slid the pistol into the empty leg holster. Fully equipped I walked through the open door into a small room, barely big enough to fit. The elevator vibrated as it ascended to its destination.

I stepped out of the elevator into a hanger holding a number of vertibuck aerial transports, the small maintenance crew clustered around one in particular.

“Operative Razor Wind” A voice came from my left. I turned to see another pony in black barding and beret, this one with a dark, charcoal grey coat and ‘906’ on the beret mounted plate.

“Operative Falling Tactics,” I recognised him, we had worked together on multiple operations. That was probably why the voice had neglected to mention I would be partnered with him again.

No. Don’t question. Don’t guess motives. That is not the mission. Only the mission is important.

Silently the pair of us boarded the Vertibuck, the pegasus pilots all harnessed in and ready to go. With a beating of wings the inherent air magic of the pegasi was transferred through the arcanotech machine, lifting the whole thing from the hangar floor. I gave a shiver, the pegasus magic sympathetically resonating with my own spell. Then, we were away, sailing up into the night sky and I took the opportunity to stare at the stars through the open side door as the vertibuck banked and pulled its nose around. We were aiming for the front, behind the front in fact, and I could only have faith that Luna would protect us under her jewelled domain.

No. Faith was not important. Only the mission is important.

The door rolled shut, cutting off my view of the stars, as Operative Falling Tactics pulled it across and sat back down. I quashed the frown that creased my brow. The flight continued in silence as we sat, facing each other but saying nothing. Finally one of the pegasus pilots spoke up.

“This is as far as we go.” He said, the vertibuck slowing to a stop then hovering for a moment, “We’ve got minutes before were spotted, time to go.”

I nodded at my fellow Operative and we both stood, I slid open the side door and, without a word the pair of us leapt out into the night.

Wind whipped past my head as we fell through the open air, Luna’s diamonds at my back, the beret atop my head miraculously staying secured as I spread my limbs out wide, slowing my fall and allowing the other Operative to catch me. Falling Tactics called on his spell, a faint glow covering his form as our fall slowed and then stopped entirely, leaving the pair of us hovering in the air. Operative Falling Tactics, FT-906-ATS, Auto-Telekinesis Soldier. Falling Tactics could use telekinesis on himself to fly.

Silently we begin to move, spotting the camp fires of the XXII legion and aiming for the outskirts. Falling Tactics let go of himself and we picked up speed, covering ground as we dropped out of the sky only to slow before we ploughed into the earth, touching down gently with barely a sound.

“I will secure extraction.”

I nodded as the other Operative slinked away from our landing point, sticking to the shadows as I made my way through the camp. Part of me wished I had been issued a pipbuck for this mission, the Eyes Forward Sparkle would have been useful for tracking the Zebra legionnaires that wandered the camp.

No. Do not question. That is not the mission. Only the mission is important.

On the other hoof, a pipbuck compass bar filled with red icons would have been as much a hindrance as a help in here. I was familiar with the layout of zebra camps, even single tribe battalions built their camps to the same standards, so tracking down the generals tent was not difficult, at least not compared to weaving my way through the tents. I stuck to the shadows, ears and eyes straining to detect and track the zebras that roamed the camp. It being the middle of the night helped minimise the activity, and the clear sky might be keeping some of the most superstitious inside.

Reaching the generals tent I crept up against the fabric on the opposite side to the entryway. No guards this side. I pulled the knife from its sheath with my teeth and cut a slit in the tent. Putting my eye to the hole I looked about the inside, spotting the general leaning over a table, staring at a map even at this late hour. I didn’t need to get inside, all I needed was line of sight.

I tapped into my spell and the horn I had hidden beneath the beret, shielded by the metal plate, began to glow softly. We were trained as earth ponies, to fight hoof-to-hoof and wield weapons with our mouths, hiding our horns and saving our spell for the correct time, like now.

There was a haze in the air around the general, barely perceptible, as a whisper of wind picked up, though not even enough to rustle his close cropped stiff mane. Then he raised his head, his left ear giving a slight twitch before the spell was cast in earnest and the general stiffened, a breath of wind the only sound as a thin red line appeared on his neck. The line started to ooze, the band of blood encircling his neck as his head dipped back down, and slid off entirely, dropping to the floor with a wet thump. The general’s legs were still obeying their last command to stand, but with the nerves severed is wasn’t long before they gave out and his body joined his head on the floor.

I had left the moment his head had left his shoulders, stalking through the camp again, now on a time limit to reach the other targets. Army commanders would be billeted in tents close to the centre of the camp, but each at the head of their section. I worked clockwise, ten commanders to neutralise. Each tent was the same, cut a slit for visual contact, use my spell to remove their heads, press on to the next tent. Six were asleep, never to wake again, a pair were together and the slapping sounds of their activity would have covered shooting them, never mind the whisper quiet of my spell. They lay joined together in death. One was awake and reading, sitting before a dismantled rifle on a table, his head scattered the parts as it fell.

The last target was conversing with a captain and I had to strain my eyes to pick out their features, trying to match them to the image of the Zebra I shouldn’t kill. The stripes were similar, but the face was different. Collateral. I thought for a moment, this Zebra was of the same tribe as the potential defector, would their death sour his resolve? Or would one less captain ease the defector’s takeover? I could wait, if this captain was last seen talking to the commander, then he could be a scapegoat when the body was found. Additional disruption could both help and hinder the defector. I shook my head, I was not a strategist, I was barely a tactician, in truth, I was an executioner, an assassin. I had my mission.

The conversation had finished as I considered my options and the captain began walking away. Scenario 3 then. I began the spell just as the commander called back out, “Provisio,”the captain turned back but whatever the commander was about to say trailed off in a strangled hiss as the red line formed around his neck. A look of horror came over the zebra’s face as the commander’s head fell from its body. His eyes darted around and came to rest directly on mine, peering in from a slit in the tent fabric.

I darted away as the captain began to yell. My heart pounded as I slipped from shadow to shadow, twisting this way and that to avoid the increasing activity as soldiers were roused by the calls. I even had to stand on my rear hooves in a zebra combat stance to duck into a locker and avoid a knot of zebras dashing through the tents, pulling on armour and fumbling with guns.

When they had passed I slipped away, reaching the edge of the camp and our extraction point. Falling Tactics was waiting for me, hidden in the shadows of a cluster of boulders, only revealing himself when I stated ‘906’. He responded with ‘909’ and stood up. He looked back at the camp, taking in the commotion.

“Did they spot you?” he asked, stretching his legs,

“Not as such,” I replied, “the last target had a witness.”

Falling Tactics gave a slight nod, turned away from the camp and began to levitate himself. I walked underneath the other unicorn and felt him grab me with his legs, the telekinetic field surrounding him lightening the load. We climbed into the night sky, slower than we had descended as fighting gravity placed extra strain on the operative’s spell. As the lights of the camp grew smaller there was a faint crack then a spike of pain through my right hindleg as the armour dented, the ceramic coating cracking and flaking off. Then I recalled some of the more... Interesting qualities of zebra rifles and frantically scrambled to release the armour plate.

“Stop wriggling” Falling Tactics hissed, struggling to keep hold of me

I had nearly got the plate free when it burst into flames.

A brief attempt beating out the flames led only to a singed hoof so I drew my knife, gripping it in the frog of my hoof. The fire was spreading, burning out from the bullet caught in the armour plate, so I took the knife and cut away at the barding around my hindleg, stripping it off and letting it fall away. The burning clothing dropped away into the night.

“Are we clear?” I asked

My answer was a woosh of conjured wind as the vertibuck swept by us. Our rendezvous has arrived. Falling Tactics shifted his course and threaded us through the open side door and into the flying vehicle.

The return was uneventful and led to the familiar routine. I took the elevator down a level, entered a stark white room and placed my equipment in a tray; armour, knife, gun, beret, barding. Having given everything up I entered the next room and sat in the chair in the centre. The only other item in the room was a small table with a black tiara-like object sitting on it. A recollector. I placed it on my head and waited.

“report operative.” The voice came as expected.

I finished the debriefing and set the recollector aside, returning back through the room and to the elevator. I was returned to the procession of rooms I can come through earlier and began the walk back to my stasis pod.

I was sure that things hadn’t been like this in the past, that I had done more than sleep in stasis between missions. I thought that maybe I had sat with other operatives, or technicians or... But the memory was hazy, from before my failure. I stared at the pod before me thinking, trying to remember.

No. Don’t remember. It’s not important, it’s not the mission. Only the mission is important.

I climbed back into the stasis pod and went to sleep.

Author's Note

After a return to Fallout: Equestria and a deep dive into side fics, I had a few ideas of my own. So, time to give it a go.
Thanks to kkat for creating this crazy mashup and letting others play around in it.
Thanks to Somber too, I may refernce things from Project Horizons and Homelands here and there.

Chapter 2: To Protect Ponies

“So, why are you here cadet?”

“Sir, to kill zebras sir!”

“hrrrmmm, that might be what we do, but why are we here?”

“uhhh, sarge?”

“We are here to protect ponies, cadet. To protect all the citizens of Equestria from what her enemies would unleash on her. We are the princesses shield, and their sword. Do you understand me?”

“Sir, yes sir!”

Now what?

I had heard that thought the first time, I didn’t need to repeat it. Taking a few steps from the doors that stuck into the air I felt a rumble again as the doors closed back up behind me, and a pile of rocks slid forward, covering up the doors. I blinked, there was now no indication of those doors. Which would be a problem for getting back in. With a frown I drew my knife and carved three crescents into one of the rocks, my cutie mark would serve as a marker.

Sheathing the knife brought my ear close to the pipbuck, where I finally noticed the clicking noise. There was a small dial in the top left corner labelled ‘Rads’ with a needle floating up in the green marked zone, though any radiation was more worrying than no radiation. I remembered the message on Project Lead Muse’s terminal.

Stop that.

Stop what?

The titles.

It seemed unprofessional to omit the Project Lead’s title, while we were outside the traditional chain of command, ranks and titles were still important to respect.

It’s annoying.

Well, we’ll just have to agree to disagree then... Me. What had happened to me while I was in stasis? I shook my head and looked back to the pipbuck, noticing some text running across the bottom of the screen.

‘Trying to contact Stabletech network... Fail, switching to alterative frequencies. Ministry of Arcane Science Emergency Broadcast System frequency detected. Rerouting. Contacting Pipnet system. Updates found. Install? Y/N’

The Y/N prompt flashed on the screen. I was not sure what was going on, but it made sense to keep my equipment up to date. Especially when it was having to use an emergency broadcast system to get the update. Using the dials on the side of the device I highlighted the ‘Y’ and selected it. My very blank E. F. S. Compass vanished from my peripheral vision as the screen rippled and became scrolling code. Even the rad detector stopped clicking, which seemed like an oversight.

While I was waiting for the update I took stock of my surroundings, I appeared to be at the edge of a forest, or at least, what used to be a forest, these trees were bare and twisted, a dark brown that seemed more like the sickly stains of nicotine than the bare trunks of fall. There didn’t even seem to be any grass about, just cracked dirt trailing off into assorted rocks that lead over to some kind of drop. Walking over I could see the land drop away in a series of terraces down to a river, and up again on the far side where some mountains rose on the horizon. A horizon that faded into dusty brown clouds, the whole sky was covered in cloud reflecting the dusty brown of the land. Looking back towards the hidden exit I spotted something over by the woods. Trotting closer I could see it was some kind of wooden structure, built between two trees.

The little building had an entrance and, sticking my head inside I could see the far wall had a couple of narrow slits at pony eye level to look out from. A pair of binoculars still hung on a hook between the slits.

A bird hide?

I blinked. A what now?

A hidden place to watch birds from.

Oh, that would explain the binoculars. Though not what a presumable publically accessible structure was doing practically on top of a secret military base. Deciding to take the binoculars I flipped the strap over my head, hanging them round my neck, and as my head craned up, I noticed the camera in the corner of the structure. Maybe those down below did know when people were here.

I raised the binoculars to my eyes and looked out of the viewing slit, seeing a forest full of dead trees and not a single bird. Where was this anyway. Dropping the binoculars I looked about the hide, just in case there was a map of some sort. Not finding one I looked outside the hide, but still could find no identifying marks. I took a few steps into the trees, wondering if I would be better to push through the forest where there would be cover, or skirt the edges. I gave the side of my head a scratch, I was feeling a bit itchy, and my stomach had started lurching, reminding me that I had not eaten since I woke, and technically hadn’t eaten since I went into stasis. I started to raise the binoculars again and noticed something written on the top.

‘Property of Whitetail Woods Ranger Service’

A chime came from my pipbuck and I looked to that to see the message ‘Update Installed, welcome to OIA-Framework 6.5. Note: Soliton Sparkle System (S3 Program) has been delayed until future patches.’. It looked like Project Lead Muse hadn’t updated in a while, another chime came and the screen stated ‘new biosignature detected. Creating new profile, profile ‘Dr Muse’ will be sealed with user password. Shared information settings are; map markers, radio presets, inventory management preferences’.

Err, what? The screen flashed again, this time reading ‘Welcome New User’ before displaying an image of a pony looking happy with a shield icon on their body and their head. Also, the rad meter kicked back in and the needle jumped up to the top of the green band, occasionally bouncing into the yellow, with a much more insistent clicking noise.

I immediately turned and dashed back towards the secret exit and hears the clicks subside. Checking the pipbuck I could see the needle had dropped back down towards the lower end of green. I keyed over to the map, to try and get my bearings, finding a little arrow in the centre and the region next to it labelled ‘Whitetail Woods’. Which I had already established from the binoculars. Strangely, it also had a pin labelled ‘FT Station 5’ next to me, which seemed like something you shouldn’t include on a map in a fresh user profile, but I remembered that one of the things shared from Project Lead Muse’s profile was map data. Stabletech had missed that little security flaw. An idea came to me and I zoomed out the map, panning around, spotting a number of familiar locations around me, Applewood, Littlehorn Valley, aha! There we are! Over near the pin for Ponyville, by the hoofhills to the west, was a pin stating ‘FT Station 1’.

Unfortunately, the most direct way there would be through the irradiated woods, which given I had no anti-radiation, or radiation purging drugs available, would be a problem.

“Mission parameters,” I whispered to myself, “find supply of Rad-X and/or Rad-Away.”

There might have been some back in Station 5, but I wasn’t looking to tackle the ladder again any time soon. Hugging the treeline as close as I could, while still keeping the rad meter low in the green I set off north, aiming to circle around the woods. I had been travelling for maybe an hour, it was hard to tell when the sun was hidden and the world had a sepia tint, but the clock in my pipbuck helped, presuming of course it was correct. There was a rustle in the trees to my right, and a little pip appeared on my E. F. S. Compass, a red pip. Hostile.

I tensed, pressing against a large rock and circling around it, trying to get the stone between myself and the hostile. I wasn’t completely hidden, but it would have to do as a black blob buzzed its way between the trees, I made an involuntary face of disgust at the buzzing blob as it bobbled in the air. It might have once been a paraspite, but now it was a mass of cancerous growths with wings. There was a ‘pfthh’ sound and something bounced off the rock near my head, a black spike of some sort, turning back to the bloated sprite I could see another spine growing out of the bottom of it as it buzzed its way towards me.

Half way towards drawing the operator from my leg holster I froze. One magazine of ammo. Only seven shots. Was I going to waste that on this? It didn’t look tough enough to require that. Knife? Not sure I want to get too close to that spike. I ducked down further behind the rock as another spike clattered off, checking my pipbuck, could it analyse the spikes? I had a bad feeling they were poisonous. Instead I found that it was on an inventory screen listing my weapons; combat knife, IF11-1S Operator, Resolve.

Wait. How was my resolve a weapon? Highlighting ‘Resolve’ the pipbuck flashed an icon of a pony, with an arrow pointing to the small of its back. Confused I reached back there, finding something metal tucked in a loop on my barding. Catching it with my hoof I pulled it back round so I could see, another dart pinging off the rock.

It was an Ironshod Firearms IF15 Workhorse, an unremarkable, standard issue equestrian military sidearm. Where had I got this? Thinking back, I remembered sitting by the collapsed exit, a gun cradled in my hooves, the gun that had belonged to that skeleton, the gun that had ended its life. Turning it over I could see the word ‘Resolve’ engraved on the slide. That unicorn had named his standard issue gun. A gun that held twelve rounds, rather than seven. I had a quick check of the magazine, ten 10mm bullets, I frowned and pulled back the slide. There was bullet eleven. Where was bullet twelve?

Oh. Yes.

I winced, returning the magazine to the pistol and placing the grip in my mouth. I cocked back the hammer with my hoof and tonged the safety. It was already off. Again, oh. Yes. Checking the alignment of the red pip I waited for the clatter of another spike then popped back up from behind the rock, engaging S. A. T. S.

Primarily, I was using the Stabletech Arcane Targeting Spell to get the drop on the sprite, the perceived slowing of time was useful for getting the gun around and lining up the shot. Single shot, centre mass. The spell ended and my tongue twitched, then pulled back as the spell overrode my muscle memory that was much more used to highly sensitive triggers. With a bang the single round was launched from the barrel, streaking across the, by now very short, gap and into the sprite. Which exploded. Messily.

Goodbye number eleven.

Glad I was counting my ammo, not glad of the putrid mess which was now scattered around my rock. More red pips appeared on the E. F. S. the sound of gunfire must have attracted them. Time to move. I made a dash to another rock, gun still held in my mouth, and slid behind it. The pips were the other side of the rock. Waiting a minute or two for S. A. T. S. to recharge I popped back up and dropped into the spell. The advantage of the little standard issue pistol was that it didn’t take much effort to fire, meaning that in S. A. T. S. I could take multiple shots. Three more bloated parasprites had buzzed out of the woods, but with the spell following my mental commands I could target one, assign a shot then toggle over to the next sprite. The spell ended and ‘Resolve’ barked three times, obliterating the pests.

Ten, nine, eight. Just like an old Appleloosa cowpony from the films.

It’s hard to quick-draw or fan the hammer in earth pony style though. Wait, no, that’s irrelevant. I checked the compass, no more hostiles. I holstered the gun on my back again, sighing. Now I had seven rounds for each gun. I needed to find a resupply point. Or a civilian settlement. The Pipbuck suggested there was a settlement called Littlerock just around the corner of the Whitetail Woods, hopefully that would be a viable resupply point.

Continuing to trudge north I looked at the pipbuck, tabbing over to the radio section, the update had said something about an emergency broadcast system so I navigated to the frequency labelled ‘MASEBS’ and tuned in.

‘this next song goes out to you, Stable Dweller. May Celestia and Luna wrap you in Their tails.’ A loud, boisterous stallion’s voice cut through the still air before transitioning into a mournful tune.

Is that Sweetie Bell?

That is a beacon for any and all hostile life to come to me. I switched off the radio, at least until I could figure out the volume settings.

I continued to walk throughout the day, stopping every now and again to hold up my binoculars to my eyes and scout ahead.

Why not levitate them? Scout and walk.

Conserve magic, deceive opponents, subterfuge.

There’s no one around.

I looked pointedly at something I had just seen in my binoculars, a metal sphere with wings. A Spritebot. If I strained my ears I could catch a faint blast of tuba on the breeze. One of Ministry Mare Pie’s little projects, to inspire, and keep tabs on, the populous. I had no desire for her little spies to pick up a special operative wandering about in the day.

They’re what?

Spy drones. Pinkie Pie is watching you FOREVER.

My rogue thoughts were quiet after that, so I kept on walking, the sun fading out, setting as I rounded the northwestern tip of the woods and turned to head east. Trekking along the edge of the woods I spotted the gleam of a campfire off to my left. From this distance I could see a number of figures around the fire, a cluster of rocks and a small cabin. I shrugged and continued east, a small camping party was unlikely to have the items I required, this Littlerock was still my best option.

A scream came from the shack, drawing my attention. I pulled up the binoculars and looked to the camp, spotting five ponies near the fire, now looking back at the shack who all looked like they’d raided a sporting goods store, then a BDSM club before combining their loot. Another pony came running out of the shack, a mare with a warm yellow pelt, mottled with bruising, her flight was intercepted by two of the ponies at the fireside, tackling her to the ground. Another sports store raider came limping from the shack,

“She bit me!” he screamed, and when that failed to illicit sympathy he added, “she bit my cock!”

He still failed to gain any sympathy as the rest of the ponies instead burst out laughing with one them, a mare by the tone of the voice, shouting “she bit Gnat Bite’s Gnat!”. One of the fireside ponies drew closer to the pinned mare, one I presumed was the leader by virtue of his bigger armour, and looked first at the mare, then at this Gnat Bite.

“Then we teach her a lesson about pain and obedience.” His voice was lower than Gnat Bite’s screeching tones, but carried just as well, “unless you’re too injured to get it up?”

Gnat Bite laughed, “I’ll manage, payback’ll make it well worth it.”

The leader nodded to the two pinning the mare, “stand her up, and spread her legs.”

The mare started screaming, a different scream than the one that had drawn my attention in the first place. Thinking about the pitch, that scream must have been Gnat Bite getting bitten.

I dropped the binoculars and turned back east, somewhat troubled by what seemed to be happening in the background of the war. Or, given the state of the station, I guess the war was over and we lost.

Save her.

That wasn’t the mission, they weren’t zebras, weren’t the enemy. The mission was to resupply, I had to get to...

WHAT DO YOU MEAN IT’S NOT THE MISSION?!

I shook my head a little, it’s not the mission.

WHY DID WE JOIN THE WAR?

To defeat the zebras.

TO SAVE PONIES! YOUR MISSION IS TO SAVE PONIES! SAVE HER!

I paused. The rogue thoughts had become very insistent, and I wondered why I was in such conflict with myself. The scream came again and I turned back to the group to see the mare with her face pressed into the dirt and her rump in the air.

Save her. Please.

I counted six hostiles, one hostage, all attention on the hostage. Cover by the rocks and the shack.

“Sneaking mission, huh?” I muttered to myself, tucking the binoculars under a strap on my back.

I was on a slight rise above the pack of ponies and when the mare next screamed, I slid down the rise, the noise covering the sound of my descent. I pressed against the cluster of rocks, gave a quick glance around and scooped up a large pebble in my hoof as I dropped my head and drew the Operator from my leg holster. Seven shots, but it was supressed, I was going to have to rely on the element of surprise here, and a heavy dose of misdirection.

I tongued off the safety and popped my head up above the rocks, slipping into S. A. T. S. And highlighting two of the ponies on the far side of the group that now clustered around the pinned mare. I could see Gnat Bite’s... Gnat, drawing close to the mare’s rear in disturbingly slow motion. I had to put that thought out of my mind, this spell only had a limited window. I targeted the heads of two ponies on the far side of the group and dropped the spell. The trigger pull was much easier and smoother than Resolve’s, with the two shots ‘pfft’ing in quick succession, almost sounding simultaneous. As the second shot fired, I threw the pebble in my hoof over the group, it sailed over their heads as two ponies found themselves missing big chunks of their heads. The pebble hit the ground with a clatter and all eyes turned away from the centre if the huddle, and, more importantly, away from me.

Seven, six,

Which meant we were down two ponies, six, five. I scooped up another pebble and made a dash for the shack, keeping low and trying to place any other rocks or small rises between me and the group. Scooting into cover behind the shack I could hear more yelling as the sports ponies acknowledged they were being shot at. I popped out from the corner of the shack and brought S. A. T. S. Back up, targeting another two ponies, two who seemed slower to react than the others. Two more suppressed shots ‘pffft’ out and I chucked the pebble back at the rocks.

Five, four,

Four, three. The mare and one of the ponies pinning the hostage dropped.

“They’re everywhere!” Gnat Bite shrieked, his arousal well and truly banished now.

The leader looked at the fallen ponies, “no, just one side.” He said, ears twitching and his head snapping up to look at my previous location by the rocks. “Over there. Hard Time check the rocks, Gnat Bite, the shack.”

The two nodded, with Hard Time releasing the mare, only for the leader to plant a hoof on her neck, drawing a whimper from his hostage. I took a note of their progress then ducked back around the corner. Hard Times moved with confidence, a firearm in his mouth as he went towards the rocks, Gnat Bite was jittery and slower, floating a knife. He was a unicorn, I reassessed the plan, it didn’t alter it, he was much too spooked and jittery. I watched the rocks from my hiding spot and tagged Hard Times swaggering up to them, he transferred his weapon to a hoof and ducked his head to the strap of his armour, coming back up with a metal apple that he held by the stem. I raised an eyebrow, that seemed like overkill, then he swung his head and chucked the grenade over the rocks. Or, at least he would have if I hadn’t activated S. A. T. S. And targeted the grenade.

The apple blew up in his face, sending the pony to the floor with a wet thump.

Three,

And we were down to two hostiles. I slid along the wall of the shack, circling around the end of the wall and pressing myself against the musty wood of the shack.

“Hard Times?! What buck’s going on?” the familiar high pitched, panicky shout of Gnat Bite sounded from the other side of the cabin.

I peaked an eye around the corner to see the twitchy pony stick his head round, low to the ground, floating his knife ahead of him. I pulled my head back and crouched slightly, pushing off the ground with my forehooves and pulling myself up to standing on my rear ones. Now up in a zebra combat stance I pressed my back to the wood of the shack, feeling it flex under me, both the binoculars and Resolve pressing in to my back. I pressed my right hoof to the wall and rapped it twice against the wood.

“Huh?” came a high-pitched voice, “w-what was that noise?”

I cocked my ear, tracking Gnat Bite’s hoofsteps as he slowly made his way along the back of the shack. His breath was coming in gasps and I could hear the parts of his knife rattle as it shook in his magical grip. How scared did somepony need to be for their magic to shake? He was close now, I remembered how he had peeked around the last corner, turned my head slightly in anticipation and queued up S. A. T. S.

Gnat Bite stuck his head around the corner, low to the ground, getting a look at my hooves and barding covered fetlocks. I activated the spell and targeted his face as it slowly rotated to look up at a pony in an entirely alien position, gun held in mouth. From this angle the compression seams of my barding would look like the ghost of ribs on the black suit, my dark colouring likely obscuring my features.

His mouth slowly began to split wide, even within the slowed perception of S. A. T. S. I could hear the scream start reverberating in the back of his throat. Before that could happen, I released the spell and Gnat Bite wasn’t going to hurt anyone again.

Two,

Only one remains.

I dropped back down to all four hooves and left Gnat Bite decorating the floor, sneaking my way along the wall to the front of the shack. I could still feel the ghost of the gun and binoculars pressing into me and pondered that I really needed saddlebags. Regaining focus, I pressed myself to the wall and slid my head forward, trying to get a bead on the last pony.

“Come on out ‘hero’,” the leader called, and I could see him near the fire, mare still pinned by a hoof on her throat and a gun pressed to her temple. “I don’t know what you think you’ve achieved. Five corpses for a cunt that can’t be brought to heel? Lets make that seven, unless you come here now.”

Seven?

Us and her.

Oh.

Capture was an opportunity for information and escape. I didn’t think this mad stallion had any interrogation skills, so confidential information about the unit wasn’t at risk. He was plenty willing to just send his own comrades against a deadly infiltrator with no support, and I had no reason to believe he wouldn’t shoot his hostage. That would fail the mission. Mission failure led to reset. As did death, which could be considered the ultimate mission failure. Tonguing the safety, I holstered the Operator then clenched my teeth, drawing in a breath between them then letting it out.

“Tick tock hero,” came the leader’s voice again, “I don’t wanna hold this too long.”

The mare whimpered and I stepped around the corner of the shack, raising a hoof in the air.

“I’m unarmed,” I said, trotting forward on three legs, I got about half the distance before he shouted at me.

“Bullshit! You’re not unarmed unless I got your gun. Toss it here.” He racked the gun he was holding to the hostage. In a magic field. Unicorn again.

I slowly lowered my hoof to the holster on my leg, staring at the leader as I did so. I brought it up equally as slowly, pointing it at the dark, cloudy sky.

“Toss. It. Here.”

With a flick of my hoof, I chucked the Operator at the sole survivor the sports store raiders. Taking a few more steps I was halted by his barked order.

“Hold it! No further.” He looked down at the unfamiliar gun, and back up at me in my barding, “who the hell even are you?”

I opened my mouth but was cut off again,

“nah, doesn’t matter, I know what you are,” the Operator was coated in a field of magic, like the one around the shotgun he had pointed at the mare’s head, it was a strange colour I could best describe as ‘puce’. My gun was lifted into the air and pointed straight at me, “you're dead!”

I stared past the gun and straight at the unicorn who had a mad grin on his face, grinding his hoof into the mare’s throat, drawing distressed gurgles from her.

I should have seen this coming.

‘Click’

I did.

“What?!”

“Have you tried the safety?”

At my quip he ground his hoof into his hostage again and magically triggered the safety switch.

“There!”

‘Click’

The leader screamed obscenities and threw the gun at my head, whipping up the shotgun he still held. I had been concentrating since he fiddled with the safety, and a barely seen ripple in the air had encircled him in two spots.

Before he could fire, his tirade tailed off into strangled hiss as a red ring appeared around his neck and the shotgun fell to the ground, the magical field having vanished. His horn fell first, severed near the base only to be followed moments later by his head, which fell on top of the poor mare as his body fell away in the opposite direction. She screamed and wriggled and kicked until the head was off of her.

Mission Complete.

The mare rose shakily to her feet and stared at me.

I blinked. I didn’t know what to say. My missions had very little interaction with other ponies.

Ask her how she is?

I cleared my throat, “err, are you alright?” I asked, before taking a step closer to her. She shied away. “I’m not going to hurt you. I’m a... Special Operative. Attached to the Equestrian military. 900th Unit.”

There was no recognition of any of that, which wasn’t too much of a surprise from a civilian, but something was still clearly wrong here. I tried to take a step towards her again and this time she at least stood still. I bent towards the Operator on the ground just as I heard something behind me. Galloping hooves. The mare screamed again and I felt the grip of magic against my back.

As I craned my head around to identify the threat, I was half blinded, half deafened by Resolve firing while still tucked against my back. As my sight returned I saw Hard Time, most of the flesh peeled from his face, forelegs and barrel, peppered with shrapnel and drenching the ground with blood. The first round fired from my back hit him in the neck, another in his left fetlock and a final one found its mark directly between his eyes. As the corpse dropped the floor, the gun kept clicking, the mare still trying to fire it.

So, uhh, zero in Resolve.

Now, all hostiles down.

“Erm, you can stop firing now.” I said, turning to look back at the mare, “He’s dead. They’re all dead. Its over now. Miss?”

She released Resolve from her magic grip and I hoofed it off my back, the barding offered some protection, but I could feel the heat from the barrel seeping through to my back. I looked at the gun, swearing I had clicked the safety on when I had holstered it back there.

“Peach,” I heard the mare say, “Peach Lemonade.”

I nodded, “Miss Lemonade, what was going on with these ponies?” I asked, they had seemed beyond the help of either the Ministry of Peace or the Ministry of Morale.

The mare stared at me like I had grown a second head, “They’re Raiders?” when met with my own blank expression she continued, “they’re a sickness in the wasteland, on top of everything else. Ponies who don’t want to help, to heal, they just want to take and take and take until there’s nothing and no one left.” Her voice had taken a rise towards the hysterical as she had continued, but she took a deep breath and calmed herself, letting it out with a shudder. “How do you not know that? Where are you from? A Stable?”

“That’s classified.” I responded immediately, before my rogue thoughts insisted I gave away everything.

Ask her where she’s going

“Where are you going to go?” I asked, “do you have shelter?”

She looked anxious, perhaps I was not the most comforting presence. She pawed at the ground and mumbled “I’mfromlittlerock,”

“Littlerock?” my head jerked up, “I was on my way there.

“Why?”

“Resupply.” I lifted a hoof to her, “I could escort you.”

She shook her head, “I can’t go back.” I cocked my head to the side, confused before she elaborated, “daddy always said I was as soft as a peach, s’how I got my name. I wanted to show him he was wrong. I stole his gun and set out from Littlerock. I was gonna be a hero, like the Stable Dweller on the radio.”

She hugged her tail and forelegs around herself, looking at the ground. “I snuck out at night, thought I could just head into the wasteland and start righting wrongs. But my cousin followed me, my younger cousin Rosy she wanted to be a hero too and we walked right into that group of raiders and-and-and...” her head snapped up, teary eyes staring straight into my dull grey ones, “I killed her! I killed her. She ran right out in front of me with a knife in her teeth as I fired the shotgun. I caught her in the side and she went down. I dropped the gun and they grabbed both of us.”

Her head went back down, tears staining the ground, “they knew she was dying, said they wanted to have some fun with her first, while she was still warm, they said. They did... Horrible things to her, horrendous things. I... I can still hear her screaming. And when she was dead, they mutilated her. They took her apart and decorated a rock with her parts. Then they dragged me here.”

Peach Lemonade’s voice had dropped to a whisper. She was shaking like a leaf in a breeze, but her tears had run out, no more fell even as she sobbed.

Hug her you fool.

I took a few steps towards the mare and threw a foreleg around her, pulling her towards me. Her forelegs unwrapped from around herself and she threw them around me, holding on like a drowning sailor clings to a spar of driftwood.

“I would recommend you to a Ministry of Peace counsellor, but I don’t think that’s an option any more.” She looked up at me, confused.

She can go back,

“You can go back.”

Her family won’t think any less of her.

“Your family won’t think any less of you.”

They’ll just be glad to have her back.

“They’ll just be glad to have you back.”

Peach Lemonade sniffed, “do you really think so?” she asked, and I nodded,

“Yes, Miss Lemonade, I do.”

She chuckled, “you don’t have to be so formal, just call me Peach. What do I call you?”

I paused, what should I say? Protocol was just to give my rank. Any military unit I would be working alongside would just refer to me as that. Other unit members would just use my call sign 909. Maybe that was it.

“Just, call me Operative Neun.” I said.

Peach kept looking at me with an odd look, “You are really strange. Is, is that Horstrian?”

I nodded, and looked back down at Resolve, the slide locked open. How was I going to escort her back to Littlerock with only two rounds in the Operator? I looked around at the scattered bodies, giving a slight sigh. I hated this, but that was going to be how we survived.

OSP.

What?

On Site Procurement.

Author's Note

Thanks to kkat for creating this crazy mashup and letting others play around in it.
Thanks to Somber too, I may reference things from Project Horizons and Homelands here and there.

Chapter 3: On Site Procurement

Money makes the world go round my friend, you ain’t got the coin? Gotta get off the ride.

So, really, you meant looting.

It’s not looting, it’s procuring supplies from fallen foes. Helps to prolong the mission and hide the signs of a foreign agent. That being said, there was only a limited amount of useful material I could retrieve from these raiders. Their barding was barely more than leather straps, the sports armour so old and worn so as to be practically useless, not to mention absurd. No protection against bullets or stabbing weapons at all. One of the raiders whose name I never heard had a pair of saddlebags hung over them, even better they were a set of enchanted bags, bigger on the inside. 900th unit operatives rarely carried enough equipment to require saddlebags, but enchanted ones like this were fairly ubiquitous amongst the civilian population. Apparently. Something else from the hole in my mind.

The pipbuck inventory sorting software scanned the bags. And I immediately selected ‘drop all’. I had no need to cart around the previous owner’s bodypart collection. And judging by the look on her face, Peach Lemonade would not have enjoyed it either. With the saddlebags emptied I now had space for anything I could retrieve from the others. I started going through the dead pony’s possessions, looking for weapons, ammunition, medical supplies or anything else useful.

What I found was disheartening. Those that weren’t carrying melee weapons seemed to be equipped with blocks of wood masquerading as firearms. Crude pipes formed the grips, and the barrels, and the breaches. How these didn’t explode in their mouths I would never know. They all seemed to take the same ammunition, all of them filled with .38 rounds, which was good if you were using these... Pipe pistols, but nothing I had made use of them. However, I had the space and might find a suitable firearm and besides, there were many uses for bullets.

The leader had been carrying a shotgun, and I turned it towards the mare,

“Was this yours?” I asked, it was in much better condition than the pipe weapons, well maintained, and she had mentioned a shotgun in her little friendly fire incident. She nodded lightly, but took a step back when I offered it to her, shaking her head.

“I... I c-can’t.” She stammered, “not after what I did with it.”

I nodded respectfully and stored it in a saddlebag, along with the spare drum and shells the raider leader had on him.

“how?” Peach had started speaking again. I looked back up at her, cocking my head to the side, “how come he couldn’t shoot you?”

I allowed myself a small grin, pulling the operator from its holster, followed by pulling the magazine from the pocket on the side of the holster, “it works better with bullets.” I said.

When did you do that?

Before I stepped out from behind the cabin.

Was there not a round in the chamber?

Returning the Operator to its holster to free up my hooves, I fished out a single .45 round from the sleeve of my barding, placed it in the magazine then returned the magazine to the gun.

Continuing my procurement, I ignored Gnat Bite’s dilapidated knife and continued over to the scorched rocks. The grenade had destroyed Hard Time’s weapon, but prying loose the magazine revealed 10mm ammunition for Resolve, with further rounds lining his saddlebags along with an oddity I had found on all of the raiders.

“Why bottlecaps?” I asked aloud as I finished dragging all the bodies to the fire.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Peach Lemonade making a face. I looked up at her and she glanced away.

“Miss Lemonade?”

She refused to meet my eyes but coughed into a hoof, “Caps is money.” She said simply, “where have you been to not know that?”

“I...”

Might as well tell her.

I’m not going to divulge everything to the first mare I meet.

I coughed myself, “I, umm, haven’t been around here in a long while. Bottlecaps weren’t currency when I was last here.”

“O... Kay...” the mare drew the word out, “you might want to take things to trade then. Their guns might be worth a couple of caps.”

Looks like I will take the pipe pistols after all, though Hard Time’s 10mm was beyond saving.

Having procured all I could from the bodies, with not a med-x or healing potion in sight unfortunately, I hauled them onto the fire to cremate them. Partly to hide them from any passing allies they might have, and partly because I thought it might give Peach Lemonade some closure. Though, after that final exertion my fatigue caught up with me, my legs wobbling as the last vestiges of adrenaline left my system. I turned to the mare,

“Miss Lemonade,” I said, trying not to yawn, “while I do intend to escort you back to Littlerock, we need rest first.” I waved a hoof at the shack, “are you alright to sleep in there overnight?”

She looked at the shack and trembled a little, but swallowed her fear and turned back to me, nodding slightly. “yes.” She whispered, ‘I can stay there.”

Together we retired to the shack, slightly filthy and stinking of rotting wood but it got us out of the elements. There was very little actually inside, besides a mattress that had seen better days. And worse days if the stains on it were to be believed, few things left fabric that colour. At this point I wasn’t sure if the greater kindness was to offer Peach the mattress or not, but in the end, I figured it would offer at least some comfort to sleep over the bare boards, so I insisted she sleep there.

I took a quick sweep of the cabin and managed to find a single healing potion in a Ministry of Peace medkit that had fallen between some spongey planks that had been a cabinet of sorts in a past life. That was tucked away in the saddlebags.

While I knew I should probably stand watch, the day had caught up to me faster than I could process, and as I lay down in the floor before the door my eyelids slammed shut and I was immediately asleep.

I wasn’t often right on the frontlines, but this time, this time we were harms way. We were out of location and the portable bridge was stuck in the muddy bank. I wasn’t sure if we were charging or retreating, all I could do was crouch beside the device and curl up to avoid the bullets that came whizzing past.

The zebras were on both sides if the river, and some had those Luna damned totem rifles, little bursts of fire sprouting from the ground where enchanted bullets had buried themselves.

I started to uncurl, was I the last one left? Whipping my eyes back and forth I tried to spot any other pony with the distinctive rig and legband of the Royal Engineers. No others could be seen in the hastily stomped trenches of this muddy riverbank.

Just me.

I grit my teeth, just me left. Then I had to get this bridge deployed. Uncurling further I twisted around to the controls on the side of the folded metal construct. It didn’t take much to get the bridge open, but I needed to get it properly positioned first. Wrapping the whole thing in my magic I tensed, waiting for a lull in bullet fire, then, as the cracks of rifles quietened for a moment, I sprung to the side, dragging the construct with me.

I was taking a chance, eyeballing the position but I managed to orient the device and slam it into the muddy bank. My orangey magic field bleeding from the device to the surrounding mud, clawing and compacting it to grip the construct and hold it steady.

There came a feeling like I’d been punched in the head and my helmet leapt away from me in two directions, peeling apart along the seam opened up by the bullet. I dove back to the mud, scrabbling to reach the controls and dodge bullets. My vision swam but I could see the buttons and dials. I cast my vision at the river again, judging the distance. It wasn’t that wide, but I did need to get it secure enough on the other side. I twisted the dial, threw a switch or two then, after a brief pause to check everything, I pressed the big button.

There was a high pitched whine, then some sparks and a glow covered the construct. After a second or so there came a ‘ding’ noise and the device seemed to explode. If the Ministry of Morale had had their way, it would fire off confetti and streamers, as it was it launched two arcs of generated metal that leapt over the river and plunged into the muddy bank on the far side. Metal slats followed the arcs, building the bridge.

I smiled, I had done it.

Then my hip exploded in pain.

I saw a bloom of fire as I collapsed sideways, landing with my burning haunch plunging into the mud, putting out the blaze, but doing nothing for the pain.

Ponies were dashing across the bridge, firing back to cover their run, but no one seemed to notice me, sinking in the mud, paralysed by pain.

Don’t leave me. Don’t leave me. Don’t leave me.

Everything was fading to black as I watched the army ponies cross the bridge. I reached out a hoof, don’t leave...

Just as my vision faded away I spotted one coming towards me, shouting something as he levitated a grenade.

Don’t... Leave... Me...

There was a scream, and my eyes snapped open, Resolve already in my mouth and ready as I swept the room. Door? Shut, secure, clear. Windows? Non existent, but clear. Civilian?

Peach Lemonade was sat up on her haunches, panting, ears plastered to her skull and eyes wide, staring at, or rather through, the mattress.

I transferred the gun to my hoof so I could speak, “Miss Lemonade?” no response, just panting, “Miss Lemonade?” I holstered Resolve on my back and took a step towards her, slowly, gently, trying not to spook her.

Trembling she raised her head, eyes focusing on the real world instead of wherever her mind had been. I took another step forward, then flinched as she launched herself at me, fetlocks hooking around the back of my neck as she crushed herself against me, beginning to sob.

I raised a hoof gingerly, lightly embracing her back, stroking her mane. “I... It’s ok Miss Lemonade, it’s ok.” I continued to stroke her back as she sobbed into my neck, “it was just a bad dream. You’re safe.”

In the process of comforting the mare my own dream was forgotten. We held each other for a while as sobs shook her body but, eventually, they subsided and she released her grip on me.

“s-sorry” she stammered, looking away with a blush across her muzzle, “I didn’t mean to...”

I shook my head, “don’t be sorry” I said, “it’s alright. Try and get back to sleep, there’s still some time until morning.” I had no idea what time it was, but more sleep would be a benefit.

“Can... Can you sleep nearer?” she asked, shyly. I just nodded and followed her back to the mattress, laying down beside it.

She lay herself down on the mattress and pressed her back to my side. I could feel her heartbeat through my barding and her breath. Both began to slow as she relaxed and eventually dropped off to sleep. After she drifted off I allowed my eyes to close as I slid into a, thankfully dreamless this time, sleep of my own.

Morning brought a sepia glow to the empty windows as Celestia’s sun rose behind the thick cloud cover. There was no food to offer so we resolved to get moving instead, the sooner we reached Littlerock, the sooner we could eat.

I resumed my process from yesterday, keeping near to the treeline and stopping every now and again to survey the land ahead with the binoculars. After walking in silence for a couple of hours I spotted a rise on the plain to the north, an hour later we were close enough to see that it was some kind of settlement. A wall of piled rocks encircled the settlement before dropping to a ditch that ringed the wall, with a single embankment leading to a gate beaten together from scrap metal. A couple of rickety wooden towers sprouted from behind the rocks, one by the gate and one on the opposite side.

“Is that Littlerock?” I asked Peach, passing the binoculars over. She took a look out at the settlement and nodded, passing the binoculars back. I flicked the strap back over my head and settled them against my back again.

As we approached I found myself scanning the walls, and ditch and plains, looking for cover and infiltration points. The gates were a strong point, so maybe climbing my way around the side would be a better route, aim for a point between the watchtowers.

Or, ya know, we can just walk up to the gate like a normal pony.

I calmed myself, I didn’t need to sneak into here, I was returning a resident. Brazenly walking up to the gate still felt anathema to me though. I took a deep breath and let it out, hearing Peach Lemonade do the same. I glanced over to her and she flashed me a weak smile before trotting up to the earthwork bridge and looking up at the tower.

“Hello?” she called out, “Hello? Gaze? Are you up there?”

There was a scrabbling noise from the tower and a pale blue pony stuck their head out, looking down at Peach as I trotted up to her.

“Wha? Peach? How’d you...” the voice from the tower, a mare as it turned out, trailed off as they looked at me, the barrel of a rifle sliding up into view as they remembered their job. I could see the bit of a battle saddle floating near the guardpony’s mouth.

“Who’s this?” they said warily, “that’s not Rose.”

Very observant.

I coughed slightly at that thought and spoke up, “I’m a, friend. Looking to enter and resupply.”

The guard mare narrowed her eyes, “Peach is back alone and without her daddy’s gun. I don’t trust you. You’re dressed funny.”

I stared back at the guard, expression neutral before Peach nickered at the other mare,

“Look, Gaze, I can’t explain right now. Just, please let us in.” Her ears drooped and her eyes wobbled with unshed tears, “pleeeeeeeaaaaassseeeeeee...”

The guard’s resolve cracked, “fine. Fine.” She said, leaning back into the tower and waving at someone inside, “gate’s opening. Best go straight to your daddy Peach. He’s been worried sick.”

Peach huffed, rolling her suddenly dry eyes, presumably at the idea of her father being worried. The big scrap gate opened up to allow us in and we trotted forwards through the gap before they creaked back together behind us.

Within the walls of stone were a number of little shacks, all roughly following the same pattern of wooden construction with metal roofs and doors. Some were bigger than others, some spreading out, others stretching tall with a few glowing signs proclaiming some buildings ‘Saloon’ or ‘Pharmacy’. Following Peach as wound our way through the maze we passed a couple of shacks that seemed to just contain the humm of generators before reaching a wide shack with two extra stories stacked on top of it. Peach walked up to the door and paused, looking back at me,

“go on,” I motioned with a hoof for her to continue,

She raised her own hoof to the metal door and gave three quiet taps. There was the sound of hooffalls from inside before the door swung inwards, revealing a big unicorn stallion framed in the doorway. The pony’s thick eyebrows climbed his steely grey head, nearly touching his horn before knotting together and crashing back down onto his eyes.

“Peach?! Peach Lemonade, where in the pits of tartarus have you been?!” he yelled, stepping out towards his daughter, I presumed.

“Daddy I...” she started before the stallion continued,

“I woke up to find you gone! No note, no nothin’!” this was one loud stallion, and other heads began to poke out of shacks, “You took my gun! You even convinced your cousin to follow you!” he looked around, “where is she?!”

“Daddy... I...” there were tears flowing down Peach’s face now as she trembled in front of her father, “Rosy, she... They...”

A look of recognition, and of both horror and hurt, flashed across the stallion’s face. He scooped a foreleg around his daughter and dragged her inside. Then his head snapped up and glared at me, “you!” he said bluntly, “in here too”

I trotted forwards and into the shack, the door swinging closed behind me. Peach was still crying and her father wrapped his forelegs around her, a gentler side coming out now he was out of view.

“What happened my little Peach? Please, tell me.” He swallowed, “where is Rose?”

Between shuddering sobs, Peach Lemonade told him the same thing she told me, that she had got her cousin Rose killed, and that the raiders had done terrible things to her. Finishing up by indicating me with a hoof, “and... And, he saved me.”

The big stallion looked over at me and I nodded, flicking the inventory tab on my pipbuck to select his shotgun.

“I believe this is yours.” I said, retrieving the gun and spare ammo from my saddle bag, placing it all on the floor in front of me.

Still holding his daughter the stallion looked me up and down, “thank you. For bringing her back, safe.” I nodded to him, “I’m Hard Lemonade. And you are?”

“Operative Neun,” I replied, sticking to my cover. Though that seemed to stir recognition in his eyes.

“Operative huh?” he said, eyes drawn up to my beret before gazing away in thought for a moment. “maybe there’s someone you should see. Later though, first let me get you some food. You both look like you haven’t eaten in days. ”

“I am needing some supplies,” he held up a hoof,

“Food first, then I’ll take you to the store.”

Hard Lemonade escorted both myself and his daughter back through the tangle of shacks to the one marked with a ‘saloon’ sign. Thinking of his previous comment I was self-consciously picking at my barding which was indeed a bit loose away from the compression sections in the chest and legs. The big unicorn chatted to the mare behind the bar as Peach and I took a seat at a table. I had some trepidation given I couldn’t really remember eating much besides dried ration bars, and even then not clearly, those memories lived in the hazy hole with the rest of the canteen. Hard Lemonade swung briefly by the table to ask ‘meat or vegetarian?’ and, remembering the snake eating soldier from the film, I decided on vegetarian.

He returned with a plate of carrot sticks, two oat travel bars and a box of snack cakes. These were set in front of Peach and myself while Hard himself had some kind of meat skewer. The box of snack cakes looked familiar, if quite faded, so I picked it up to examine the packaging, noticing a date of manufacture stamp, but no expiration date.

“Those things have enough preservatives in ‘em that 200 years only matures the flavour.” The big unicorn said, biting into his skewer.

Aren’t we vegetarian? You know, as a species?

I grabbed up some carrot sticks and bit down. Unfamiliar as I was with non military issued food, they tasted pretty fresh, crunchy and a little sweet. They definitely quieted the unhappy feelings in my stomach.

“Them there carrots are fresh from Redcolt, little town just north of us. The soil in the Antelope Valley is better than most everywhere else.” Peach spoke up this time, picking some carrot stick up herself, “no one really says why, ‘trade secret’ they call it, but not many other places you can get fresh carrot. Ground’s usually too sick, too much radiation.”

I thought back to my clicking pipbuck. Either it hadn’t been that long since the balefire strike, or the magical radiation was so intense that it just wasn’t dissipating. I needed some Intel. Idly I reached for a snack cake, unwrapping the vacuum sealed packet I popped it in my mouth whole and began to chew.

My eyes bulged. It was so sweet! The sugar coated my mouth as the, admittedly dry, cake crumbled apart. I swallowed the cake, barely having to chew, and proceeded to lick the sugar from the inside of my mouth.

I don’t recall these being so sweet.

Peach laughed, finally breaking the dour mood that had settled over her since returning to Littlerock. “Didn’t they have snack cakes when you were last in the area either?” I simply shook my head and she giggled again. I scooped two sealed cakes into my saddlebags and left her the rest.

After food I was shown to the general store, run by a grizzled looking earth pony with a messy brown coat, an eyepatch adorned with a bottlecap and an old, beaten cowpony hat. He looked up from his counter when we entered and locked his eye first on Hard Lemonade, but then his daughter, gaze softening as he did so.

“My dear,” he said gently, “we all thought you lost to us.”

Peach kicked at the floor, “I very nearly was Cap.” She swept the hoof to me, “my friend here saved me.”

I felt an appraising gaze fall over me, as if they were valuing each item they could see. The gaze lingered on my beret for a moment, eliciting a small frown, before continuing. “I take it you have business in town?” he asked.

“Resupply” I said simply

He grunted, “lets see your caps then,” he said, “then we’ll see what we have.”

I looked down at my pipbuck and saw that it seemed to have got the memo about bottlecaps being currency. It was displaying my total caps in the corner of the screen. 32 caps. I wasn’t sure how much that equated to, but I had the feeling it wasn’t much.

It wasn’t.

“Do you have anything to trade?” Cap asked,

I gave a slight nod, pulling out the two pipe pistols, “I have some ammunition for them as well.”

Cap frowned at the meagre offer, then gave a sigh, “well, its been some time since Roulette was round, so we are light on ammo.” He picked up one of the pistols and gave it a shake, it rattled slightly, “I guess Tinker can get some use out of these, maybe make one working gun out of them. Ok, I’ll take them and all the ammo.”

Handing over the ammo granted me enough of a buffer to acquire a hooffull of items. Prioritising I took a pack of healing bandages, a packet of rad-away and a tub of rad-x. I already had one healing potion, and preventing radiation sickness would mean less need to purge it. Like he had said, he was lacking in ammunition, so no rounds for the Operator, I was able to purchase an extra magazines worth of rounds for Resolve though, which meant that with the magazine I pried from Hard Times, the extra rounds he had carried and this batch I was up to three full reloads of ammunition. I even had two magazines to make those reloads easier.

The Lemonades had left us to it, though Hard had asked Cap to ‘send me to the old ghoul’ when I was done. With our trade wrapping up, and my fortunes about as measly as they had been before, Cap decided to give me some directions.

“Look Mr Operative, Hard and his family have been good to me, took me in when I was injured, let me run the store after I lost my eye, and I thank you for rescuing dear Peach, but I don’t think you belong here, and honestly you’d be best to move on.” The declaration felt a little unfair, but true. I wasn’t planning on staying, which I told the trader pony, who simply grunted, “well, keep that in mind, don’t want you bunking down because you found a friend. Now Hard wants me to send you up to the old ghoul, not that anyone’s seen him in months, but still, I agreed to direct you. Head back out from here and along to the western side of Littlerock, up by the wall. There’s a shack up on the rocks, give the door nine knocks, then pause for three seconds, then six knocks. Damn ghoul and his minder are paranoid folks.”

Given the odd instructions, I was a bit confused but gave the trader a nod and followed his directions, leaving the general store behind. I had to weave through the shacks again and reached the wall, checking the compass on my pipbuck to confirm this was the western side. Following the wall around I discovered a rough path up the piled boulders that brought me almost to the top of the wall and revealed a metal door inset into the rocks. Looking about, I could spot no one watching so I gave the passcode knock. Nine knocks, a pause, six knocks. That seemed familiar somehow. Before I could ponder further, the door opened a crack.

“What do you want?” came an irritable voice, I could see a sliver of an almost electric green coat hidden behind a sky blue mane.

“I was sent,” I said, “I’m meant to talk to ‘the old ghoul’, whomever that is.”

An annoyed look crossed what little face I could see through the doorjamb, “no respect,” they said, gaze flicking up to my beret, like so many of the residents of this town, before rattling with something on the back of the door, “come in.”

I was ushered inside to a much dimmer interior that the rest of the shacks I’d been in, just a few scattered candles providing illumination. My eyes roamed the space, cooking area, workbench, a much less stained mattress, old couch, coffee table. Something on the table caught my eye though, it was just a shape in the gloom but it seemed familiar. I approached it, circling the table as the other pony said something. I was about to reply when I suddenly realised what I was looking at.

A dark beret. With a dull brass plaque. A 900th unit beret. Stamped with the numbers ‘906’.

I rounded on the pony, snarling, “Where did you get this?” I pointed to the beret “where?”

The other pony shuffled anxiously and only then did I notice the pair of wings at his side, a pegasus. He pointed to another door,

“Its his,” he said, shaking, “he’s who you’re here to see, right?”

I started towards the door when the pegasus tapped my back, I turned to look at him.

“Please, he...” he struggled with the words, “he’s not well. Don’t... Don’t judge him, ok? Please?”

Confused, I nodded and made my way into the room. It was just as dim as the main shack, I could make out a bed and a desk but not much else. Something stirred on the bed, someone was in there, and I suspected who.

“906” I stated, waiting for a response,

The pony in the bed twisted around and groaned, pushing themselves up,

“9-90...9?” they said in a voice filled with gravel, “is that you Razor?”

“Yes,” I said quietly, “It’s me. Operative Falling Tactics?”

The pony in the bed gave a hoarse chuckle, “not been an operative in a very long time my friend.”

I trotted closer to the bed, then stopped, drawing back as I got a better look at Falling Tactics. What had happened to him? He looked like a corpse with his skin flaking off, his mane having mostly fallen out and one eye milky. Looking him over I also noticed a cuff on his hind leg chaining him to the bed.

“What’s going on here?” I asked, hoof reaching for the cuff before Falling Tactics’ own hoof knocked mine away.

He shook his head, “leave it, its not safe.” Noticing the frown on my face the old operative sighed, “let me explain, from the beginning.”

Sitting up, he took a breath.

“Chem Trail and I were tasked with destroying a zebra balefire missile silo southwest of littlehorn, we cleared it out and rendered the missiles inoperable, but on our way back we flew straight into what some call ‘The Last Day’. We were aiming for Station 1 but the vertibuck was experiencing some difficulties. As we passed near Applewood I took Chem and we abandoned the vertibuck, aiming to check in with Station 5 instead. We were in open air when the bombs went off. Everything around Applewood turned the sickly green of balefire.”

He had closed his eyes, reminiscing, and I thought of the irradiated woods just outside Station 5. Was that why everything had collapsed? No, Project Lead Mana had mentioned something about a Salted Earth response. Falling Tactics continued in his unfamiliar, gravelly voice.

“we woke up on the ground, having ploughed into the mud on the bank of the river. We felt lucky to be alive,” he chuckled, “not quite right with that one. See, there’s a necromantic component to zebra balefire megaspell missiles, and really the combination of radioactivity and the fall had killed us, but that necromancy kept us around.”

I took a step back, that was beginning to explain why he looked like a rotting corpse.

He chuckled again, “yeah, that was us, two zombies out of some old Applewood horror film, coming back to life just outside Applewood itself. Of course we’re not the only ones who stuck around like this, there are plenty of Ghouls out in the wastelands, just, err, not all of them are so friendly. We tried to get to Station 5, but all the entrances were collapsed, so we marched to Station 1. Those were bad times, the weather had gone mad, the pegasi had closed up the sky and let it run rampant, tainted snow falling down in some places, mad radioactive storms ripping up others, all around ponies dying from the direct effects of the bombs, or the radiation poisoning.”

He looked to me again, a frown on his face,

“we didn’t help. That wasn’t the mission. It wasn’t important. It was only after we found Station 1 locked up tight, and knew that Station 2 was contaminated, that we broke away. Said ‘screw the mission’ and bucked the control.” He stared directly into my eyes, “you know you were being controlled, right?” he asked

I stared at him, surely that wasn’t right, but I thought back to what he had just said, the mission, the focusing device, was it so hard to imagine?

“You’ve broke some of it I can see, you’re using contractions at least. Anyway, we broke the project’s hold on us, but still, the first 50 years was mostly about survival, remnant groups trying desperately to cling to any pocket of safety, of resources, some holing up in old ministry buildings, some trying to reinforce old settlements. It took time, but some places established footholds, staving off the great disease of the wasteland, the raiders.”

“We tried to help, though I was not nearly as useful as Chem in a non combat environment. He was able to synthesise things like chemical fertilisers, gunpowder components, useful items, me, well, I could lift things up high. We ended up down here in the Antelope Valley, fixing up some settlements about 60 years ago, I helped with the walls around Littlerock, Chem set up Redcolt’s agriculture. I lost him about 20 years ago.”

Falling Tactics paused and I realised he’d probably not spoken so much in a long time but, for some reason, he felt like he needed to get me up to speed with what had happened. I did need to ask a few questions.

“How... How long has it been?” I asked, “since the Last Day?”

He tipped his head in thought, “I’d wager around 200 years, give or take.”

I sat back on my haunches, I’d been in stasis for 200 years? Why had I woken up now?

“It’s hard to hear, I know, and I ‘lived’ through it. And lucky for you that you caught me in a lucid moment.” He gestured at the cuff around his leg, “the truth is, though we stick around, Ghouls don’t get no happy endings. Our minds go you see, and when we’ve lost them, that’s it, we become those hungry zombies from the films. I’ve not got much longer left old friend, I’m sorry to say, especially when you’re finally up out of that pit. Losing Chem was probably where it started, we’d been each other’s rocks for our unlife and after he died I started drifting away.” He looked back at the door, sadness in his eyes,

“The kid is great, Neon Dream, took him in after he and his mother were kicked out down here, but he’s grown now, he shouldn’t be stuck taking care of me. And I don’t want to spend my days fearing I’m going to snap and start taking bites out of him. He won’t do what needs to be done.”

I looked back at the door, the pegasus had still seemed quite young, I wasn’t sure I necessarily agreed with Falling Tactics’ assessment that he was grown. The implication in the ghoul’s words had passed me by, until he spoke again.

“But you will.”

I looked back at him, at his hoof stretching out, pointing at the holster on my leg. The Operator. I knew what he was asking, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to do it either. I had only just reconnected with someone I knew in this new, desolate Equestria. I didn’t want to be alone again.

I know. But, he’s suffering. Losing himself. He’s asking for mercy.

I needed answers.

“Project Lead Mana recalled Project Lead Muse to Station 1, they might have also survived in stasis or at least have left some information.” I paused, frowning, “you said it’s sealed though.”

Falling Tactics nodded, recognising that I needed more from him before I could give him what he wanted.

“The smaller stations, Station 2 in particular, had remote access terminals in the Project Leads’ offices. Get in and you should be able to lift the lockdown.” He scratched at his patchy scalp, some strands of hair coming away, “Station 2 has its own issues though. Canterlot is a problem, it got hit by Pink Cloud.”

“As in the weapon deployed at littlehorn?”

“Yeah, the same. I know Station 2 is on the outskirts, but still, take care. Actually, you should try and find a copy of ‘The Wasteland Survival Guide’, it’ll have more intel than I can give you. Most traders should have a copy, but if you go to New Appleloosa, you can get a free copy from the author.”

Free was good, I thought as I remembered my bottlecap situation.

“Now, your turn, how did you get out here anyways?”

“Project Lead Mana had some kind of secret escape route. Hidden in the maintenance level.” I grimaced, “involved the longest ladder you could ever imagine. Then I walked here. Rescued a civilian, a resident it turns out.”

“Good, good. Its a good start Razor, you need to be better than we were. Inaction is as bad as harming them yourself. We were made for selfish and short sighted reasons and we were never intended for peacetime, but we are our own masters now.” He grit his teeth, “That being said, I have one last mission for you Operative. Put me down.”

I hesitated, “The kid?” I asked,

“He knows. He won’t thank you, but he knows my fears. Now then Operative Razor Wind, complete your mission.”

I drew the Operator from its holster, holding it in my teeth and pressing the barrel to Falling Tactics’ head, just beside his horn. He smiled, and I withdrew the gun, the smile dissipating. I stood there, unsure of what I wanted to do. Tears welled in my eyes and, unprompted by my rogue thoughts this time, I gave the old ghoul a hug, feeling his body squish beneath my hooves. He leant into the hug, patting my back with his own hoof before leaning away, breaking my hold. He nodded sagely, the smile back on his face as he closed his eyes, and I pressed the operator back to his head.

Tears clouded my vision, but it wasn’t exactly a difficult shot. The gun was held tight in my teeth as I flicked the safety and rested my tongue on the trigger.

Goodbye old friend.

I pulled the trigger.

Author's Note

Thanks to kkat for creating this crazy mashup and letting others play around in it.
Thanks to Somber too, I may reference things from Project Horizons and Homelands here and there.

Chapter 4: After Orders

“What do you say soldier? Better wiped than striped!”

“That’s a poster sarge.”

“Aaaaaaand you’ve just volunteered for double watch duty.”

There was peace in his face as he lay on the bed, his struggle over. I let the Operator drop from my mouth as I stared down at Falling Tactics. I felt, cold, empty. I had killed plenty of targets but none I knew even a little. A few images floated into my mind, climbing their way out of the memory hole, plenty of missions with insertion and extraction covered by Falling Tactics, a scene in station 5’s canteen between Falling Tactics, Chem Trail and myself, building a trap alongside him in a jungle environment behind hostile lines.

For individual operatives woken up when needed, you were close.

Maybe.

I would have liked more information as to, well, everything, but I had completed my mission and felt a bitter sense of achievement. That certainly lent credence to Falling Tactics’ assertion that we were being controlled. My own mission parameters had been updated, to follow Project Lead Muse into Station 1, I had to get into Station 2. Which meant I have to investigate Canterlot, which sounded like a bad place to be.

I picked the Operator back up and returned it to my holster then I grabbed the blanket on the bed in a hoof and pulled it up, covering the unicorn ghoul, and the dark black bloodstains that were creeping across the pillow.

I turned away and walked to the door, returning to the main room of the shack. Neon Dreams was stood by the table, staring at the beret in the centre of it. He looked up at me, eyes shining in the gloom, flicking to the door as I closed it behind me. He turned back to the beret,

“Did you do it?” he asked in a quiet voice, barely above a whisper.

I nodded, then realised he wouldn’t see that, so I replied simply “yes.” In my own quiet voice.

I saw his own nod. He let out a sigh, head falling to the table with a thud. “I couldn’t do it, what he wanted, I just couldn’t.”

“He gave me an order.” I said, walking towards the main door when my eye caught a glint on the table, the cap badge on the beret. I walked back over to the table and lifted the beret, something else falling from it as I did.

I looked at the table, it was another cap badge. 902 with a bubbling flask mark. FT-902 -CSS, Chemical Synthesis Soldier, Chem Trail. And on the other badge, 906 with an image of a series of sparks, like a diving comet. I picked the badge from the beret, feeling a great need to have some memento of my fellow operatives, some way to keep them in mind and maybe shake loose more memories. I turned to Neon Dream gazing up at me from the table, his eyes watery and holding a hint of pain.

“Do you mind if I keep these?” I asked, indicating Chem Trail’s cap badge with the one in my hoof, I saw the worry in the young pegasus’ eyes as they flicked to the beret,

“Not the hat.” He said and I nodded,

“Not the hat,” I reassured him, “just the badge.”

He nodded again and I scooped up the badge from the table and replaced it with the beret. I went to place the badges in a saddlebag, but paused and instead put them in a pouch on the chest of my barding. I would try and claim all of these, reunite in some way the 900th Special Operations Unit.

The Invisible 9.

What?

There were rumours of a special unit, off the books, with experimental magic. No one had any hard info, other than there were 9 members.

Invisible 9. That sounded right for the unit. Though how would I know that name? It wouldn’t be in official documents, around the station perhaps? But ponies working in the station would know the unit.

“Are you ok?” Neon Dream’s quiet voice shook me from my reverie and I looked back at him, my thoughts forgotten.

“Yes, I...” I paused, thinking of something to say. Comfort was not my strong suit. “I’m sorry.” Not sure that was going to be enough, but I was no good at this, “I should go.”

I turned from the green pegasus and walked out the door into a world not much brighter than inside the shack. It must have been quite late in the afternoon. My initial reaction was to look at the surrounding boulders, trying to plot a route where I could exit the village without being seen.

You should talk to Hard first.

I need to leave before there’s retribution for killing my target.

Your friend.

My friend, yes. No? Maybe? I hoped so. My rogue thoughts were right though, I should talk to Hard and arrange a burial. Then flee retribution.

I gave a nod of decision and made my way down the hewn path, aiming to return to Hard Lemonade and... outline the situation. I picked my way through the shacks, remembering the route I had been led in both directions and clocking the hum of the generator shack to guide me as I made my way back to the door of the Lemonades. It occurred to me that I didn’t know Hard’s position in this town, was he Mayor? Sheriff? Or just a regular citizen? He seemed to command some kind of respect.

Doesn’t matter, it’s not important.

Oh not this again. It’s not the mission?

N-no, I, was just not planning to return. Figuring out the social structure of somewhere I would never see again was a waste of time. I cleared my thoughts as I came to the door of the shack, paused for a moment then knocked twice on the metal. I heard hoofsteps inside again as someone approached the door, pulling it open. It was Hard Lemonade.

“You’re back.” He stated flatly, some suspicion in his eyes.

I nodded, “I have a request to make,” I said, “on behalf of Falling Tactics.”

Hard cocked his head to the side, “was that his name then? The old ghoul.” He gave a shrug of his shoulders, “what’s the request?”

I closed my eyes and let out a sigh, “a burial. He passed away.”

Hard Lemonade gave me a look befitting his name, turning my statement over in his mind. If Falling Tactics had lasted 200 years, then ghouls don’t die of old age, and he’d probably know that, I could see him connecting dots as his eyes narrowed.

“There’s a spot for him.” He said slowly, “will you be attending?”

I shook my head, “I need to be moving on.”

“Probably for the best.”

The door closed, leaving me standing in the street and listening to the hoofsteps and muffled talking from within. Peach Lemonade was home and likely asking who had been at the door. I turned away, weaving back to the path up the rocks but instead of going to Falling Tactics’ shack I hopped over the top of the rock wall, clinging to the rock with my hooves as I slid towards the ditch. Landing in the dirt I looked back up at the wall, trying to catch a glimpse of the guard towers. I crept my way around the encircling ditch, looking to get over to the eastern side of Littlerock and hugging against the side of the ditch as I passed under the northern guard tower. With the light fading I would be hard to spot in my dark barding, an advantage I intended to exploit as I clambered out of the ditch on the eastern side of the village.

I took a brief look back and trotted away, feeling the weight of the cap badges in my pouch.

I returned to the tree line, taking one if the rad-x pills to allow me to press a little closer to the irradiated woods. While the needle still spiked on the pipbuck a message on the condition readout told me what was actually getting through the chemical resistance. Very little. Still, I didn’t feel like pressing in to the woods themselves given that the radiation was mildly high even in the outskirts, and I didn’t want to think about how irradiated the woods might be further in. Especially if this had persisted for 200 years. So I walked in silence, besides the rhythmic ticking from the pipbuck. Having consulted the map I figured I would continue to skirt the Whitetail Woods then head down a pass between the edge of the woods and the hills outside Ponyville, from there I could pass through Ponyville and follow the old rail line towards Canterlot. Most of the stations had been built near rail lines for ease of construction so it wouldn’t be too far away. Indeed, on my pipbuck map it looked pretty close to the rail line.

I started trying to spot some kind of hollow or shelter I could use, the light was fading fast and the ever present cloud layer would prevent Luna’s moon from lighting my way. Falling Tactics had said the pegasi closed up the sky and I wondered if being cut off from the sun and moon effected those ponies left behind, maybe that was what drove these raiders so savagery. That or selfishness.

As the light fled and night wore on I spotted a little hollow by the light of my pipbuck, a depression in the ground behind a large rock and under a gnarled dead tree. I was not the first to find it though, judging by the old pony skeleton I found laying in there, surrounded by open rad-away packets. No wings, no horn, an earth pony then, in tattered barding. I searched around the body, no rad-away, clearly, but there were a hoofull of caps in the barding. I would bury them come morning but they had one last duty to perform.

I moved the bones to give me enough room to curl up, hidden by the rock and overhang, and arranged them a little further out, hoping they would dissuade investigation.

“You’re on watch,” I said to the bones, “wake me if anyone approaches.”

I hunkered down in the back of the hollow, pulling Resolve from my back, making sure the safety was on, and setting it near to my head so it would be within reach if I had to wake directly into action.

You could just grab it with telekinesis.

Again, conserve magic, deceive opponents, subterfuge. And also, I think I’m just more used to mouth firing guns at this point.

Good thing you only use pistols.

Of course. I’m a professional.

Resolve positioned I lay down my head, closed my eyes and drifted off into sleep with only a skeleton, and my rogue thoughts for company.

It was a mission, the usual, infiltration, sabotage, assassination. It was a familiar pairing, myself and 906, Falling Tactics. Using his auto-telekinesis he inserted us into the mission area. Some kind of zebra surveillance post in an old tower on the fringes of a jungle.

This was to be a pincer attack, both operatives striking targets. I was to go in from the bottom, sabotage the generator, Falling Tactics would go in from the top, sabotage the monitoring equipment. Meet in the middle to eliminate the target.

Initial infiltration was incident free, sneaking in a door as a zebra guard came out to investigate a knocking noise. I crept along the hallway and down into the basement maintenance room, finding the main generator. Looked like it was coal fired, strange, though maybe it was the original one from this tower’s previous use. Using my spell I severed the cables running from the generator out to the rest of the building, invisible blades biting deep, and some of the water pipes for good measure.

The lights went out, but I had decent enough night vision to get back up the stairs and into a cupboard before someone came looking. We only had a limited window of time before the zebras started a backup generator. This was when Falling Tactics would destroy the communications equipment on the roof.

Listening to determine if the coast was clear I heard the sound of hooves clop past me towards the basement door. As they faded away I exited the cupboard and made my way up the stairs, looking out for corners and cubbyholes to hide in. This seemed to be a lightly staffed operation and I managed to avoid the few zebra that were stumbling about in the dark.

The lights came back on as I reached the commander’s room. I could hear him pacing the room, tapping something metallic. I had a feeling in my gut, something wasn’t quite right. Pressing up against the wall beside the door I heaved myself up on my hindlegs, back to the wall and pistol in my mouth. Pressing a hoof to the door I gave it a push, letting it swing open freely as I stayed out if the way.

A good choice.

Gunfire came spilling out of the room, sparking off of the far wall with bursts of flame. A talisman rifle. I listened to the bursts of fire, trying to spot when the zebra ran out of-there!

Click.

I swung round the door, sighting along my pistol. My eyes widened, the Zebra was not reloading, he was standing up in the same hindleg stance as me, rifle still pointed my way, clicking off the safety.

I had been tricked.

Time slowed as I saw a grin slide along the zebra’s face as his hoof flexed over the long trigger. I was too slow, thrown off by my mistake I would not be able to fire first.

· The world still seemed to be going slow as the zebra’s face exploded, the loose viscera flying my way as surely as a bullet would have. I closed my eyes and felt the hot, wet mess strike me, blood mostly, but there were some more solid fragments. I dropped back to all four hooves, shaking my head to try and dislodge the worst of it.

Opening my eyes, I saw the window behind the zebra was shattered and the soft glow of magic was illuminating it, and the shape floating outside the tower.

“Thank you 906.” I said, wiping my face with a hoof,

“Luckily for you 909, my timing is impeccable.”

I awoke slowly, drifting up from the dream as I opened my eyes and took in my surroundings. At the sight of the skeleton, I snatched up Resolve before the memory of the night before came back to me. I shook my head at my reaction and holstered the gun on my back again, noting that, somehow, the safety was off again. I clicked it back on.

Peeking out past the skeleton I saw a wasteland just as empty as it had been the night before. I rested a hoof gently on the pony skull,

“Good work soldier,” I said softly before stepping over the bones and into the wan light of a wasteland morning.

I sat on my haunches and looked around; the area seemed clear. Turning back to the hollow I looked at the bones of the dead pony whose resting place I had used. I should bury them. Though, looking at the dry dirt all around, that might be problematic without any tools.

Its alright, use magic.

I can’t do that. I’m limited to telekinesis and my special spell, I never learned anything else.

We can. Try it.

I frowned and stared at the ground before the large rock that hid the hollow, trying to focus, to will the dirt to leap out of the way. My horn flared and an orangey glow took hold of a square of dirt. The ground rippled like water and the earth pulled itself up, opening a small trench in the ground, big enough to store the bones. I floated the skeleton into the hole, dark green magic a gentler conveyance to the grave than me trying to manipulate the bones with hooves and mouth. Once in the ground the orange glow covered the excavated dirt and slid it back down into the hole, covering the bones and consigning them to their rest.

I looked up at the rock and squinted at it, summoning the silent blade spell. My hoofwriting was never great but I used the spell to chisel words into the rock, very stark and straight lined.

‘HERE LIES AN UNKNOWN WATCHER’

It seemed appropriate for their last service.

With all that magic use, I felt a little drained, especially as I’d never used earth magic before. The orange overglow flared one last time as I levelled out the dirt over the grave.

Wait. Orange?

My stomach rumbled, halting that train of thought with a need for breakfast. I had kept back the oat bar from yesterday and used the inventory sorter in my pipbuck to bring it to the top of my saddlebag, plucking it from the bag and tearing the cover off of my tasty treat.

Maybe it was the memory of the sweetness of the snack cakes, but my tasty treat turned out to instead taste of bland cardboard and betrayal.

I sighed, still it would keep me going as I plodded my way to Canterlot. Or, at least for the day.

Back on my hooves I resumed my silent march, stopping every now and again to scan the area. I had the distinct feeling I was being followed, but there was nothing on my E. F. S. nor could I spot anything with the binoculars. At least nothing following me, what I did spot was a cluster of three ponies also walking the wastes.

These three were not dressed in leather strapping and sports padding however, one was in some kind of red hooded coat or cloak and the other two shined silver as the hidden sun cast light down. They were in Power Armour with, as I adjusted the zoom, a familiar symbol on the flanks of an apple with three sparks in gears on it, overlaid with a winged sword.

Steel Rangers!

I nodded, Steel Rangers, elite soldiers of the Ministry of Wartime Technology, specialists outside the direct military chain of command, similar to myself in some ways. The hooded figure must be some kind of scout, or a tech or communications attaché.

The rangers were heroes, surely they provide some kind of stability in this wasteland.

They might be able to help me with my mission, or at least help with supplies. I resolved to go down and talk to them.

While I moved slow and out of habit put cover between myself and the rangers, I knew the power armour provided E. F. S. to the wearer, so they would be able to track my approach, hopefully I was flagged up as non-hostile.

I could hear them talking as I approached, the rangers in armour having tinny voices as their words were broadcast from the helmet.

“I’m telling you,” the scout had said, “the information we have points to an entire stable out here,”

“That must be what Paladin Steelhooves is doing way out here.” The ranger on the right said,

“Steelhooves is in exile,” came the tinny voice of the other ranger, the one on the left, “he wouldn’t be tracking a stable. We’ll steer clear of him.”

One of the rangers turned as I approached, tapping their fellow with an armoured hoof. The trio stopped and turned to face me.

Say hello.

I gave a salute, “Greetings Steel Rangers,” I said, “I am a Special Operative attached to the Equestrian military. 900th Unit. I request your assistance with my mission.”

That was a lot of talking for me. The rangers were still and impassive, their scout/attaché tilting their head at me, confused. Maybe things had changed in 200 years, maybe protocol was no longer the same. My salute faltered.

“That’s a pipbuck” the ranger on the left said, with the scout perking up,

“Its a different pipbuck,” there was a gleam in his eye

The leftmost ranger spoke again, “alright tribal, give us the pipbuck.”

I dropped my hoof to the ground, “negative ranger,” I said, “this pupbuck is property of the Ministry of Arcane Science, the Ministry of Wartime Technology has no claim on it.”

There came a click as the large rifle on the leftmost ranger swung down from its resting position. “won’t ask again tribal.”

This had gone wrong.

There was an itch in my mane, I could still feel the presence of something following me, even as I confronted these rangers. No extra pip on the E. F. S. though the three pips ahead of me were turning red. I didn’t have an anti-material rifle with me, so just shooting the rangers was not a great plan. Unless I could get a round through the eye lens. But how fast on the draw could I be? Not with the Operator, that was too obvious. Maybe Resolve? If I acted like I was going for my saddlebag I could grab it. S. A. T. S. would help with lining up the shot, but I’d probably have to actually fire it with telekinesis.

That left the other ranger. I could really do with backup from Door Knocker right now. FT-901-AAS, Anti-Armour Soldier. But, even without their special spell, there were a couple of weakpoints in the power armour I could get to.

But first, I needed to bluff.

Luna preserve us.

“It needs a key to take off,” I stated, slowly raising a hoof, “it’s in my saddlebag. Let me grab it.”

I could feel the ranger’s eyes narrowing even if I couldn’t see them. “Go on.”

I reached my hoof back towards my saddlebag, angling my body slightly away as I brushed the grip of Resolve. My hoof touched the top of my saddlebag before I whipped it forwards, snagging the gun, wrapping it in a telekinetic field and dropping into S. A. T. S. I focused in on the leftmost ranger, forcing the targeting spell to narrow its selection, picking the left eye lens. I queued up two shots as I needed to preserve the spell for my next attack. I went to trigger the safety only to find it was already off.

What is with this gun?

I dropped S. A. T. S. and squeezed off two rounds into the ranger’s eye. The first round struck true, shattering the glass while the second round drifted a little higher, ringing the ranger’s helmet like a bell. Suddenly there was a buzzing noise and a lance of red light flew in from over my shoulder, piercing the broken lens and into the ranger’s helmet. A magical energy weapon! I resisted looking over my shoulder for the shooter and instead continued my plan, dropping back into S. A. T. S.

In the heightened awareness of the targeting spell I could pick out the targets for the silent blade spell; air hoses, joint coverings, wire casings, ammo feeds, weapon mounts. I did not want that minigun spinning up. S. A. T. S. wouldn’t really help with targeting this so I dropped it as I engaged my spell, the number of blades causing a visible rippling of the air around the ranger before they bit into the armour. Almost simultaneously the air hoses to the helmet fell away, the flexible coverings around the joints split apart, the guns on the battle saddle dropped to the ground and the ammunition scattered. The light on the helmet winked out and sweat rolled down my face.

Triggering that many blades was draining, but I wasn’t in the clear yet. Keeping Resolve gripped in the frog of my hoof, yet holding it near my mouth, I turned to the scout as the leftmost ranger crumpled to the ground and the rightmost one locked up.

“I think you need to rethink your approach.” I said, “you are not having my pipbuck. You are going to eject your comrade and leave.”

The scout nodded furiously, sidling over to the frozen ranger and manipulating a hidden panel, then having to pull a small leaver with their teeth. There was a hiss and what would usually be a powered opening of the armour was instead facilitated by a lot of pushing by the attaché. Having extracted the strawberry red pony from the armour the two of the started to retreat, before a beam of red energy lanced out again and struck the ground in front of them.

They turned tail and ran.

I on the other hand turned back to face the direction the beams had come from, looking left and then right, before frowning and looking up. There was something in the air, circling before diving down towards me. I had enough time to get Resolve into my mouth before it landed gently before me. Bright green stuck out from familiar black and grey.

Neon Dream. Wearing an old set of Framework Trooper barding, modified with wing holes and a battle saddle. On his head was a black beret, bereft of a cap badge.

“What are you doing here?” I asked,

“Watching your back.” He said, “luckily for you, my timing is impeccable.”

Great, Falling Tactics had told him that story.

Author's Note

Thanks to kkat for creating this crazy mashup and letting others play around in it.
Thanks to Somber too, I may reference things from Project Horizons and Homelands here and there.

Chapter 5: Party

“Miss Ministry Mare, I think you’ve got your terminology... Mixed up? This is a military operation, the group is called a team, or a unit, or a squad.”

“Nuh-uh, you’re a group of brave companions off on an adventure, so that means...”

“Miss...”

“It’s!”

“Ma’am?”

“A!”

“Ma’am, please,”

“PAAAARRRTY!!!”

“While I appreciate the assistance, why are you following me?”

It seemed a simple question, but immediately Neon Dream’s cocksure attitude evaporated. He turned his head and hid behind the teal mane that tumbled down over his left eye.

“W-when we buried Da-Fallen, I went back to the shack and realised I had nothing there.” He looked back up at me, “mother’s gone, Fallen’s gone.”

I tilted my head, “I’m sorry. About Falling Tactics.”

The pegasus let out a small laugh, “I always knew him as Fallen.” A small smile graced his face as he peeked further out of his mane, “he said that having hit rock bottom, he was done falling.”

I nodded, accepting the change. It seemed fitting. I looked over the young pegasus, I presumed the operator barding was Fallen Tactics’ suit, but there were new holes adapted for Neon’s wings. The battle saddle was a different beast, boasting some kind of heavily modified magical energy rifle. The main body was on his right side with additional focusing equipment at the end of the barrel, and a scope assembly on top. Over on the left side was a bundle of spark batteries sequenced together in a casing of some sort.

Neon Dream noticed me inspecting his weapon and turned to look back at it, sadness in his visible eye.

“It was my mother’s, from her service.” His voice fell to a whisper, “before we were kicked out.”

“Falling,” I paused, “Fallen said the pegasi closed up the sky?”

The bright pegasus nodded, and looked up at the clouds above, “The Enclave are in charge, they say the land down here is too poisonous to survive”

I looked around at the blasted landscape around us, they weren’t exactly wrong. But I figured there was more to it than that, so I looked back at Neon Dream expectantly.

His eye flicked over to me, noticing my expression, “They also say that whoever is left down here is an irradiated monster not worth helping.”

“so you left?”

He nodded, “Mother left, I just wanted to stay with her. Fallen found us when we came down here and helped us, took us in.”

I nodded again, and now he had neither of them. I supposed if he had heard stories of the 900th unit operatives it made sense to want to follow one. I looked over at the steel ranger armour crumpled on the floor, a stream of fine dust pouring from the broken eye lens. The kid had a good aim with that rifle, I had to give him that, though how well that, and his bright colouration, would work alongside my usual stealth tactics I didn’t know.

He was looking at me, something between hope and worry in his shining eye.

You do owe him I guess.

That was Falling... Fallen’s choice.

But we did it. We have to accept the consequences.

I let out a sigh, looking him straight in the eye.

“You can come with me,” I said, his face brightening, “but, I am in charge of the mission. I say hide, you hide, I say run, you run, I say engage, you find a sniping nest. Understand?”

With a sudden burst of movement the pegasus crossed the distance between us and threw his forelegs around my neck, hugging me gratefully. “thank you” he whispered, before breaking off the hug.

As he stepped away I could see a blush on his face. He scuffed a hoof of the ground and mumbled ‘sorry’. I shook my head, “it’s no problem.”

I gave the pair of suits of power armour a look over, seeing what was useful salvage. The armour itself wasn’t going to be an option, you needed training to operate it, and it would be too heavy to lug to any settlement to scrap. I didn’t have the knowledge or time to pull the various useful talismans from its frame either. Ammunition however, that was retrievable and marketable. Both Neon and I poured ammo into our saddlebags, the pegasus having a single bag strapped to the centre of his battle saddle, and we left the armour lying in the dirt as we pressed eastward again.

About an hour passed in silence before Neon Dream spoke up,

“You’ve got a pipbuck, right?” he asked, shying away as I turned my head back to look at him, “I-I was just wondering if... If you could put the radio on?”

I was about to tell him that it would be a beacon of noise drawing any hostiles directly to us, but, honestly, the silence had been getting to me finally. Maybe it was my extended time awake or maybe it was having company but I was starting to yearn for something to disrupt the silence of this dead plain. I sighed, reaching down to the device on my leg, tabbing over to radio and selecting the MASEBS frequency.

We spent the morning walking to songs from Sweetie Bell and the occasional burst of news or advice from the DJ. After the first time he yelled ‘Hello Chiiiiiiiillldreen!’ I had found the volume control and turned it way down. We were approaching midday when another bulletin came from the DJ.

“I’ve got another story for you wastelanders, maybe something to cheer your hearts. A couple of days ago I told you to keep your eyes open for a pair of fillys from Littlerock that had gone missing, well, I've got you an update. Turns out, they left of their own accord, looking to make a difference out there. Unfortunately, they ran afoul of a gang of raiders, and one of them didn’t make it out.”

I stopped and looked down at my leg, I knew this story, but how did DJ Pon3?

“the other filly very nearly suffered the same fate before somepony killed the entire gang from the shadows, stepped out and declared themselves an equestrian army special operative. Are they a ghoul? Did they crawl out of some military bunker? Are they just crazy? Who knows, but they got that little lost filly back home to Littlerock. So thank you Operative, good to know there’s someone else out there fighting the good fight.”

As the newsflash ended and the music resumed I could feel Neon’s smile in the back of my head.

“You’re famous,” he said.

I frowned, looking back at the grinning pegasus, “That kind of undermines the stealth approach I operate under.”

“I didn’t think about that.” He retreated under his mane again, “n-not that we’ve seen anyone since those steel rangers.”

The kid’s confidence seemed to wax and wane quicker than a wonderbolt in flight, definitive when unseen, shy the minute he was looked at. I wondered if it was a sniper thing or just his upbringing, or just him. While we were stopped I took the opportunity to scout around with the binoculars, we were reaching the eastern edge of the whitetail woods and would soon turn south to squeeze between them and the ponyville hills. There was a rail line in the distance, leading to a collection of train cars piled on top of a switching junction.

“What can you see?”

“looks like a lot of activity around the, settlement? The one on the rail junction.” I relayed, scanning the area, “and we’re not the only ones looking.”

Below us I could see another pony investigating the junction. With no wings or visible horn, I classed them as an earth pony, backed up by them holding up some kind of spyglass in a hoof, peering down at the junction settlement. They had a poofy red mane crowning their head and were wearing a full length coat of some kind, with a logo on the back. A revolver cylinder with five empty chambers and a single round in the last one.

“let me see,” Neon Dream said, kicking a catch on his battle saddle. The rifle slid forward into position and the scope tilted to the side, settling over the pegasus’ uncovered eye.

“oh yeah,” he said, “I know them, I recognise the logo. It’s Roulette.”

I blinked, I’d heard the name but was missing the connection. Neon Dream continued, giving me the required context, “she’s a wandering weapons merchant, travels between settlements to trade.”

Lets go say hello.

If I get threatened again I swear... I sighed, ‘Luna hold and shield me’ I muttered and started trotting towards Roulette, giving a toss of my head to call Neon Dream with me. The trader noticed our approach while still watching the settlement, though they were covered by their coat, I could see the tension in their legs and a twitch in their tail before they slowly dropped the spyglass to their side.

“Hello there,” they said, by their voice they sounded like a mare, “you looking for trade or trouble?”

“Does anyone announce they're after trouble?” Neon Dream called back from behind me. I flashed him a look and he ducked back behind his mane.

The mare chuckled, turning around to face us. She had a dull cream coat, but a shock of red mane, with a stripe of orange winding it’s way through the bouncy hair. Her eyes widened as she saw us and if she hadn’t been an earth pony I’d have sworn she teleported she was in front of me so fast. My reflexes couldn’t keep up and she was already practically muzzle to muzzle with me before my hoof swung back in an attempt to reach Resolve.

“omigoshlookatyourhats!” the mare squealed, swiping my beret from my head and perching it on the top of her bouncy mane.

I just stood there, frozen by the madness before me. She seemed to sense this and took a step back, bringing a hoof to her mouth and giving a little cough.

“ahem, where are my manners?” she said, before dropping the hoof and beaming at us, “I’m the Wandering Weaponista: Roulette, at your service.” She gave a sweeping bow, my beret remaining impossibly perched on her mane.

I frowned at the trader, face falling low and my mouth drawing into a tight line. As irrational as it seemed, having my beret swiped was... Distressing. It was one of my only tangible links to the past and one of the few items I had that gave me an identity. Without it I kind of felt like I might just fall down the empty hole in my mind and never come back out. I needed the hat to complete my uniform, my uniform gave me purpose, my purpose kept me from drifting away.

“Can I have my beret back?” I asked nicely, with minimal grinding of teeth.

“No?”

I blinked. Maybe I wasn’t polite enough. I should deploy the magic word.

“Can I have my beret back, please?”

“Please Roulette, it’s kind of important to him.” Neon Dream chimed in. I could also point out that his beret was also a sentimental object for him too.

The mare rolled her eyes, “okay, okay, no problem,” she flicked it with a hoof and sent the beret spinning back to me, landing on my horn. “anyways, you look to me to be customers, so...”

She sat back on her haunches and undid the coat, pulling open one side to show an array of pouches sewn into the lining, “What’re you buying?” she opened the other side of the coat, revealing more of the same, and a few strips of metal that looked like battle saddle controls “what’re you selling?”

We pulled the ammunition we had scavenged from the steel rangers and had Roulette cast her eye over it, evaluating the price for these rounds in bulk. The minigun bullets weren’t worth much apiece, but there was an entire ammo drum of them. We kept back some of the grenades from the same ranger, even if they weren’t the easily thrown metal apple variety, there were uses for grenades. The rifle rounds were worth a bit more, it was heavy duty ammo and she had a few specialist sniper clients that would benefit. We bought some extra spark packs for Neon Dream and I topped up on rounds for Resolve. Roulette also had a holster in her bottomless coat that would hold the gun, rather than tucking it into a loop on my back.

As I went to swap the Operator over I paused, taking it up in my hooves. I braced it with one hoof and pulled the slide with my other, catching the last round for the gun in my teeth.

“Do you have any of these?” I asked, transferring it to my hoof and holding it out.

Roulette took it, feeling the round and looking at it from different angles, gazing at it through a jeweller’s loupe that had appeared from somewhere. She gave the round a lick and also a quick bite, causing one of my eyebrows to slide up my head. Looking up she caught my eye.

“No luck I’m afraid,” she said, tossing the bullet back to me, “its a .45 IPC, not rare-rare, but certainly uncommon. I can do you that caliber for revolvers or rifles but they just didn’t make many pistols that used it.”

My disappointment must have shown on my face as I loaded the last round into the Operator as Roulette spoke up again,

“Hey, hey, don’t worry.” She bumped me on the foreleg with a hoof, “we might be able to get some. Might have a proposition for you guys anyways.”

I looked back at Neon Dream who shrugged. Turning back to the weapons dealer I motioned for her to continue.

“Look, I was planning on heading down there and talking to Gawd, but somethings got everything shook up by the looks of things and I don’t wanna get caught up in it, so I can offer the job to you guys instead.” She grinned at us, “you’re not busy or anything are you?”

“We’re headed for Canterlot,” that pegasus will be the death of me, “but we can help out.”

“What about you strong and silent?” the mare giggled. I simply sighed,

“What’s the mission?”

The mission it seemed was to investigate an old Ironshod Firearms facility outside of Ponyville. Specifically the warehouse and loading bay, Roulette had acquired a supervisor’s key that would get us into the facility, we just needed to check for security, disable it if it existed, and let her in to scavenge. And also be her bodyguards on the way, apparently raiders liked to set up in Ponyville.

It was on our way at least.

Mission accepted, Roulette had done her coat back up and we had got moving, following the edge of the Whitetail woods around to the south, at the foot of the ponyville hills. Given I now had two ponies requesting it, the radio was most definitely playing as we wound our way towards Ponyville, which gave us some musical accompaniment to our trek. Roulette tried to chat with both of us and while I was quiet, or gave short answers, Neon Dream was perhaps worse. Now he wasn’t aiming for pithy remarks or speaking for the both of us, instead becoming increasingly flustered by the attentions of the cream mare. It was almost a relief when DJ Pon3 came back on the air with an update.

“Good evening wastelanders! How’s every pony doing? Got some great news for you today! Remember that little Stable Gal who took on the slavers of Appleloosa and saved all those ponies?” nope, I did not. I suppose this Stable Dweller was fixture of the DJ by the way he talked about her, but he’d not mentioned her today, “Well don’t ask me how, but she survived takin’ a nosedive off a cliff in a speeding train. That’s right, fillies and gentlecolts: she’s back!” that would explain it, she must have been dead. Or, presumed dead.

Roulette gave a little hoofclap, “Alright Stable Dweller,” she said, evidently a fan. The name niggled the back of my mind though.

Peach Lemonade.

What?

She left Littlerock to be a hero like the Stable Dweller.

I frowned, remembering the mare, how she had almost immediately ran into trouble and gotten her cousin killed. Roulette picked up on my expression.

“Not a fan of the Stable Dweller?”

“She inspired two fillies from Littlerock to go out righting wrongs,” a smile formed on the mare’s face, “It got one killed, badly. And the other very nearly worse.”

The smile was gone and she nodded slowly, “it’s a harsh wasteland out there. You step out blindly, you’re going to get hurt.” Her eyes slid sideways to glance at me, “but, you know about the filly from littlerock, you know her motivations. DJ Pon3 didn’t mention that, Operative.”

I frowned at her, then craned my head around to look at Neon Dream, “what did I say? About the radio mention?” he gave an apologetic smile and ducked behind his mane.

We ducked into an overhang of rock as the light bled away, fading fast now we were between the forest and the hills. I never considered a fire when I had rested last night, but Roulette insisted and managed to pull materials from somewhere in her coat. Once the fire was lit she also pulled a tin of food out and prodded me with it.

“Come on then Unicorn, get that open and hold it over the fire.”

I frowned, remembering that she only knew I was a unicorn because she stole my beret. I turned my glare to the can and focused, the air around the top of the can shimmering slightly before a silent blade cut the top of the can away. It turned out the can was full of beans. My green magic enveloped the can and held it in the fire to cook. It was only then I noticed Roulette staring at me. “What?”

“I, uhhh, what was that? I thought you’d use a knife or something.”

“I know a spell, it’s good for opening tin cans,” I thought of the Steel Ranger armour I had wrecked, “among other things.”

When the beans were warm the cream coated mare shared out some spoons and we all shared in dinner. I thought of the three snack cakes in my saddlebags, a little part of my mind told me to jealously guard those cakes but I had my mission, and on a mission, the needs of the team come first. I shared out the cakes, receiving appreciative smiles from both ponies.

As the fire burned low I turned to Neon Dream, “alright kid, you’re on first watch.”

Roulette chuckled, “Tough luck kid,” she said, waving a hoof at him, “don’t worry, I’ll relieve you in a few hours.”

That left me with third watch.

As the bright pegasus mumbled to himself behind his mane I settled down near the warmth of the fire and pulled Resolve from its new place on my left foreleg, frowning at the very selective safety switch before setting it down within mouth reach.

“How come you do everything like an earth pony?” Roulette had been watching me, even as she had pulled a pillow and blanket from her coat, “you’re a unicorn, usually you lot are all about easy peasy floaty pleasey.”

“Its how I was trained, fight like an earth pony, don’t rely on magic and it can’t be taken away from you for an easy victory.” I said, pointing a hoof at my beret, “also, conserve magic, deceive opponents, subterfuge. If I don’t announce I’m a unicorn, I can surprise them with my spell.”

Seeming satisfied, Roulette nodded sagely then flopped to the ground dramatically. “Nighty night Operative,” she said, head on the pillow and rolling away from me.

I finally settled down and closed my eyes, drifting off into sleep.

“Come on,” I was being dragged to the front of the column, “you know dirt, find them.”

The soldier pulling me let go as the sergeant gave me an order. Somepony had spotted a mine ahead of us, and now the worry was that the entire dirt road had been mined. We were pressing into Zebra territory, driving this front back, and they were leaving us presents.

I gulped, stepping forward and looking at the road. It was hard to spot any sign of digging, the rain that even now pattered down on us had washed the dirt into mud. Having lost my helmet at the bridge my mane was soaked.

Lowering my head I closed my eyes, sending out my magic and concentrating on the feel of the earth below me. Had my eyes been open I might have seen the faint orange ripple that spread over the road. I felt through the earth, almost like running a hoof through the mud, sensing the distribution of dirt and aggregate and life. Dirt road it may have been but there was a decent foundation to it, with the upper layers compacted from years of use. As I worked my way up and along I felt the voids near the surface along with the harsh feel of worked metal. The mines.

If I told them, they would just expect me to clear them, which would not be a great plan. I was not a bomb disposal pony and this rigging, while reinforced, was not exactly explosion proof. Although, while I had them mapped out, I could get a hold of them. I gritted my teeth and zeroed in on the feel of the mines, and the thin layer of mud on top of them, scraping back the wet dirt and hauling the metal discs from the ground.

“What in the layers of tartarus are you doing?” the sergeant asked as a few of the other soldiers gasped,

Sweat was running down my face as an orange overglow covered my flaring horn, a wave of mines rising slowly from the ground.

“Mine... Clearing...” I ground out; eyes still closed as I focused.

There were too many to attempt to disarm, and zebras had all manner of nasty tricks to keep mines lethal. It only occurred to me then that some of those tricks were designed to punish unicorns who floated mines. My eyes snapped open as I heard a ‘beep’ from my floating swarm of mines, followed by another, and another.

“Get Down!” I yelled as I took a firmer grip of the mines and wrenched them sideways, trying to chuck them far from our route.

I dove to the ground as the beeping reached a crescendo then the swarm of mines exploded, the tampered ones cooking off the rest.

A wave of fire came rolling through the air straight at me and...

A hoof rocked me awake, I had Resolve in my mouth and pointed towards the owner of said hoof before my eyes were open.

“Heyhey, put that down.” A mare’s voice cut through my bleary, sleepy state, “it’s third watch.”

My mind caught up with my reflexes and I blinked the sleep from my eyes, a blurry smear resolving into the form of Roulette. I dropped my head, lowering the gun and tonguing the safety which I just knew would have come off. It had.

I returned Resolve to its holster and rose to my hooves, cocking my head at the weapons trader,

“Err, sorry. Bad dream,” I said, feeling a little embarrassed that I had nearly shot my current employer.

“Not a problem, really,” she shook her head, “just gotta remember not to shake you awake.”

Or we take first watch.

“Or I take first watch.”

“Well, if you’re volunteering, I think Neon will be happy.”

Wait, what? Damn my rogue thoughts. I sighed and walked away from the slight warmth of the burnt-out fire, taking up my position and watching the surroundings.

The dream was fading fast, but I was feeling a certain sense of unease, not all my dreams were feeling... Correct? Familiar? Mine? They were clearly memories spilling out of the hole while I slept, but some did not mesh. I shook the feeling off, this could be considered when we were not out in an irradiated wilderness that held threats from mutated sprites to psychotic raiders.

Like the others, my watch was quiet, it seemed like few ponies walked the gap between tall hills and irradiated forest. Unfortunately this meant that my watch dragged on slowly. My gaze swept along the land before our shelter. Left. Right. Left. Right. I could hear faint tuba music to the north, there was a spritebot floating around that way. The music faded away and silence remained. To pass the time I reviewed my mission; access Station 1 and discover what became of the project leads. To do that, I had to access Station 2 and use a project lead’s terminal to release the lockdown in Station 1. To do that I had to carry out Roulette’s little scavenging job.

Never mind that after all of that, I had to then live in the equestrian wasteland. While I had yet to see much of it, I wasn’t sure there was much livelihood to be made for an ex-special operative unicorn who knew maybe two spells.

As I pondered, the chill of Luna’s night faded away, replaced by the wan light of Celestia’s shrouded dawn. That was something I never thought I would miss; the stars, the moon, the feel of Luna watching over me as I ran my missions under the cover of night.

My reverie was broken by a soft ‘hi’ from beside me and I tilted my head to see the teal mane of Neon Dream covering the side of his face.

“Morning,” I said, glancing at the clock in the corner of my peripheral vision, courtesy of the pipbuck’s E. F. S. “my watch doesn’t end for about half an hour.”

“Do you remember him well?” the pegasus asked, “he had some stories of you,”

I grimaced slightly, “Fallen?” the kid nodded, “I remember some, but my memories are... Hazy, fragmented. Like there’s a hole in my mind they’ve fallen in to.”

“He said that you were the last of them, that you didn’t get an opportunity to live like the rest before the reset and everyone getting stasis time.”

I grunted, the context was missing, but the implication was clear.

“He liked you, though thought you were very by the book.” The pegasus turned his head to look at me from under his mane, the visible eye watery, “from all the stories he told me, I always wanted to meet another operative. And now I have.”

I turned back to the wasteland, “sorry to disappoint you.”

I heard Neon Dream turn around and walk away, just barely catching the mumbled ‘you haven’t’ as he left.

Breakfast was a quiet affair, which suited me. Apparently Roulette was not her usual exuberant self before a morning cup of coffee. A cup she filled with grounds from a tin in her coat, some water from a bottle and then had me hold over the embers of the fire. After deciding that warming it was taking too long she snatched the cup from my telekinetic field and chugged the whole thing, grounds and all. Both Neon Dream and I stared at her for a few seconds as she chewed the grounds left behind in her mouth, then her eyes suddenly sprang wide open. We took a step back.

“Right! Thatsusreadytogo!”

In a frenzy of activity Roulette packed up her sleeping accoutrements, downed an oat bar and doused the last of the fire with a bottle of water that set my pipbuck clicking. We were swept out of the hollow and back onto our route in record time.

My two travelling companions insisted on having the radio on as we continued our journey, so we walked to 200-year-old music and chatter from the DJ. There were no more updates on the activities of the Stable Dweller, nor me fortunately, so we instead got bulletins about dealing with radiation, hostile wildlife and raiders. By mid-morning we had passed through the gap between the woods and the hills and so swung around to the northeast, catching sight of an old railway line snaking across the wasteland. Southeast I could see the tracks cross a valley and head towards some kind of settlement, Roulette informed me that it was New Appleloosa. We picked up the tracks around midday and trotted along them, passing the ruins of an old apple farm.

Our pace slowed as we approached a ruined settlement and I insisted on switching off the radio. Checking the map on my pipbuck I could see the ruins labelled as ‘Ponyville’.

Ponyville was dead.

We picked our way cautiously through the ruins. I took point, moving between buildings, keeping to the shadows, checking the angles before calling the others up. Nothing. There was evidence of a fight, or a series of them, a blast crater outside a shop called ‘Carousel Boutique’ with some scattered pony parts in the vicinity, the parts not snatched up by local carrion birds in any case. The central feature was a large tree with doors and windows inset, a sign over the big doors at ground level proclaiming it the ‘Ponyville Library’. There was a body in the dirt in front of the tree, looking at the way it lay it seemed to have fallen some distance, I looked up and spotted a balcony some way up the tree. The wounds on the body were all in the back, they’d been shot from behind as they tried to jump the balcony.

The fact that the body was wearing the filthy, blood-soaked leather strapping chic that seemed to identify raiders muted any sympathy his fate might have drawn.

“Looks like someone’s already cleared through here” Neon observed, looking around the silent ruins.

Roulette spotted something on the ground and scooped it up in a hoof. It was the shell casing of a large rifle round. The weapons trader rolled it back and forth in her hooves, looking over the state of the brass, then she raised it to her mouth and licked it. She made a grunt, seeming to roll the flavour around in her mouth.

“About a week old,” she declared

Neon Dream managed to voice my thoughts for me. “You’re one weird mare,” he said, flinching back under his mane as Roulette looked over at him, “n-not that that’s a bad thing...”

The red mare trotted up to the green pegasus, getting so close that she pressed the flat of her head against his, staring into his exposed eye, which had widened to the size of a dinner plate. The tension broke suddenly as she reared up and wrapped her forelegs around Neon Dream’s neck. I took a few steps forward, but it became immediately apparent that she was not applying some kind of headlock to the poor buck.

“You are so CUTE!” she yelled, nearly bringing the pegasus to the floor.

I stepped up and tried to wedge a hoof between the pair, “we can’t be sure no one else is here, and we have a mission to complete.”

Giving a frustrated snort, Roulette let go of Neon Dream, who in turn gave a gasp as he gulped down fresh air.

“Spoilsport.” she said, sticking out her tongue.

I just shook my head and took point once again as we marched out the far side of Ponyville, making our way past a large monument, making sure to avoid the large sleeping reptiles bathing in the irradiated water that surrounded it. Radgator, Roulette had called them. I glanced up at the statue in the monument, and had a moment of recognition.

“Big Macintosh” I said aloud,

I felt the other two stop behind me.

“Did you know him,” Neon Dream whispered, but I shook my head,

“No, he was long dead when I was recruited.”

The war got brutal after he fell.

My rogue thoughts were back,

Equestria’s innocence died at Shattered Hoof.

I’d argue Equestria’s innocence died at Littlehorn, though perhaps our morals died with Big Macintosh. Why else would killers like me be deployed?

Author's Note

Thanks to kkat for creating this crazy mashup and letting others play around in it.
Thanks to Somber too, I may reference things from Project Horizons and Homelands here and there.

Chapter 6: Quick Thinking

“Here at Robronco we take pride in our hand finished, high quality, genuine equestrian automatons. No shoddy zebra clankers around here.”

We pressed on, with me pertinently ignoring Roulette’s looks at me, following the rails until we hit a small branch that veered off into an imposing building.

The large sign declared it ‘Ironshod Firearms Distribution Centre’ with a little plate below the sign stating ‘Where do you want them apples?’.

The rails passed under an arch and into a loading facility, an old train sat in the bay, derailed and listing to the side, cargo crates spilling from it’s body. We weren’t the first ponies to have come through here, the multitude of empty crates and boxes were testament to 200 years of scavenging, but Roulette was insistent that the warehouse interior was untouched. We crept through the loading bay, clinging to cover as we followed the red maned mare’s directions. While my E. F. S. was showing no red pips, I knew I couldn’t rely purely on it’s friend-or-foe matrix and so kept my eyes and ears open as we picked our way to the main building.

Reaching the rear of the bay I stared at the blank wall that faced us. There was no entrance across its wide expanse, in fact it looked like all cargo was loaded out of the roof of the building by crane. Roulette was undeterred though, feeling her way along the steel skin of the warehouse until she let out a little ‘aha!’ and called us over.

“Here we are,” she said, pointing to a mark on the wall.

Upon closer inspection, it was a keyhole. Rummaging in her coat she retrieved an odd square key on a chain that she twisted, folding out a strip of the metal. Jamming it into the lock she was rewarded with a click and with a flick of a hoof a second click was obtained. The lock suddenly revealed a square of wall that slid aside, exposing a terminal that was still active, bathing us in the green glow of its screen.

“Do you have the password?” Neon Dream asked, poking his head over the shoulder of our trader companion.

“Nope!” she replied enthusiastically, twisting her head and licking the pegasus’ snout “any guesses?”

Having snapped back, flustered, the bright green buck stammered. “uhhh, n-n-no. Err, maybe, p-password?”

I sighed, “Neon Dream, there’s no way the password is going to be...”

“We’re in!”

I stared at Roulette and could only offer a flat ‘what’ as the terminal chirped and a doorway was revealed with a second keyhole in it. Retrieving the key she unlocked the new door and pulled it open, ushering us inside.

Before us was a massive, cavernous space. Across the empty dias of the cargo elevator were row upon row upon row of shelving, all holding crates marked with the Ironshod Firearms logo. They stretched up to the ceiling and off into the distance.

“Luna’s great wet and winking nethers!” cursed Roulette in awe.

“Don’t do that.” I felt the words leave my mouth before I could even consider not saying them. I could feel my face flushing as red as our companions mane as the mare slowly turned her head to look at me.

“You a bit of a prude there Operative?” she asked, “Or is it the subject?” her eyebrows raised up her face and waggled, “are you some kind of Selenite?”

I opened and closed my mouth, but no sound came out. It wasn’t that, it, it was just that the Princess Luna was our commander-in-chief. Yes, she commanded a certain level of respect.

“What if I was talking about Celestia’s taut sunbutt?”

To my, shame? Embarassment? It did not illicit the same reaction. My face must have shown my thoughts because Roulette barked out a laugh.

“You are a Selenite.” The laugh was reduced to a chuckle, “good to know.”

I frowned, what was this all about?

Oh ye of the night shift,

Beneath Luna’s gaze,

Wrapped in her protection,

Offer your praise.

I was thinking in poems now? I shook my head, trying to clear my thoughts. This was not the mission.

“Where do we need to check?” I asked, “is there a supervisors office?”

Roulette nodded, pointing to a little cabin hanging from the wall up near the ceiling, a criss-crossing web of catwalks and rails leading up to it. I nodded, trying to trace a path that would keep us hidden from any security. Roulette would stay at the entrance until we gave the all clear.

I turned to Neon Dream, “I need you to get a bit higher, give me an idea of layout and if you can see any security.” He nodded and prepared to spring into the air when I quickly put a hoof on his shoulder, “don’t go too high, we don’t know if there’s turrets or anything else that’ll track flyers.”

His eye widened and he gave a little gulp before springing into the air and sailing up to the walkways to find a spot. I watched as he took a look around and waved a hoof at me, nodding. Taking that as a positive I trotted forward, still trying to keep to some kind of cover as I pressed my way to the stairs, trying to step slowly and carefully to muffle the ‘ting, ting, ting’ of my hooves in the metal. One level up Neon Dream fluttered down beside me,

“I can see a couple of robots on the floor, between the shelves,” he said, drawing a look of concern onto my face, “b-but they look switched off, they’re not doing anything.”

My eyes narrowed, this seemed very convenient, a tingle in the back of my head had me thinking of traps. We pushed on, cautiously, with Neon Dream flying up a level and taking a look before waving me on. We reached the supervisor’s office a lot slower than we probably could have, but there was no sign of security.

“So,” my pegasus companion asked as I walked up to him, “what’s a Selenite?”

I paused, working my mouth to explain, but no answer was forthcoming. Something else lost to the hole in my mind.

Bit of a cult that revered Princess Luna as a goddess. Not that they didn’t consider both princesses goddesses, but definitely Luna got their worship.

“They revere Princess Luna,” I said, summarising my rogue thoughts

Neon Dream clicked his head to the side quizzically, his mane falling away to reveal his often hidden eye, “why ‘Selenite’ then, why not something ‘Luna’?” he asked, a small grin creeping across his muzzle, “Lunatics maybe?”

I rolled my eyes, putting the question to my thoughts,

Selene is an old term for Luna’s moon. Helped when they had to keep low after Nightmare Moon.

I nodded, that made some sort of sense.

“Its from an old term for Luna’s moon, to obfuscate them after Nightmare Moon.”

In an effort to end the conversation I walked over to the door and grabbed the handle in my teeth, trying to open the door.

The door was locked. I cursed under my breath and turned to Neon Dream, “go back down to Roulette, get the key.”

He snapped off a quick salute and took flight, leaving me alone on the walkway. I was tense, it felt like there were threats lurking in the shadows just out of sight, even if the security seemed disabled.

I heard a gunshot.

It had the strange delayed reverb of a twin linked battle saddle and the only battle saddle wielder we had used an energy weapon. Had someone followed us, also seeking the spoils of this place? The shot came again, followed by the low buzzing noise of Neon Dream’s magical energy rifle. I pulled Resolve from its holster, slightly cursing my distance from the fight.

There was a thunder of hooves and a slamming of a door and from my vantage point I could spot the bright green of Neon Dream and Roulette’s shock of red mane. The two came charging up the network of catwalks, hooves ringing on the metal gantries.

“What happened?”

Roulette looked away sheepishly, “I, uhhh, may have gotten bored. And tried to see if there was any salvage left in those trains outside,” she tapped her forehooves together nervously, “I may have woken some ferals.”

I turned to look at Neon Dream with a pang of concern, his visible eye was a little distant, “Neon Dream?” I asked, he started as my voice pulled him back to reality.

“Ah! I-I’m sorry. I tried to cover Roulette and get us back inside.”

I nodded, and turned back to the merchant, about to ask for the key when I noticed the twin barrels of some kind of double rifle poking out from a flap stitched into the back of her jacket, and the firing bit by her mouth. Did she somehow have a whole battle saddle rig stored inside that coat? I shook my head, useful to remember, but not what I needed right now.

“Do you still have the key?” I asked, holding out a hoof, she fished it out of a pocket and tossed it over to me. It fit the lock perfectly and let us in to the office.

It was fairly sparse and utilitarian, but somehow a couch had been brought up and placed against the back wall, along with a small fridge that had failed long ago, if the warm bottles of sparkle cola inside were anything to go by. There was a desk with a terminal sat on it against another wall, with large glass windows looking out over the warehouse floor. A chart on the wall tracked dispatches and orders.

There was no body in this office, no bones, the supervisor must not have been in on the Last Day. I looked at the glowing screen of the terminal, hoping it had been left unlocked. Unfortunately, I was not that lucky. With a sigh I booted up the terminal into the BIOS and began trying to root around in the code for a suitable password. Three tries, back out, three tries, back out, I gave a frustrated growl, feeling a deep need to shove my hoof through the glowing monitor, and there was a small cough behind me. I turned to see my companions staring at me.

“try ‘choochoo’” Roulette suggested, a grin tickling the corner of her mouth upwards.

I narrowed my eyes at her, but, out of ideas, returned to the terminal and tried her suggestion. The terminal unlocked. My head snapped back around to look at her.

She held up the supervisor key that I didn’t remember giving back, “it was written on the tag.”

I blinked; I had seen ‘choochoo’ in the sprawl of code but had dismissed it as random nonsense. The was a chime from the terminal and a window popped up stating ‘Welcome back Steam Whistle’. A pony named Steam Whistle had ‘choochoo’ as their password. Civilian ponies had too much time on their hooves.

There were a couple of sections available on the terminal; messages, notes, security, manifests. I checked the security heading and was informed that warehouse security had been disabled as part of a facility wide security shutdown under the authorisation code ‘Braeburn_Says_So’. Our luck must be changing I thought.

The messages section brought me to a chain of messages between Steam Whistle and a Braeburn Apple. I looked at the batch dated a few days before the end;

To: Braeburn.Apple

From: Steam.Whistle

Subject: Mistaken Unit

Got an odd one for ya boss. Received that shipment of security Ponytrons from Robronco, but we’re down one. Some kinda mixup at the shipping facility, we’ve been sent something quite different.

Supervisor Whistle

From: Braeburn.Apple

To: Steam.Whistle

Subject: RE:Mistaken Unit

This better be a good different. Ah’ve spent good bits on this security, we don’ want any more zebra spies trying to steal muh designs.

Breaburn Apple

CEO Ironshod Firearms

How do you like them apples?

From: Steam.Whistle

To: Braeburn.Apple

Subject: RE:RE: Mistaken Unit

Oh yeah boss, the mixup means we’ve gon and got one ah these new urban pacification bots. Says ‘Silverpone’ on the manifest. There’s a holotape with it, but the documentation calls that the start-up tape and I didn’t wanna start it up without ya sayin so.

Might void the warranty, or returns policy or somethin.

Supervisor Whistle

Braeburn had never replied, and I spotted the tape on the desk in front of the terminal. I gave a shrug, misplaced robots was not a concern to us at the moment, though it would probably make some salvager’s day. I pulled up the manifests section and turned my head to look at Roulette who had been peeking over my shoulder,

“I imagine this is what you’re interested in?”

She nodded and scooped me out of the way, hooves tapping away at the keyboard as she looked through reports of deliveries and dispatches and storage plans. I instead walked over to Neon Dream who was staring out of the windows, looking down on the warehouse floor.

“Are you alright?” I asked the green pegasus,

“y-yeah,” he replied, still staring, “just, thinking, I guess.”

I was about to press the matter when we were interrupted by Roulette from the terminal.

“Oh wow!”

I turned back to the terminal to see Roulette tapping keys, moving through a file. “what is it?” I asked, trotting over and noticing the tape was gone from the desk, “Roulette?”

“look at the specs on this thing,” she gestured at the terminal, “high calibre autorifles, underslung multilaunchers, manipulater, and this was for riot control?”

I blinked, “what?”

Roulette was pointing at the top of the screen, where I could see that ‘Silverpone’ as Whistle had called it, was two words and an acronym. Silver stood for ‘Supervisor Independent Logic Variable Engagement Robot’ and Pone was ‘Public Order National Enforcer’. I rolled my eyes at the clear backronym nature of the name, marketing ponies hard at work. Though, as Roulette had said, the name implied domestic riot control, why would it be so heavily armed for that purpose? My pondering was halted by Roulette’s squeak and frantic typing. Code was scrolling across the screen at breakneck speed, even when she removed her hooves from the keyboard.

“ummm,” she began, rubbing the back of her head sheepishly, “it’s, ah, booting up. Sorry.”

I glared at the cream earth pony, “did you read the part about that being the ‘start up’ tape?” I asked, sighing as she shook her head.

The text stopped scrolling, leaving a final message on the terminal, ‘default mode: aggressive, Whitelist: not found, beginning patrol.’

We heard a splintering of wood and joined Neon Dream in looking out of the big windows of the office, watching as something fought its way out of a wooden crate. The robot did indeed look like a shining silver pony in shape, though instead of a mane it had a metal fin adorning its head, and the tail seemed to be some kind of segmented tendril. Its eyes seemed to be one large lens that looked almost like it was wearing an eye mask or sunglasses. The lens, with its fly like compound facets, glowed orange as its head swept around the warehouse. It suddenly looked up, staring at the three of us in the office before the sides of its barrel slid open, deploying large guns from each opening. The guns pivoted up as it aimed for me and my companions.

A loud ‘click’ of empty chambers echoed around the warehouse.

It looked like Robronco had declined to ship the robot fully stocked with ammunition. I breathed a sigh of relief while the Silverpone continued to stare up at us, stowing the guns back inside its body. The lens remained pointed at us.

“M-maybe we can go around it?” Neon Dream suggested gulping as the robot stared up at us.

“I hope we can,” I started, turning to look at Roulette, “what did you need from the...”

“What’s it doing?” the green pegasus interrupted me, pointing a hoof at the robot, whose lens had turned red.

The lens seemed to grow slightly as it slid forward from its housing before splitting in the middle, the two halves sliding apart to sit either side of the face, revealing a dark void where it had been. A dark void that was soon filled by some kind of round lens in a square housing. I could hear a buzzing noise growing louder as the new lens started to glow. My eyes widened as I connected the dots.

“RUN!”

I dashed towards the door, grabbing Roulette by the collar of her jacket as I passed her, dragging her along by my teeth. The buzzing grew louder as I reached the door, spinning around and bucking it hard to slam it open.

The buzzing reached its peak as a column of glowing red energy spilled out of the robot’s face, melting the window and sending the glowing liquid flowing down to the warehouse floor. The beam continued, burning through the office and out the other side, dissipating as it scorched the far wall and roof.

I had leapt from the open door, diving to the catwalk dragging our employer with me as Neon Dream took to the sky. The heat of the molten metal and glass bathed my back and I could still hear the buzzing of the magical energy weapon in my ears.

Why, in every level of tartarus, did a riot control robot need an energy cannon for a face? There would be no getting around this robot, we needed to stop it. Maybe we could shut it down? I glanced back at the office, the terminal, and the table it was in, were gone. I grimaced, disable or destroy were going to be the only ways to get past this robot.

Which was going to be difficult with a 10mm pistol.

“Neon Dream? Can you take a shot at it?” I called up to the fluttering pegasus. I could almost hear him gulp, but he did deploy the beam sniper rig, the barrel sliding forward and the scope rotating over his eye.

He fired at the robot’s head, the eye lens closing back up as he took aim. The beam lanced out with its own buzzing noise and struck the Silverpone in the head, the silver coating proving to be more than an aesthetic choice as the beam scattered off the polished silver. It still heated the robot’s hull, but most of the damage was deflected.

“That ain’t good” trust Roulette to summarise the situation. I turned my head to her,

“Can you take a shot at it?” I asked,

She gave a shrug and turned to the robot, eyeballing the aim and biting on to the trigger bit, firing the two rifles that emerged from the back of her jacket. That double shot rang out and a pair of small dents appeared just above the eye lens. She was a decent shot with that battle saddle, just a pity that the robot’s hull was strong enough that she couldn’t penetrate it. I tried to think, run through our options when the robot walked over to one of the crates and whipped its tail around, punching a hole in the side.

The tail withdrew, displaying a grasping claw on the end of it, holding a belt of ammunition. Another hatch opened on its back and it fed the belt in, giving out an ominous click as the rounds fed into the guns. I didn’t need to say anything as the three of us split up, running, or in Neon Dream’s case flying, in different directions, hooves hammering on the catwalks as the Silverpone opened up, rounds sparking off the metal as it tried to track us.

I wound my way around the side of the building, descending a few levels as I tried to catch sight of the robot, which seemed to be tracking Roulette as the greater threat. I spotted the flash of her red mane diving down one of the aisles of crates, bullets sparking off of the shelving frames as the Silverpone walked after her. It couldn’t have grabbed many rounds from that crate, I figured, so I dropped back down to ground level and stuck my head around the shelving. The robot had walked about 2/3s along the aisle when the guns clicked empty.

Having a thought, I drew Resolve from its holster and took aim at the silver pony, trying to draw a bead on the dark void beneath the gun panels. Tonguing the trigger, I sent a round flying along the aisle which let out a spark as it struck the robot, the impact causing it to sway on its legs then turn to face me. I fired a burst of rounds at it, but either missed or had my shots spark off of the burnished armour. Hopefully I could keep it at a distance long enough for one of my companions to take another shot.

The Silverpone had other ideas.

It tilted its head to the side in an imitation of a pony thinking, a move which set all the hairs of my mane twitching before its limbs seemed to stiffen up. It dropped into a slight crouch before there was a click and something deployed from the machine. I wasn’t sure what it was doing until I heard the whine of a motor and the sound of wheels spinning. My eyes widened as the robot suddenly shot across the floor, advancing on me at high speed as it coasted along on wheels that had popped out of the legs. I threw myself back as it passed me, a flash of silver whipping past my face and the cold sting of metal scoring a line of fire across my cheek.

The robot finished its charge and coasted around, turning to face me again. Its tail was up in the air, but this time instead of grasping claws a blade had sprung from the tip of it. I put a hoof to the burning line across my cheek and pulled it back, dark red blood smeared across the underside.

I frowned, at range I didn’t have to power to get through the armour, and at close quarters I might not have the speed to keep my head for too long. I concentrated, pulling my spell up to the surface, I needed to at least force one range of engagement, whether that was severing the guns or the blade.

I don’t know if it was happenstance or some kind of magical sensor, but as I was concentrating, trying to choose which would be the favourable option, the Silverpone charged again, tail lashing out. I acted on instinct, time slowing as I watched the blade plunge towards me. Severing the knife wouldn’t kill its momentum, and it was aimed directly at my head, so I made a leap and ended up doing something I’d never tried before.

The air rippled as I invoked a silent blade, but as a single slash, rather then the usual constricting circle, parrying the plunging knife tail. The strike knocked the tail aside, the wind of its passing stinging my eyes as time caught up with my perception.

Realising I did have an edge made my decision for me, and as the robot begin its turn for its next jousting session I pulsed the silent blade spell, aiming for the ammo feeds and connecting braces of the two guns. The struts it seemed were made of stern stuff, the silent blades biting into them, but not through. The ammunition feeds were another story, and the tracks that would feed rounds out to the guns splintered.

The Silverpone let out a high-pitched whine, then a buzzing noise, the eyelens glowing red as the guns were retracted inside.

The second that lens split I started running, trying to put distance and cover between me and the energy cannon face of the Silverpone. I dove behind a forklift of somesort as I heard the buzzing grow behind me, pressing myself to the floor as the top of the vehicle ceased to exist. There was a groaning noise from the shelves and I peeked out from my protective barrier. A large circular void was left at the bottom of the stack I had been behind, and I could see the robot through it. I could also see the rest of the shelves above sagging, so lashed out with my telekinesis, giving the crumbling shelves a little push in the right direction.

The supports buckled and fell, dumping crates of ammunition down onto the silver robot, crashing to the ground with an overwhelming cacophony. Followed by an overwhelming scream,

“Stop trashing the merchandise!”

Roulette was peeking around the end of the stack, glaring at me. With a flutter of wings Neon Dream landed next to me.

“Did you get it?” he asked, I considered the pile of crates.

“Certainly looks like...” I began, but trailed off when the pile shuddered.

The segmented tail punched out through a crate, with the whole thing shifting up moments later, sliding aside to reveal the Silverpone, looking a little worse for wear, but still active.

There were dents all over the robot’s chassis and a crack across one section of the eyelens, but even as its servos groaned with the effort of pulling itself from the rubble it stood tall and glared at us. I could hear Neon Dream gulp, and I’m pretty sure I did too. But I had an idea.

“Neon Dream, I need you to get airborne and keep a bead on the robot, I think I’ve got a weakpoint for you to exploit.” I looked about the warehouse for something I could use to set this up. My eyes alighted on the cargo lift by the door.

Nodding, I gestured to that direction and Neon Dream took flight as I scooped up Resolve and dashed over to Roulette, keeping an ear turned to listen for the robot.

“Would you stop destroying my stock?”

I rolled my eyes and tucked my pistol into its holster, “You can’t claim it if you’re a pile of ash.” I said, then pointed a hoof towards the door, “I have a plan, get to the elevator controls.”

Roulette snapped off a mock salute and dashed away, leaving me staring at the glowing eye lens of the Silverpone. It had dismounted the debris pile and was walking towards me, though it turned its head to follow Roulette. I pulled Resolve and again used it to draw the robot’s attention, the first round striking the crack in the eye lens, widening it. The robot let out a squeal as it revved its wheels, though it sounded more like a sound of rage to my ears. I dashed to the side, ducking down the next aisle as the Silverpone sped between the shelves. As it reached the end if the stack it canted on its legs, like a skater, and swung around gracefully to face me along this new aisle. It deployed the blade from its tail with an audible ‘snikt’ and held it high, crouching slightly like it was preparing to spring.

Instead, it revved its motors and shot across the floor at me, again I summoned a silent blade, throwing myself to the side as I parried the knife, but this time the tail whipped back around, trying to riposte. With the spell still ‘warm’ I was able to counter again, and then the robot’s speed had carried it out of range. It spun its body, wheels screeching as it slid sideways across the floor, leaving trails of scorched rubber behind while staring directly at me with that eye lens.

I heard the cargo elevator start up and looked over towards the sound, seeing the section of floor rising on a hydraulic piston. The Silverpone revved again, skating towards me in another joust. I charged, galloping towards the robot, silent blade spell charged and held for the right moment. The gap closed, and neither of us were going to swerve, I shifted my body and just before I crashed headlong into the speeding mass of metal I uncoiled like a spring, leaping over the robot and releasing the silent blade, deflecting the first strike from the tail. I wasn’t so lucky for the second attempt and felt a line of heat scored across my flank, splitting the material of my barding and drawing a red line across my cutie mark.

I clattered back to earth on the far side of the robot and kept going, ignoring the pain spreading down my leg as I galloped away. There was another squeal of tyres as the Silverpone turned again to chase me. I could feel its approach and so put on a burst of speed, aiming for the recess in the floor that the elevator occupied. I dove into the gap and heard the tyres shriek as the robot stopped itself from following me face first. I turned back to it, looking at the glowing eye lens before putting that hydraulic piston between us.

It tried to walk around the edge of the recess to get a clear line of sight, but I followed it, keeping the machinery between us. The robot let out an irritated buzzing noise and then descended into the pit, landing on all four hooves with a clang. Manoeuvring around again, I backed up to the edge of the pit, blocking the robot again before turning and scrambling up as I readied my spell.

The Silverpone emerged from behind the machinery, stalking towards me. “Down!” I called, hearing Roulette flip the switch and start the Elevator descending into the pit. The robot looked up at the solid metal plate, then back at me, stalking forward and putting its legs up against the sidewall. There was a clicking noise as the robot’s rear legs extended, stretching the main body up, rolling up the wall on the wheels deployed on its forelegs. The Silverpone’s forelegs slid up out of the pit, catching onto the side as its eye lens followed, that cracked, compound eye peeked up over the edge of the pit, glowing with malice. I triggered the spell.

Silent blades bit into the hydraulic system, severing hoses and cracking tanks. The elevator platform had already been descending, now, after a brief shudder, it suddenly dropped to the floor. The machinery squealed in protest then gave another shriek as it came down on the robot, crumpling around the silver hull even as it crushed the mechanisms inside, pinning it in place.

The head was still active however and glared at me with its glowing red eye. The lens split and began to slide apart, this was our chance.

“Neon Dream.” I called anticipating the bright and buzzing beam of his sniper rifle.

It didn’t come.

I took a step back, “Neon Dream?” where was he?

I kept backing away from the trapped robot, the cannon lens now deployed. I was trapped, I couldn’t get through the mechanisms with Resolve and it could still see me with those compound eyes, and track me if I dodged to the side. The middle however...

The buzzing noise grew louder as the cannon charged and I gave one last shout,

“NEON!”

I dove to the ground as the burning stream of magic spilled from the robot’s face, banking on the centre of its vision being a blind spot in this configuration. If my tail had not already been cur short, I swear I would have lost it to the roiling stream of burning magic that filled the air above my prone form.

The deep buzzing noise was deafening this close to the beam, and I felt the heat the column of magic generated across my back as it melted the door we had come in through. As the beam trailed off, a different buzzing sounded through the air, the higher pitched cry of Neon Dream’s energy sniper rifle.

The beam lanced out from above, striking the Silverpone right in the cannon lens. Still hot from its own attack, the metal around the polished crystal buckled as the high intensity beam of magic energy pierced into the robot’s head. The focusing lens must have fanned out the beam inside the head as there was an acrid smell of melting electronics and the whole back of the robot’s head glowed with heat.

The Silverpone let out a high-pitched squeal as its innards melted, the polished metal head slumping down and crashing to the floor with a ring of metal on concrete. The beast was dead

The green pegasus flapped down beside me as I rose to my hooves, our other companion trotting over from the elevator controls.

“That,” I panted, “was too close for comfort. Where were you?” I asked.

Neon Dream looked about to answer before he spotted something over my shoulder, his eyes going wide and his reply dying in his throat in a choked gasp.

I whirled around, drawing Resolve and slipping into S. A. T. S. There were five ghouls standing in the hole in the wall that had been, until recently, the securely locked door. Their eyes were wide, but their pupils were pinpricks and their mouths hung open, panting like hounds as a growl rose in their throats. This must be what Fallen was talking about, these were ghouls that had survived the Last Day, only to lose their minds sometime in the last 200 years. I queued up shots, one each, in the centre of the head, partially drawing on training, partially drawing on long forgotten horror movies.

The first shot struck true, splitting the feral ghoul’s head like an over ripe melon, stringy black blood and brain matter painting the head of the ghoul next to him. That ghoul wouldn’t have time to appreciate what had happened before his own head split from one of Resolve’s rounds. The third and fourth shots missed but the fifth one struck its target in the eye, the orb popping as the bullet passed through it, tumbling into the snarling pony’s skull.

A downside to the targeting spell was that sometimes it glitched and the slowed time perception continued even as the gun fired. I had the pleasure of watching three ponies heads explode in glorious slow motion, even managing to track the scattered drops of eyeball from the last shot before time snapped back to full speed.

The double crack of Roulette’s battle saddle sounded, taking out one of the ghouls I’d missed and I expected to hear Neon Dream’s rifle too, but instead he simply stared at the ghoul, shaking on his hooves.

I turned back to fire again, but found Resolve just making the tell tale click of an empty magazine. Damn, I was supposed to be counting rounds

Don’t blame me, I thought you had it.

My eyes narrowed, but before the feral ghoul could reach me Roulette’s battle saddle sounded again and the ghoul fell beside the others.

“I think that’s all of them,” she said, voice chirpy as she stowed the battle saddle, “you know, I think that went well.”

I looked at the pile of ghouls by the hole melted in the wall, then back at the wreck of the Silverpone, then at the pile of debris that had been shelves of ammunition.

Turning back to the cream earth pony I fixed her with my best disbelieving stare.

“Well,” she said, sheepishly rubbing at her bouncy mane, “relatively speaking.

Author's Note

Thanks to kkat for creating this crazy mashup and letting others play around in it.
Thanks to Somber too, I may reference things from Project Horizons and Homelands here and there.

Chapter 7: Heart to Heart

“I’m Gestalt.”

“Nope, you’re Mosaic.”

“How can you tell?”

“Through the arcane science of Frendship!”

“Twilight... Friendship’s not a science...”

“We’re what?”

“Going. To. New. Apple. Oosa.” Roulette spoke slowly, enunciating each syllable.

I frowned, “I heard what you said, but that’s in completely the opposite direction.” I huffed, gesturing to Neon Dream, “we need to go to Canterlot.”

“YesyesIknow” she waved me off with a hoof, “but with the wall breached like this I need to move fast to secure the goods.”

“It’s breached because you woke up the robot”

“ah-ah-ah, lets not get bogged down in the details of who woke up what, you signed on to guard me on this expedition and this job isn’t finished until I have the merchandise secured.”

Luna preserve me. She was right, technically, and I’d imagine if I broke contract, she’d tell everyone. Bad enough for my MO that that DJ had identified me, but if I was being introduced as an untrustworthy sort that reneged on deals, I was going to have great difficulty getting anything accomplished. I pressed a hoof to my forehead, trying to rub away the building headache.

“Alright,” I sighed, defeated, “alright. We’ll get you to New Appleoosa, then we head back this way.”

Roulette thumped me in the arm with a hoof, “see, its not so bad. And you’ve got time, it’s not like Canterlot’s gonna fall off the mountain or anything.”

The rest of the day was spent sweeping the immediate vicinity for any more ghouls then building some defences at the breech, something we could use to partially seal it up when we left. Our dinner was at the whims of Roulette’s coat and turned out to be a box of preserved cereal, given we lacked a fire to cook it on. There had been a suggestion to repurpose the energy cannon in the Silverpone, but that got shut down because a: it was a bad idea and b: the components in the head were extensively melted and unsalvageable.

After we ate Roulette trotted away, saying she was going to hunt down something she’d found in the manifests. I tried to send Neon Dream after her to watch her back, but she insisted she was fine, and threatened to do unspeakable things to the pegasus if he followed her. Five minutes after I sent him anyway those unspeakable things seemed to have included licking his face, tickling him and sticking a wet rag in his ear. I sighed again, staring at the floor in front of Neon Dream as he regaled me with Roulette’s torture.

I gestured to the piles of packing materials we had pressed into service as bedding,

“Get some rest, I’ll take first watch.”

Leaving him behind I set up at our barricade, looking out into the dark, cloud shrouded night. Resolve rested on the crate in front of me and I reminded myself that I needed to check for extra ammo for it here in the warehouse. I heard the soft flutter of wings approaching as my pegasus companion attempted to be stealthy.

“Neon Dream,” there was a tap of hooves as he landed, “you should get some rest.”

He stood there silently and I turned my head to actually look at him. He was hiding behind his mane again, staring out at the sky.

“Are you alright?” I asked him, “you weren’t quite there at the end of the fight.”

He mumbled something I couldn’t hear, his head dipping and hiding his lips behind that mane too. I asked him to repeat himself and he turned his face to me, mane falling away to reveal eyes full of unshed tears.

“I almost shot you.” He whispered, “not like I nearly missed, I was aiming for you when you trapped the robot. I-I...” he paused, trying to take a breath, then his voice cracked as he continued, “you killed Dad. Fallen. I know he asked, but still you took him from me. I-I think I hate you for that. Hated you. I was just staring at you through my scope and thinking I could take revenge.”

I kept my face impassive. Still. I was sure there were plenty of people who hated me for the same reason, but it was hurting me a little that Neon Dream did. I let him continue,

“But I couldn’t, I just... You are a good pony, you saved Peach, you agreed to help Roulette and you saved us from the robot. And... And you did what Dad wanted.” The tears were flowing now, silently ploughing wet furrows through his fur as they fell from his eyes and were pulled to the floor. “I’ve never met any ghouls besides Dad, so when those ferals came in, I finally saw what he had been talking about, what he had been scared of becoming.”

He wiped the tears from his eyes, smearing the wetness across his cheeks.

“I think I might still hate you a little, for what you did, but thank you for doing it. Dad wouldn’t have wanted,” he inclined his head towards the gap in the wall, to where we had disposed of the ferals, “that.”

I nodded gently, accepting the pegasus’ thanks, trying to formulate something to say. I pawed at the ground with a hoof as I tried to think, feeling something move in a pocket of my barding. I opened the pocket and fished out the cap badges, scooping up Falling Tactics’... no, Fallen’s badge and holding it out to Neon Dream.

“I think you should have this.” I said, “I wanted to try and reunite the 900th in some way with them, but this one is yours. I... I’m sorry for what I did, and I accept that you hate me for it, but it was Fallen’s request, and seeing those feral ghouls, it was a clear mercy.”

Neon Dream looked at the cap badge, then back up to me. He must have been hanging around Roulette too much because he managed to dash forward quicker than I could react and threw his forelegs around my neck, hugging me tightly. Hoping this was not a second murder attempt, yet not really knowing how to respond, I brought the hoof holding the badge around, patting him on the shoulder.

I could hear him mumbling by my ear as he embraced me,

“I forgive you Razor,” he said, sniffing.

“Thank you, Neon Dream.”

“Could-could you do me a favour though?” he asked, relaxing his grip and stepping back, a sheepish look on his face. I nodded, “don’t keep using my full name. It feels a bit weird.”

I gave a little cough, comments about me being very ‘by-the-book’ coming back to mind. “Alright, Neon. Is that OK?” he nodded “do you feel a little better?”

“y-yes, I think I do.” He cocked his head, still giving me a sad look, “I think I might still hate you a little bit, I’m sorry, but, d-do you think we could be friends?” he held out a hoof.

Despite myself, a little grin tickled my muzzle, “I think so.” I said, “you’d be my first friend.” I tapped it with my own, exchanging the cap badge in the process.

“Now get some sleep, you’re on second watch.”

Neon snapped me a quick salute and returned to the bedding pile. I turned back to the gap in the wall, catching the silver glint of the wrecked Silverpone as I did so. I had felt pretty powerless there, feeling the weaknesses of my fighting technique without some way of punching through that armour. I needed something heavier than Resolve, though something high powered that was also quiet would be preferred.

“How’s the kid doing?”

I didn’t jump out of my coat, but I did manage to supress my reaction down to just a twitch as Roulette appeared beside me. Sometimes it seemed that earth ponies had the strongest, if subtlest, magic. I centred myself and let out the breath that had hitched in my throat when the cream coated mare had appeared.

“He’s doing, alright, I think. Decided not to kill me, so that’s a positive.”

She quirked her head, “why was he going to kill you?”

I looked over to the dark form of Neon on the packing pile. I could give my side; he could tell her what he wanted to.

“I killed his father.”

Roulette’s eyes narrowed a little, her ear giving a little twitch, “say again?”

I raised an eyebrow at her demeanour, but really, it was probably a natural reaction.

“His father was close to going feral and asked me to put him down.” I paused, “he was... Not a friend exactly, I never had that chance, but he was loyal companion, a respected squadmate. And a damn good shot.”

The mare’s red mane flipped about as she turned to look at Neon as well, “he picked that up at least.” She turned back to me, “well, now that’s cleared up, I think you deserve your present.”

She smiled a big grin and rummaged around in a pocket, withdrawing a package then holding it out to me.

Confused, I took it from her and read the address, eyes widening. “Where did you get this?” I asked, looking back up,

The smile was still on her muzzle, “I saw it on the manifest, you’re gonna love it.” She shook a hoof at me, “go on, open it, open it... Openitopenitopenit!”

I felt confused for a moment, then realised she didn’t know the significance of this package, just the contents. I Iooked back down at the address again;

To:

Dr E. Muse

Research Division

Ministry of Arcane Science

Ministry Walk

Canterlot

Perhaps it was providence, perhaps it was a coincidence. Either way, I opened the package. Inside was a box with the Ironshod Firearms logo and slogan (How do you like them Apples?) emblazoned on it with the words ‘Special Order’ stamped on the lid. With a flick of a hoof, I opened the box and saw something unexpected, a pair of pistol magazines, full of rounds, and a note. Looking closer at the magazines I saw a familiar set of grooves in the familiar shape, these were magazines for the Operator. And they were full. 14 of the uncommon .45 IPC pistol rounds just sitting in a package for Project Director Muse.

“Do ya like em?” I looked back up at the weapon merchant, nodding,

“Yes. Thank you.” I said, snagging the note with my hoof, “it’s, well, it’s very thoughtful of you. Especially as a gift.”

“It’s coming outta your paycheck Kubota.” She said, making some kind of pose. My eyebrow slowly climbed my brow as she held the pose, her resolve flagging and her hoof drooping at the ankle. She rubbed the back of her head sheepishly,

“Ehhh heh heh, its, err, its from an old radio serial, back out west.” She smiled warmly, reminiscing in her past, “someone found an old working radio station out in the San Palomino, including an archive of tapes with a bunch of old radio serials in there. My favourite was always ‘Bright Star – Special Stallion Service’. He was a secret agent for Luna, swooping in to foil dastardly zebra plots with his faithful, if clumsy retainer, Kubota.”

It sounded fascinating, if perhaps a bit close to life for me to enjoy.

Yeah, you’d be criticising his methods and techniques the whole time.

“Sounds like a fun story. Do you not get the signal out here?”

She shook her head, “no, the serial station just uses their own equipment, not like DJ Pon3 tapping into the MASEBS, so no Bright Star for me.” She sighed, “its been years since I was back that way.”

A wistful look covered her face, but there was sadness in her eyes. She shook her head, and they were both gone.

“Anyway, I’m glad you like the gift. I’m gonna go bed down by Dreamy.”

“You’re on third watch,” I told her, “Give you some time to wake up.”

She nodded and waved as she turned around and headed to her own pile of packing materials. I watched her go then turned around, back to the barricade, though before settling back into my watch I flipped open the note and read it.

‘Dr Muse,

I apologise for the delay in sending these out to you. The .45 IPC is not one of our large run calibre sizes and so had to be hoofloaded by our specialist Black Powder to meet your order.

Similarly, the magazines also caused a small delay. You will note that this package does not contain the requested non-standard parts, it was decided that sourcing and/or manufacturing these would add even more lead time to your order, therefore in the interests of sending you most of the products you ordered, these parts will be delivered at a later date. I would ask if perhaps rather than modifying your IF11-1S, you would consider a different Ironshod firearm to suit your needs. Perhaps an IF-44 personal defence pistol?

I hope that this package finds you well and that we continue our partnership with your department.

Kind Regards,

Steam Whistle

Distribution Supervisor

Ponyville Distribution Centre.’

I let out a ‘hmmm’, this looked to be Project Lead Muse ordering items for her own personal sidearm, a project issue Operator by the sounds of it. Given how modified these guns were from standard IF-11 I couldn’t quite think what additions Dr Muse would be making.

Still, the magazines were compatible with my Operator, so I took the opportunity to reload it with one of my gifts, feeling a sense of relief to have my silent option available again. I stashed the empty magazine away, and the single spare round.

After that, my watch dragged by. No shapes in the darkness, no rustling trees, no hungry ghouls leaping from the night. As my pipbuck told me my watch was over I trotted across to the piles of makeshift bedding and roused Neon Dream. He had pinned Fallen’s cap badge back to his cap and had placed it on top of his shucked battle saddle.

“Come on kid,” I said as I placed a hoof on him, shaking him gently, “it’s that magical time of night called ‘second watch’.”

The pegasus groaned, trying to roll away from the attacking hoof, but his head fell from the pile of bedding and struck the floor, waking him fully with a smarting headache. “Oww,” he rubbed his head as he rose to his hooves, grumbling as he trotted over to the barricade.

With watch exchanged, I lay down on my own pile of repurposed packing materials and closed my eyes, letting myself drift away into sleep.

I was in the mess hall for the first time. Having completed my evaluation, I was being given some downtime before my first mission. I sat at the table with a tray in front of me as the bustle of other staff members flowed around me.

A pair of unicorns sat down at the table with me, one a white coated stallion with a black tinted muzzle and a diamond pattern on their forehead and the other was a mare with a coat of dark, burnt orange.

“Hey new guy,” the stallion said, gazing at me from lazy looking, half-lidded eyes, “looking a little formal there,”

I frowned, regulations recommended wearing assigned battledress even when off duty, in case a mission came up. Besides, I was comfortable in my operator’s barding and beret.

“Knocker,” the mare said, nudging his shoulder, “be nice. I’m High Temp. That’s Door Knocker.”

I nodded, “901: AAS, 908: HTS,” I had been briefed on the other Framework Troopers, “I look forward to working with you.”

Door Knocker ran a hoof through the messy tangle of a black and white mane while letting out a sigh. “Yeah, definitely fresh.”

I wondered briefly how that mane fit under an issued beret before 908 spoke again.

“I heard you were going to be sent to Station 5” I nodded, “good thing we caught you here then, we’re usually based out of Station 2.”

The Canterlot Station. I was aware of it and nodded. I briefly wondered why they were here instead, she had implied they were looking to see me.

No. Do not question. Do not guess motives. That is not important. Only the mission is important.

Something must have shown on my face as 901 rolled his eyes with a sigh while a glint of sadness flashed across 908s eyes.

I did not understand their reactions, but it must have been a test of somekind. Never mind, I did not need to pass their tests, just work alongside them. I just needed to serve the project and Princess Luna.

The unicorns stood from the table, shooting each other a look, “well, we need to go” 901 said, turning around and calling “bye new guy” over his shoulder. 908 simply shook her head, “goodbye Razor Wind, good luck on your missions, I hope to work with you soon.”

They walked out of the cafeteria, leaving me alone with my meal. They had left behind their trays, and I noticed that both were empty and untouched.

The memory faded away and my dream instead became one where I was running around a maze trying to escape the Silverpone while ineffectually firing back at it. I was rescued from the conflict by a series of kicks to my hindleg.

I sat up with Resolve in my mouth, eyes cracking open to see Roulette staring at me with bloodshot eyes, chewing something that smelt distinctly of coffee.

“Are... Are you chewing coffee grounds?” I asked, dropping Resolve from my mouth after tonguing the safety back on.

Roulette let out a drawled ‘ahhyup’ while still staring at me.

“Maybe you need to take first watch.”

“Nope,”

I frowned at her before rising to my hooves, stretching out and hissing as I stretched the slice in my flanks. I had forgotten about that, and the rent in my barding. I was going to have to fix that at some point, though I wasn’t sure I really knew how, I was much better at cutting than stitching.

“Your mark matches your badge,” came a soft voice from behind me, Neon Dream was also up.

I looked back at him over my shoulder, eyes flicking to the badge on his own cap.

“Yes, we all had our marks on our badges,” I confirmed, “Fallen was the same. Didn’t you see?”

Neon Dream shook his head, “His... Condition meant that he lost his marks. Gave us all a bit of solidarity.”

Roulette cocked her head to the side, still chewing the coffee, confusion on her face, before something like comprehension filed her eyes and she nodded once. I felt like I was missing something, quirking an eyebrow.

Neon Dream dropped his head, returning to the safety of his hair. “When mom and I left the Enclave, w-we were labelled as ‘Dashites’,” he looked back up, “it means traitor. They b-branded us with the sign, destroying mom’s cutie mark.”

I frowned; the term was unfamiliar but reminded me of the Ministry Mare of the Ministry of Awesome. I was missing context. Also, I realised something.

“And your cutie mark?” I asked,

“I n-never got one,” he whispered, “I was branded before I had my cutie mark and it never appeared.”

“Oh Dreamy,” Roulette threw her forelegs around the pegasus. I looked down at the floor, not knowing what to say.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” was all I could say.

He shook his head, patting Roulette on the shoulder, “It’s ok. I’m used to it by now.”

We spent the next hour trying to secure the warehouse as best we could before turning back to the rail line and heading south-west, past the empty shell of Ponyville. Roulette assured us that following the railway would lead us to the settlement of New Appleloosa, though I wondered about its relationship to the town of Appleoosa I was familiar with. The rail line took a turn south and we followed it over an old wooden bridge that looked fairly rickety, but seemed to hold up fine as we stepped from plank to plank. The bridge carried us over some kind of dried out gulley that had some kind of creatures wandering around it.

There was little on the radio other than music for our travels and it wasn’t long before we came across a settlement. The rail line ran straight into a circle of old railway box cars forming a defensive wall, with some kind of mechanism for raising and lowering one of them as a gate directly across the rails. I spotted sentries on the top of the walls and some kind of guard post above the gate. I could feel eyes on us as we approached, but Roulette pushed past me to head up our little group, calling out to the guards.

“Hiya! It’s meeee,” she called up, pointing to her logo with a hoof, “the Wandering Weaponista,”

“I know who you are Roulette,” came a voice from the guard post, “if I recall, you still owe me 200 caps from the last time you came through.”

“Lucky for you I’ve got business to discuss then.”

The guard pony grumbled, but pressed a button with his hoof and opened the gate, the box car raising up just enough to let us walk under it. I tried not to think about the heavy steel box hanging over my head as we passed before we were through the dark tunnel formed by the structure and the box was returned to the ground. The rails continued in and met more of their kind, converging around a tall loading crane that dominated the centre of the settlement. Like the defensive wall, the buildings of New Appleoosa were made from train cars, stacked up and around forming a multi level maze that filled the space within the wall.

This must be the Heartland Hub.

My rogue thoughts were back to provide me with useless information.

It was a big rail hub, switching point, maintenance facility and sorting office.

And now it’s a town.

A hoof clapped me on the back, tearing me away from my thoughts, “Yep, impressive ain’t it?” Roulette was stood beside me, looking about. A glance back revealed Neon Dream also gazing around. While similar in style New Appleoosa was probably twice as big as Littlerock.

“Anyways, we’ve got someone to stop in and see about this merchandise.” She began to walk over to a set of stairs up to a higher level, “follow me!”

We climbed to the next level, weaving our way to a building formed from three different train cars welded together, smoke billowing from chimneys bolted to the top of one. There was a sign outside reading;

‘Yes, I do deliveries!

No hooves, nasty stingers? No service.

Ask me about special orders! I won’t answer, but I’ll get right on it!

Wasteland Survival Guide! Available now! First copy for every family is free!’

“Survival Guide huh?” I muttered; free intel would be useful.

Roulette pushed her way into the building calling out “Ditzy? Hello?” as Neon Dream and I followed her in.

I could hear the scratching of chalk on a board as we entered the store, seeing a shape behind the counter, a pony mouth-writing on something, that stood back up, proffering a chalkboard that was hanging around their neck on some rope.

‘Roulette? It’s been a while. How can I help?’

I tilted my head to the side, could this pony not talk? I looked closer, noticing the pallor and condition of the pony’s hide, their coat patchy and largely missing. Their mane was mostly gone and their wings, they were a pegasus it seemed, were bald of feathers.

It was a ghoul. I looked back at Neon Dream, who seemed to have mixed emotions playing across his face, though I imagine the fact that the ghoul was not trying to bite our faces off was helping him. Turning back I found the ghoul proprietor looking directly at us, Roulette stood beside them, grinning. I felt I had missed something, and with Roulette, that worried me.

The ghoul wrote on their chalkboard again, ‘Hello, I’m Ditzy Doo, I run this store.’ The board was held up for a moment, letting me read it before they dripped it back down to erase the words and write a new message.

‘Do you know Fallen? You’re wearing the same outfit.’

My eyes widened; this ghoul knew Fallen? I briefly wondered if, after 200 years, most ghouls had met each other by this point. I nodded, “Yes, I knew him. Worked with him during the war,” I waved a hoof at Neon Dream, “Neon here could tell you more. Fallen raised him.”

Neon Dream waved at the ghoul, “You’re Miss Ditzy Doo? Dad said he’d run into you a couple of times. Though you didn’t get out to the Antelope Valley very often.”

The ghoul mare nodded her head, then frowned. Wipe. Scribble. ‘Why the past tense?’

Neon’s head drooped, “H-he’s gone,” he said quietly, “didn’t want to go feral.”

‘I understand. I’m sorry. Please take a muffin.’

She indicated a plate of muffins on the counter while Roulette tapped her on the shoulder. We ignored the quiet ‘squish’ sound.

“Hey, Ditzy, do you still have that broadcaster set up?” the ghoul nodded, “great! I’m gonna make a call! The boys need a copy of the guide, food and the Operative needs a patch job on his barding.”

Ditzy opened her mouth, prepping to grab chalk, but would be waving a sign at a pony shaped cloud of dust. She sighed a raspy sigh and turned back to us, ‘she’s a hooffull huh?’

I nodded, “she always like that?” Ditzy nodded back, A chuckle drifted over my shoulder as Neon Dream chipped in.

“I always wondered how she survived as a trader.”

“M-mo... Ahh... ?” a small lavender filly peeked her head into the room, looking for Ditzy it seemed like, then ducking back as she spied us. The ghoul waved her in with a hoof, holding her foreleg out wide. The filly zipped across the room and buried herself under Ditzy, one eye peeking out at us. One of Ditzy’s eyes looked down at the filly, the other looked up at us as she gave a little smile. Neon Dream returned it, a small smile on his face.

“Hey there,” he said, crouching down to the child’s level, “I’m Neon Dream, what’s your name?”

“P-pi-no, Silver B-bell,” filly stammered out softly,

“That’s a pretty name, do you work here with Ms Doo?”

Silver Bell nodded with a little ‘uh huh’ as Ditzy scribbled on her board.

‘I look after her. It’s a long story and for Littlepip to tell.’

I tilted my head, “Who?” I asked, but before I could get a reply, Roulette barged back into the room, Silver Bell letting out an ‘eep’ and burying back under Ditzy.

“Right, done,” the cream mare smacked her hooves together, “You said Railright would want to see me?”

Ditzy nodded and Roulette rounded on me, her mane bouncing along as she turned, “Right you, strip outta that gear and leave it here.” She sidled up beside me before adding “I’ll buy you luuUUUuunch,” in a sing-song voice.

I rolled my eyes at her antics but gave a short ‘OK’ before trotting over to a corner to remove my operative barding. Feeling decidedly strange without the familiar compression it provided. I had retained the holster for Resolve and strapped it back to my foreleg, while the Operator was stored in my saddlebags as I threw them back on.

Handing off the barding to Ditzy, Neon and I followed Roulette from the store, the green pegasus giving Silver Bell a little wave. We wound back down the levels to an area near the foot of the crane that was fairly open. I would have thought it a market square, but there were no stalls, and besides, with Ditzy selling ‘absolutely anything’ there might not be much need for one. There was however an open fronted box car with smoke curling up from the chimneys mounted in it carrying with it the scent of cooking. A couple of tables spilled out from the boxcar surrounded by a motley assemblage of chairs.

Roulette led us to a table and sat us all on one side, our backs to the crane. I gave a little twitch of an ear, not entirely comfortable with presenting my back to a good sniper’s position. Conversely, we were shielded from the wall guards in case they were to take a shot at us.

I don’t think the paranoia will help here.

Still not sure if I should just trust all ponies out here. Remember the raiders?

You’ve made more friends than enemies out of your encounters so far.

I’ve made one friend and some acquaintances. And even that friend wanted to shoot me.

I’m sure Roulette would consider you a friend.

Employee perhaps.

My internal debate had distracted me from my surroundings and I returned to the outside world to find Roulette looking at me oddly, having placed herself between me and Neon.

“You alright there?” she asked, waving a hoof slightly. I just frowned at her. “Nevermind. Look, Railright is gonnna come meet us, so I need you to put your game faces on, look intimidating and all that. It’ll help the negotiations.”

My frown held, but I at least turned it away from the bouncy maned mare and towards the approaching stallion she had started waving at.

“Roulette,” he said simply, with a bit of a drawl, “why ya insist on meetin’ here an not in tha tavern I will never know.”

“I’m not welcome in the ‘Turnpike’, remember? The whole landmine incident,” I resolved not to ask about that, “Besides, Yon’s kitchen is better to do business at, quieter, fresh air, brighter.”

The grey stallion sat across from us with a sigh, waving a hoof at the butter yellow pony behind the counter in the boxcar. “Ah remember.”

“Guys, this is Railright, the... Mayor? Sherrif? Big Cheese? Whatever, he’s in charge of New Appleoosa,” Roulette waved a hoof at Railright, then to us, “Railright, meet my bodyguards. The Operatives.”

I ground my teeth together in frustration, which I imagined had the additional effect of improving my intimidating look.

The stallion looked a little apprehensive, but gave a nod, “well, knowin’ ya like ah do, ah’m sure ya need em.”

Roulette smacked a hoof to her chest in mock horror, “Railright, I’m hurt!” she gasped, then hit herself again as a quiet beeping started in the pocket of her coat. She chuckled a little as the beeping stopped and rubbed the back of her head.

Railright just closed his eyes and shook his head, his black mane looking frazzled just from being in her presence. “Why ain’t ya’ll the one called ‘Calamity’?” he pressed a hoof to his muzzle and let out a sigh “What do you want Roulette?”

A grin stayed affixed to her muzzle as she placed both hooves onto the table, “Business!”

She outlined our find of the ammunition warehouse, and offered her deal to the settlement’s leader. She needed the merchandise moving and the best way to do that would be by rail, which led to New Appleoosa. Ditzy was willing to store stock for her, and would be buying a few crates of calibres some of her customers regularly purchased, along with some for the more common firearms found out in the wasteland. The deal with Railright was for use of a train and a crew to get out to the distribution centre, load up on merchandise and haul it back, in return he could claim a couple of crates to supply the guard ponies and whomever else he felt needed bullets.

“An what about whatever’s left in that warehouse of yers?” the grey stallion looked a little concerned, “Ah don’ want no raiders or somethin’ movin’ in to a treasure trove.”

“I’ve made some calls and called in a few favours. There’ll be some traders calling in to empty that place and distribute what’s left, and some Talons will be heading over to guard it till it’s empty.” She gave a nod of finality, “Besides, ‘yall’ gonna be making a few trips with the train, that’ll take care of a goodly amount of it.”

Railright grumbled a little, “gonna take a mite longer that yer anticipating. We’re currently down a train an’ crew.”He sighed, “but, we’re gonna need the ammo, and trade’s good for the town.”

He spat on a hoof and held it out to the cream mare, who did the same, smacking her damp hoof to his. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Neon Dream’s nose wrinkling, somewhat diminishing his ‘hardened mercenary’ look. The deal done, Railright left the table to begin organising the train detail, informing us that it would take the rest of the day, and some of tomorrow, to get the train prepped. Meaning we would have to wait until tomorrow afternoon to head back towards the warehouse.

Roulette had indeed treated us to a lunch, the kitchen pony rustling up some hayburgers and a box of delicious 200 year old snack cakes. The radio was on in the background, the same old crooners playing over the airwaves as had been for the last couple of days. As a Sapphire Shores song faded out the voice of DJ Pon3 cut in.

“Hello children, ol’ DJ Pon3’s got a little announcement for you. Now, I don’t normally do adverts here, DJ Pon3 doesn’t bow to any sponsor, but, well, I owe a favour and let it never be said I’m not a pony of my word.”

I raised an eyebrow, looking from my lunch to the radio on the kitchen counter. Someone called in a favour from the DJ and used it to run an advert? Who would do... My head slowly rotated to look at Roulette, now sitting opposite Neon and I, a small grin on her muzzle.

“Roulette: The Wandering Weaponista, has had a restock in all your favourite ammunition, from 12 gage to .44 to anti-material rounds. You can find her out in the wastelands, so long as you aren’t looking for trouble, or you can visit her fixed outlet in New Appleoosa’s ‘Absolutely Everything’. She also wants me to add that this is thanks to our mysterious Operative who, and I quote, ‘laid a beatdown on the shiny super sentry bot between me and my merch’. So, good job Operative, and that’s us square, you crazy mare. Now to leave you with some Sweetie Bell while I do something about this Roulette induced headache.”

My frown deepened as I stared at the grin on Roulette’s face growing wider and wider as the DJ read out her advert. The chuckling from Neon Dream didn’t help.

“Look at it this way,” she said, “I’m just helping your prospects. You’re gonna need caps and you’ve got some cred as a mercenary.”

She slammed down a hoof as a strange sparkle can to her eye, “Ahh! I should have written an advert for you.” She said suddenly, “like, with a jingle and everything, ‘if you have a problem, if no one else can help, and if you can find them, maybe you can hire... The Operatives! Daa nana naaa, da na naaaaa!”

I sighed and rubbed my head, eyes screwing shut. I knew what DJ Pon3 meant when he said he had a headache dealing with Roulette. As she continued singing her jingle I managed to crack open an eye to glare at Neon Dream who had been laughing and singing along.

“This is coming out of your paycheck Kubota.”

The laughter only increased.

Author's Note

Thanks to kkat for creating this crazy mashup and letting others play around in it.
Thanks to Somber too, I may reference things from Project Horizons and Homelands here and there.

Chapter 8: Life and Death

“That is not dead which can eternal lie...”

“Dangit Twi, what have ah said about yer spooky books?”

“Only on Nightmare Night?”

After lunch we wandered elsewhere within New Appleoosa seeking some lodgings as, while the Tavern did have some rooms, our erstwhile companion was, as stated previously, banned from entering. We ended up securing bunks at the aptly named ‘Coal Bunker’ bunk house, an establishment generally catering to trader groups coming through with a number of bunks per room and some kind of animal pen around the back, all presently empty. Neon Dream and I were bunking in the same room, Roulette had decided to capitalise on the empty nature of the building and get herself a second room.

Neon looked halfway to wondering why we weren’t all just sharing the one room before I shook my head at him, I could see the orange maned madmare threatening to kick me out and bunk down with the shy stallion simply for the opportunity to make him blush and stammer. I’m sure I caught a flash of disappointment in her eye before we were swept off to view another corner of the settlement.

After establishing that, somehow, everyone knew Roulette, and that it was not always fondly, we returned to Yon’s Kitchen. The owner and chef was actually called Gaze Yonder, but was generally just referred to as Yon. What this meant to me was that I had had more food this day than I think I’d ever had, and was slightly worried about how my body was going to deal with that.

Retiring to our bunk room I looked through the copy of the Wasteland Survival Guide we had received from Ditzy Doo, reading up on what had happened to Canterlot and the surrounding area. It mentioned the pink cloud, how it had seeped into the buildings over the years and was seeping back out again. It also mentioned how the cloud fused things and had created a unique breed of ghouls in and around the fallen capitol. While the effects of the cloud seemed to stretch out to the suburbs of the city, I was hoping that Station 2 was far enough out that it had been spared the brunt of the poison.

With the light fading out I put the book away, tucked Resolve under the corner of my pillow and tried to get some sleep.

We had routed the Zebras from the breach after a night of shelling, with the assembled divisions being divided up to pursue our retreating foe and push further into zebra lands. Pegasus flyer squads had harried the retreating forces as we got organised but they broke off when the Zebras vanished into the jungles and swamps that characterised this corner of Zebrica.

My detachment of Royal Canterlot Engineers had arrived during the night. We had been intending to fortify the ruined town that served as the breach point but local command had other ideas. The detachment was split up and each group of engineers assigned to a platoon that was being sent after the Zebras. Forklift, Arc Weld, Bellemouth, Sand Castle and myself were partnered with a group called Roma’s Racers a squad of earth ponies who ranged from rough and tumble to disdainful, with a lot of grumpy faces in between. I don’t think they were happy about having a party of unicorns attached to their squad and they were definitely not happy at having to run down the fleeing Zebras.

“Alright team fresh and fancy free” Roma, the yellowy-cream coated mare in charge of this platoon said, “I’m dividing you up, spread some of this ‘engineering support’ up between squads.”

“oh come on L.T.” came a voice of complaint, “we saw off those damn stripes without no fancy horn head tricks.”

Roma glared at the offending pony, “that was yesterday private, this is today.” She stomped over to the complaining mare, who began to cower under her gaze, “as command has seen fit to send us some magical aid, we for damn sure are not going to waste it.”

She spun around to face us engineers, “right, you two go with Sgt Pear, you with me and you two get Mudbriar.”

I was one of the two given to Mudbriar, along with Forklift, and so trotted over to the grey and brown stallion.

“but L.T...”

“Private Blues, if you do not shut up and accept my orders I will have you assigned to latrine duty at the most active, disease ridden hotspot for the rest of this Celestia damned war!” Roma had her muzzle pressed flat against the soldier’s, staring her in the eyes, “That is my final offer. Do you understand? Private?”

“y-y-yes ma’am.”

Roma turned on her hooves and marched away, tossing up one forelock to indicate to the rest of the platoon to follow her. We began to move out, heading southwest as other units fanned out from the breach. In the wan and hazy morning light, a melody seemed to hang in the air as the marching units broke into an old battle song.

‘Some folk are born, made to fly the banner,

Oh they’re red and gold, ye,

And when the band plays ‘The Land I Love’,

Oh they point their hooves at ye princess,

'tisn't me, tisn't me,

I ain’t no Noblemare's kin, nay,

Tisn't me, tisn't me,

fortunate I ain’t ever been, nay'

As the groups moved apart and followed their directions the singing drifted away on the wind leaving us marching to just the hum of the melody.

It was a novel sensation to just wake up, no dreams ending in fire, no being shaken for watch duty, just eyes opening with even breathing. The bunk was definitely more comfortable than the ground, but I got the feeling that my body would reject anything softer. No high-class hotels for me.

Oh Luna no, are there no pleasures left in life?

You don’t get a say in it.

I checked the pipbuck on my leg, only to find that while I hadn’t been woken for watch, it was still pretty early. Not wanting to just lie here, nor wake up the pegasus in the bunk above me, I left the room quietly, my stealth training paying dividends in not disturbing anyone else in the building as I slipped outside. It turned out that I was not the only early riser, Roulette was sitting on the decking out front of the Coal Bunker with a mug of coffee beside her, staring up at the sky.

She looked different, and it took me a moment to realise she wasn’t wearing her coat of many pockets. She looked odd without it and in the sparse light from some of the buildings around she looked somehow smaller and less exuberant. Looking at her flank I could see the cutie mark kept hidden beneath her usual gear, it was the same as the logo she painted on the back of the coat, a revolver cylinder with a single round.

Huh, I thought that was just a logo.

I grunted in agreement, drawing Roulette’s gaze as she turned to face the sound.

“Hey Operative, couldn’t sleep?” she patted the boards next to her with a hoof “take a sit.”

I trotted over and sat myself down next to the cream coated mare. Looking up I sighed, the sky was still clouded over, no sign of Luna’s moon or stars.

“Must hurt, huh?” I looked down at Roulette who had also resumed gazing skywards. Her eyes rolled sideways to look at me, “to be a Selenite and never see her.”

“Is she gone?” I asked quietly

“Probably. They say the Princesses were in Canterlot at the end. That they held back the Pink Cloud to save everyone else.”

The Littlehorn Agent, the substance employed to destroy Luna’s school, and its students.

“So,” I said, packing away the sadness I was feeling in two different ways, “your logo is your cutie mark. Did you sell someone a bullet and that was that?”

Roulette chuckled, though I could hear an edge to her voice. “Nothing like that. I was always interested in chemistry and firearms and ammunition, and it ends up meshing well with the trading, but...” She took a breath and looked back up at the dark sky, “when I was young a group came into the casino,” she looked sideways at me, “my family runs a casino out in the San Palomino. There’s a few out there but its not quite as saturated with them as, say, Caledonia. Anyways, this group comes in, mercs or raiders or something, and starts raising hell.”

I could just imagine a group like Gnat Bite’s kicking in the door and demanding everything. It seemed ‘might makes right’ was definitely the law of the wasteland.

“Daddy tried to get them to leave but their leader just knocked him to the floor.” My attention returned to Roulette as she continued, “His group held up the place with their weapons, and our guards couldn’t respond without it turning into an absolute bloodbath. I was on the floor that evening, delivering drinks and the boss must have seen the resemblance. He asked me if I wanted to play a game, and like the little idiot I was I agreed.”

That rueful smile was still on her face, “what was the game?” I asked,

“Roulette,” she chuckled, “Stalliongrad Roulette.”

Thats a cruel irony,

I rolled my eyes; I didn’t think I needed to dignify that thought with a response. Roulette however, seemed to think I was responding to the story.

“I know, right?” she shook her head, “so I’m dragged over to a table and a revolver is put on the table between us. I suppose if we’d both been unicorns it would have felt a bit different, but both of us had to mouth wield the gun and fire at the other. I remember him leaning over the table, pressing the barrel to my head and staring me directly in the eyes as he tongued the trigger.”

I think both of us shuddered in the cool air.

“Clearly you won.” I said,

“Yeah... Though, not in the way you might think. It was a five-round revolver, and I went first.”

I glance back at her flank, the cylinder on her cutie mark was indeed a five chambered one, not the six chambered cylinder depicted on her coat. I frowned, and Roulette continued her tale.

“I should have died, that fifth pull should have been the round, but it didn’t fire. And the stupid Stallion spat the gun back out into his hooves, pointing it at himself and shaking it to try and see where the round had gone.” She pulled a face, “it was a pretty beat up revolver, and a shitty round, so it hadn’t gone off with the trigger pull, but that fiddling touched off the round and took off his head.”

“Ponies think my special skill is luck, but I don’t think so. A lucky mare wouldn’t have one of their defining memories be being pelted with blood and bone and brains. They wouldn’t spend their youth wheeling their father around because he caught a stray round in the shootout that followed.”

She looked directly at me, “what do you think Operative, you think I’m lucky?”

“Maybe it’s not luck, maybe it’s beating the odds? Is it luck that wasteland raiders don’t maintain their weapons? Is it luck that 200 years in the dirt messes up ammunition?” I considered her for a moment, “was it luck that you persuaded a couple of wandering idiots to break you into a warehouse full of merchandise?”

Roulette laughed and gave me a tap on the shoulder with a hoof, “you make a good point Operative, and what about you? What’s with the swirlies on your butt?” she quickly deflected, changing the focus of the conversation.

I was quiet for a moment, then spoke up, “Razor Wind,” I said, seeing the confusion in her eyes, “my name is Razor Wind. And that’s what my mark represents, my special spell, the Silent Blade.”

Roulette’s expression was hard to parse, almost suspicious but it cleared up as she shrugged, “okie dokie lokie, I’m not sure that’s how cutie marks work, but I think I need to take a walk.” She rose to her hooves, “I’m gonna go bang this coffee cup on Railright’s door until he gets his tail in gear and sorts our train.”

She took a step or two then looked back over her shoulder, “good talking to you Razor, but don’t go telling my sob story to everyone.” She flashed me a grin, “it’ll be bad for business. And it’d make poor Dreamy cry.”

Of course, the mad mare did exactly what she threatened to do, waking the town leader from his slumber and insisting he get the train prepared. Neon Dream awoke to a frenzy of activity and grumbling ponies as everything was done ahead of schedule.

Neon Dream and I retreated to the small oasis of calm that was Absolutely Everything and sheltered there while the whole endeavour was assembled. Ditzy had worked fast and my operative barding was already repaired, with a few plates of reinforcement sewn into it as well to provide a touch more damage mitigation, without slowing me down. With my uniform back on, I certainly felt more at ease and ready to confront whatever madness Roulette had stirred up. I discussed our destination with Ditzy, hoping her 200 years of experience would help with our Canterlot excursion.

Without revealing the location of Station 2, I explained to her that we would be on the outskirts of Canterlot, out beyond the suburbs, and so I was hoping the concentration of pink cloud would be low. Ditzy agreed that the cloud shouldn’t be too strong by itself, but there was always water contamination and other esoteric after effects from the cloud. We agreed to purchase extra healing supplies and also to swear we were not to push into Canterlot proper while equipped with, well, anything.

Midmorning found us all assembled on a train that had a team of strong looking ponies harnessed up to the locomotive. When I queried why we were not going to use the train to, well, pull the train I got a rambling explanation about fuel being in a far-off land and no coal car. What they did have was a network of magical tech pulled from old sky carriages to help lighten the whole train and make it easier to pull. Apparently, the train they had lost recently was next in line for this upgrade, but hadn’t been into their workshop.

The three of us boarded the train, along with a couple of unicorns and a handful of earth ponies carrying rifles to guard the excursion. With a groan the large box car gate was raised high and the train pulling ponies gave a groan of their own as they strained against their harnesses. The train gave a judder as the wheels started to turn and the whole assembly began to roll along the tracks and out into the wasteland.

The return to the warehouse was shorter than our trek to New Appleoosa as the train ponies got up to a steady pace, hauling the lightened cars behind them. As we approached the distribution centre proper the unicorns dismounted and began to manipulate the switching levers, allowing the train to be reversed into the loading siding. The guards took up defensive positions and we trotted over to our makeshift barricade, hauling the junk aside to allow our help to enter the warehouse.

As we stepped inside Roulette put a hoof on my shoulder, “all right Operative, that’s your end of the bargain fulfilled,” as I turned to look at her, she gave an elaborate bow, “I free you to continue your quest to Canterlot.”

“What are you going to do?” Neon Dream was peering around me, and she grinned back at him,

“I’m gonna organise getting all this out of here. When you’re done in Canterlot, find me back in New Appleoosa. I’ll be there for a couple of days.” Her smile wasn’t quite reaching her eyes as she gave us a little shove back towards our ad-hoc entrance, “now git, have fun storming the castle.”

With that I walked back along the tracks to the junction and turned left to continue following them Northeast towards Canterlot. Neon dream fell into step slightly behind me, tossing a glance over his shoulder towards the warehouse.

“Do you think she’ll be ok?” he asked,

“Yes,” I nodded, “just so long as she doesn’t antagonise the wrong people.”

We walked in silence. At least, I was silent, Neon Dream on the other hoof was quietly singing along to the music on the radio as we marched along the rail line. I was convinced that the noise was drawing bloat sprites to us, but after the fourth encounter they seemed to learn to stay away. I did however insist on turning the music off as we got to the rail bridge over the river that would carry us over into the suburbs surrounding Canterlot.

It’s the Steam Hammer Memorial Bridge.

My rogue thoughts gave me a name to go with the structure. A brief thought of my own revealed no wartime exploits to explain the name.

It’s named for Steam Hammer, an earth pony worker on the bridge who-

Not important. We just need to cross it and keep our senses sharp. Ditzy told us about the pink flood and how far out the shield captured water had reached, there could be pink cloud related issues even here.

We followed the rails over the structure, which swayed disconcertingly beneath our hooves as the timbers felt a bit spongey. Carefully picking our way across we soon felt ourselves on solid ground again, but our pace had slowed as we looked around and kept our ears on a swivel, straining to make out... Something. The reality was that we still didn’t know what to expect from Canterlot.

Thankfully, our destination wasn’t far into the forbidding shadow of the mountain that bore the castle. About an hours walk from the bridge I held up a hoof to stop my pegasus companion in his tracks, then followed the rails to the left, at a nondescript junction.

Neon Dream looked around, puzzlement on his face, “How do you know it’s this one?” he asked

I tapped a hoof on the ground and he dropped his gaze. Beside my hoof, in the dirt between the rails, was a small metal plaque bearing the moon and cutie mark logo of the OIA. He seemed nonplussed, but that was understandable, the Office of Interministry Affairs was fairly unknown and secretive during the war, I can’t imagine it had become well known in the 200 years since.

“It shows we’re on the right track.’ It was only when Neon Dream let out an amused snerk that I noticed the pun. Sighing I led us along the track.

It wasn’t a long spur of track and soon we came to some kind of siding with a few buildings scattered around, a small crane and what looked like an engine shed. I checked my pipbuck, trying to hone in on the map marker Project Lead Muse had left. We left the rails and walked towards the buildings, looking around for any sign of a secret entrance to a secret bunker. It was not obvious.

Something moved in the corner of my vision. Stopping dead, I looked around, noticing that a pip had appeared on my EFS And was beginning to sweep across the compass line. I raised a hoof to signal Neon Dream and considered the contact, it was the same blue as the rest of HUD, not a threat by the standards of the EFS spell but still, this warranted caution. I drew Resolve and began to creep towards the pip, pressing against the walls of the scattered outbuildings. Peeking out from around a corner I caught sight of whoever was attached to the pip, and my eyes widened.

There was an Equestrian Army soldier walking about the area in full gear, barding, battle saddle, helmet, it was like some image of familiarity had stepped out of my memories and into the wasteland. They looked like they were still following a patrol route, looking at the ground I could see they were in some kind of track, a rut worn into the dirt. How long had ponies been walking this patrol?

In my head I knew this was not truly one of Equestria’s finest, it was a ghoul, and likely a feral one, but my heart ached for a touchstone to the life I knew. The soldier’s route wrapped around a building and jinked towards my hiding spot, the worn track indicating they would just pass on by, but as I looked back up, I saw the empty eyes looking out from under the helmet, and the rotting teeth in the slack jaw. I also saw the distention at the edges of the face where the pony’s head seemed to stretch out and merge with the helmet, the chin strap blended with chin and was probably the only thing preventing the jaw from just hanging all the way open.

I flinched, and in doing so, knocked against the building I was pressed against, the binoculars tapping against the brick. A cold light flickered into being within those empty eye sockets and a growl vibrated in the back of a dead throat. The pip on my EFS switched to red as the head of the ghoul swung round to look at me.

The ghoul had taken maybe three steps before Resolve barked and two rounds found their mark in the ghoul’s face, a third sparking off of the helmet that was now it’s head.

Neon Dream fluttered down beside me and was about to speak when a howl went up from further into the cluster of buildings, a second howl answered, and a third, as a thumping of hooves could be felt through the ground. Turning to the pegasus I could see panic flashing across his face and was about to instruct him to find a vantage point when there was a sudden, unnatural grating sound from behind me. Turning to look I could see a swirl of energy surrounding the felled ghoul as it rose back to its hooves, the bullet wounds shrinking into nothingness and the cold ghostlight returning to those sunken, empty eyes.

“Run!” I shouted, dumping Resolve back into my holster as I made a dash in whichever direction was away from the red pips.

The Canterlot Ghoul I had shot now let out it’s own howl and joined the pursuit.

The pair of us ducked between the scattered buildings, weaving our way between brick and concrete as we sought to evade the howling ghouls nipping at our hooves. I glanced back to see Neon Dream pounding along behind me, his ears pinned back flat against his head, eyes wide in terror. I mumbled an apology under my breath to him for plunging him back into a situation with feral ghouls and all the emotional baggage that came with it. We broke from the building cluster into open ground, rocky and desolate, dotted with the rusting corpses of 200 year old construction equipment.

“Neon!” I called back, “get airborn, see if you can spot them!” there was a clatter of hooves and a flap of wings as he sprung into the air, nearly clipping my beret on his way up.

I dashed to an earthmover, hoping to put some obstacle between myself and the ghouls as I tried to think up a plan. We still needed to find the entrance, but ‘not getting eaten’ also pretty high on my list of objectives. I pressed my back to the machinery and tried to slow my breathing. It would be helpful if I could remember which building was the entrance, but that information was lost in the dark hole in my mind. Sparing a glance at my pipbuck I tracked the map marker, it was closer to the rails, but didn’t quite tally up with any building in particular.

Would it have killed her to be more precise?

It is a secret facility. In any case, we needed to get back to the buildings, which meant getting those ghouls off of our tails for a moment. The red pips on my HUD were wiggling about, though I couldn’t judge if that was them being confused or converging. I sneaked a peek back to the building line and saw three ghouls walking out into the open, heads swinging from side to side, trying to track their prey. I didn’t appreciate being prey.

I looked about the sky, trying to spot my pegasus companion, catching a streak of black and blue ducking behind a crane. I allowed myself a short whistle, one eye on the ghouls as I did so, seeing their heads swivel around to all look in my direction. I gulped and shifted sideways as Neon Dream came in to land.

“whatrewegonnado!” he said, stumbling over the words slightly as they spilled forth, “ohcelestiatheyrecoming!”

I put a hoof on his forehead and he went crosseyed looking at it for a moment. “Calm yourself.” I said, trying to be gentle, “breath. Good. I have a plan.”

He gulped as his breathing slowed. I kept one eye on the red pips, watching them grow as the ghouls approached. I felt my mouth set into a tense line, then looked back at the pegasus.

“We’ll draw them in, then take them down,”

“but they just get back up.”

I nodded, “yes, but we just need to delay them, we need to head back into the buildings and find the entrance,” I could hear hooves crunching on the loose stones, “when I give the word, fly for the buildings, close to the tracks, try and take down one of the ghouls as you go.”

I readied Resolve as he nodded, the magical energy rifle sliding into it’s ready position, scope rotating over his exposed eye. I tensed, watching the pips and preparing to spring.

1...

2...

3...

“NUMPH!” turns out its hard to shout an order around a firearm’s mouthgrip. Neon Dream understood though, taking flight and heading over the earthmover as I sprang around the side. I dropped into SATS and decided to trust in my gun’s uncanny ability to be ready, and to hit, and just send one round at the first ghoul’s face, queuing up two shots on the second ghoul. As the spell took hold I felt the kick of the gun, the first round drilling into the right eye of the first ghoul, dropping him instantly, the next two rounds clipping the helmet of ghoul number two, one ricocheting into its neck, bursting its rotting throat. Two bodies hit the ground as I took off in a gallop, the deep buzz of Neon’s energy rifle humming in my ear as the red beam lanced out, burning chunks of flesh from one ghoul then drilling a glowing hole through the helmet merged into its head.

I was amongst the buildings when I heard the warping noise that signalled the ghouls resurrecting, encouraging me to put on a further burst of speed. I sped through the buildings, dodging left, right, right again, a second left, eyes roving for some kind of-there!

I wrenched myself around, one of the buildings was marked with the seven-pointed star symbol of the Ministry of Arcane Science, with a little OIA symbol below it.

“Neon!” I yelled, the red pips twitching and growing as I slammed myself into the door. Locked.

Of Course

“Not! Helping!” I snarled out loud, grabbing the handle in my teeth and shaking it. The lock held. I had never been good with lockpicking, but Invisible 9 powers often doubled as lockpick substitutes, at least 901’s had. I focused on the door, and the lock, visualising the other side of the door as there was a clatter of hooves above me. The air shimmered as Neon Dream called a warning, my teeth gritting in focus before I let the silent blade loose.

The hair on my back stood up as the buzz of the magical sniper shook my brain, the blade of my spell tearing the lock, and it’s mounting, apart. With a burst of energy, I spun in place to buck the door, catching a glimpse of a pony shaped cloud of red dust expanding and dispersing. My hooves made contact and wrenched the door open as a second ghoul rounded the corner.

My spell was still warm and, without really thinking, I fired it off again. The familiar haze settled in a ring around the charging ghoul’s neck before a spurt of ichor shot out, the head falling one way as the body dropped to its knees. Scooping up Resolve from where I had dropped it, I pushed off with my front legs, pitching my body back into my rear legs before using that momentum to rise up and twist, changing direction and heading into the building.

There was a spartan reception area, two chairs, a desk with terminal perched upon it and a door at the far side. I galloped over to the door, which was also closed and had no discernible handle. More obstacles. I gave an irritated nicker and glared at the door.

Maybe the terminal?

Grudgingly agreeing with my rogue thoughts, I trotted over to the terminal, wiping away a layer of dust from the screen and tapped the keys, triggering the BIOS backdoor and hammering through potential passwords. After my second reset I decided that some assistance might be required and flicked the connector cable out of my pipbuck.

“We’ve not got very far, have we?" Neon Dream’s voice came from over my shoulder as I plugged the pipbuck in.

[Authorized device detected. Please authenticate.]

The terminal seemed happy, but looking down at my pipbuck it was asking for a password. Project Lead Muse’s password. The password back in Station 5 had been ‘medical’ and it seemed Luna was with me as it also worked here.

[Access Granted. Welcome Dr Muse.]

There was a whine and a grinding noise as the sealed door slid open, revealing a short corridor. A different whine came from outside as the last ghoul caught up with us and gazed briefly at its fallen brethren. That caught me off guard and I stared at the last ghoul, how feral were these feral ghouls? My reverie was broken by a tug on my tail, I frowned, it was cut short to dissuade that. Turning my head, I saw Neon Dream trying to drag me to the open door.

We dashed through and the door closed behind us. The corridor held a number of doors on either side, the familiar split doors of elevators with their little call buttons glowing beside them. Or, at least, next to two of them. I walked up to the nearest lit button and tapped it with my hoof, the door instantly opening to reveal the cab. Both of us squeezed inside and I looked at the floor buttons. There was only one, ‘Admin & Operations’. I pressed it and felt the rumble through my hooves as the elevator began to descend.

“That was close.” I said, looking over at Neon Dream,

“Damn right it-blech,” he pressed a hoof to his mouth, trying to scrape off a couple of hairs on his tongue, “that was much to close to your behind.”

I frowned at him, eyebrows knitting together in disapproval, and while he did not immediately hide behind his mane, he had the good grace to look a little sheepish.

“There might be more ghouls down here,” I said, “so stick close to me.”

I heard him shuffle his hooves and struggle to repress a giggle. I sighed, feeling my tail twitch,

“Not that close.”

Author's Note

Thanks to kkat for creating this crazy mashup and letting others play around in it.
Thanks to Somber too, I may reference things from Project Horizons and Homelands here and there.

Chapter 9: Who are you?

'Who are you?'

The first Key Question.

*Ding*

With a cheerful ringing noise the elevator doors slid open. The noise did nothing for our nerves as we both tensed, Resolve held ready in my mouth as I peeked out at the Administration and Operations floor. Everything was still and dead with about half of the lights still operating, leaving vast patches of darkness scattered about the open floor. There was a bit of a low level haze further back, and the sound of a breeze drifting gently on the edge of my hearing.

"Cover me" I pushed out onto the floor, sweeping my head around, looking for threats and ignoring the muffled squeak that came from Neon Dream as he fumbled with his longer weapon.

Clop. Clop. Clop. Clop. My hoof steps echoed in the still air as I passed the rows of cubicles familiar from my exploration of Station 5. Similar levels of clutter were apparent, but this close to Canterlot, some things seemed a little more... Upmarket? If the collections of dead plants and desk sculptures were anything to go by. I paused in my exploration when I came across one cubicle that had been panelled in dark wood with a scroll top desk bearing a terminal that was also clad in dark wood panelling.

"That seems... Excessive..." Neon Dream voiced my own thoughts as I shook my head,

"We need to find the project lead's offices." I said trying to judge the layout, "Preferably Project Lead Muse's."

We pressed on, hoping the individual offices would be at the far end of the room. The haze was getting brighter as we trotted, as was the sound of wind. My tail twitched nervously as we rounded the end of the cubicles, looking into the open space.

"Throw me to the moon..." I exhaled.

The room was split by some kind of fault in the floor, and the ceiling, almost like a great axe had come down and split the station like a log. The hazy light was filtering in from the gash above, tainted a pale pink with the breeze carrying a sickly sweet tang. We walked up to the split, a leaden feeling growing in my chest as I could see the size of the gap, further than I could jump, and the fact that it seemed to continue further down.

Neon Dream came up beside me, shrugging, "Its not that far," he said, tensing his wings, "I could fly us over."

I was quiet, the lead in my chest seemed to have doubled itself and migrated to my head to the beat of an insistent drum. I watched Neon Dream stow his energy rifle and tense his muscles for flight as a sticky feeling started to make its way down my muzzle. And my head. I put a hoof up to my nose, which came away red.

Blood.

Why was I bleeding? That sweet scent filled my nose, mixing with the iron tang of the blood. Sweet? Pink?

"Stop!" I threw a hoof at Neon Dream as he sprang into the air, missing his flank by a hair.

As he reached the apex of his jump, his wings flared, the inherent magic of a pegasus kicking in and carrying him up into the air. It seemed to me that the young pony was moving in slow motion as he crossed the threshold of the gouge, the dust in the air scattering before him as he entered the open air.

He tossed a grin back at me over his shoulder as he flew into a beam of light falling from the rent in the ceiling and I could see his eyes as the residual pink cloud in the air caught hold of him. Blood began to dribble from his nose and ear, his pupils dilating as the pain kicked in. His wings crumpled and the pegasus dropped like a stone, falling away and into rent in the floor.

"Neon!" I yelled, my voice echoing from the walls as I dashed over to the gouge. As approached the edge my brain started to feel like it was being squeezed in a vice, as did my lungs, and I felt that hot dribble on my muzzle again.

The axe wound in the building dropped down through what looked to be four levels, maybe five, with a glow coming from the depths. Straining my eyes I tried to catch sight of my pegasus friend.

"Neon!?" I called again, tasting iron on my tongue.

A thin voice floated up from below, "I'm here, I-" the young pony coughed, "I'm alive."

A small smile of relief came to my muzzle briefly, before it set itself back into a thin line. My eyes roved around the exposed floors, trying to pick out a distinctive green or teal-there! Two floors down I could see the pegasus lying on the ground, wings slumped at his sides. Finding him was one thing, but how do I get to Neon Dream?

Jump it?

No. I was not Fallen, I had no way to guarantee I could hit that floor accurately. Or softly. I was also feeling like my insides were desperately trying to become my outsides via my nostrils. I stepped back from the edge, trying to compose myself as my pipbuck flashed medical warnings at me. Taking a few moments to cough up some mucus and clear my throat I took a healing potion from my saddlebag and drank it, the itch of knitting blood vessels in my nose almost making me sneeze.

With the worst of the effects of the diffused pink cloud dealt with I threw myself back into the fire. Walking back to the edge I called back down to Neon Dream.

"Hold position there," I said, "heal yourself while I’m finding my way around."

He shrank back from the edge and I gave a sigh of relief as also stepped back, wiping blood from my muzzle. I was glad we had distributed the healing supplies fairly evenly, the kid could clear up the worst of the pink cloud effects while he waited. Looking at the damage I could see it stretch the full width of the floor, punching through walls and exposing bare stone behind them. I was definitely going to have to find a way down and around. Looking across the gap I squinted into the darkness, picking out a familiar bank of screens further down the room, along with what seemed to be the individual offices.

So close. And yet, so far...

I grunted at my rogue thoughts, Luna, why do you test me so? The only way around was going to be down, find a point where the gap was smaller, or the cloud less intense, and cross there to make my way back up, linking up with Neon Dream as I did so. I let out a sigh and turned from the open wound in the base, feeling for all the world like I was abandoning the pegasus.

You'll see him again.

I know that. But it feels too familiar. Somehow. Also, I want you to be quiet in combat situations. I didn't need rogue thoughts distracting me as I picked my way around the facility. Circling around the cubicles I found the stairwell plunging down into the dark and crept down the stairs with a 'tok, tok, tok' from my hooves, winding down to the floor below. Peeking my muzzle into the main level I saw that this station had a convenient sign reading 'Barracks', as opposed to Station 5's unofficial map. I also spotted a figure patrolling the dimly lit corridor, which I presumed would be one of the local ghouls. Discretion would be the better part of valour here, I thought and slinked back to the stairwell, descending one more level.

This time I exited out into what the sign called the 'Maintenance and Hangar' level. I stood for a moment and thought, the rent went a lot deeper than two levels, but Neon Dream looked to have landed on this level, so I wanted to push on at least far enough to check on him. Besides, the mechanic level in Station 5 had had a map, maybe one of the ponies here had made a similar one. With a brief nod I walked slowly into the level proper, casting my eyes over the workbenches and toolboxes littered about. There was an outer layer of clutter that looked like it had scattered as ponies raced out towards the stairwell, but as I crept closer to the centre I started seeing remnants from the fall of the station.

I was still unsure what had caused the breach that cascaded through the station, but it must have brought the pink cloud with it was here I found numerous bodies frozen in twisted poses, hooves melted and merged with the floor, or a workstation or a piece of machinery. Some were just bones, scattered or fused solid but a couple had had the misfortune of almost being mummified, dried husks that were still recognisably pony shaped, with recognisable horror on their desiccated faces. As I trotted closer to the rent through the floor the bodies disappeared, replaced with large rust coloured stains on the floors and walls, along with both rust and the green muck of Verdigris on some workbenches, water damage maybe?

Reaching the chasm I strained to spot Neon Dream in the gloom of the far side. When I couldn't see even his electric green I looked about to check for canterlot ghouls. No ghouls spotted I chanced calling out to my friend.

"Neon? Neon, are you there?" my voice echoed around the dead space, making me tense up and strain my ears for growls.

I instead heard coughing from the other side and immediately charged over to the gap, the effects of the pink cloud hitting me square in the face, with my muzzle spurting blood almost as if it had been struck with a hoof. As my organs started to feel squeezed I spotted the pegasus on the far side at the end if a thin trail of blood, shrinking away from the deadly chasm.

I tensed my body against the pain and called out again, "Neon, are you..." I paused, he was going to be hurt and in pain just by virtue of where he was, "how are you holding up?"

His voice was small, but I could make it out, even as my heartbeat pounded in my ears, "I'm... Ok? It hurts, but, I've backed off."

"I'm coming for you," I said, "I just have to..." I coughed, needed to step away from the precipice for a second, "I just have to cross over. Somehow. See if you can find anything your side."

I fell back from the chasm, coughs raking my body and took a moment to spit out some bloody phlegm. I still had half the health potion from earlier and so finished it off to try and soothe the burning in my lungs. And my muzzle, and my ears, and my brain. Drawing in a shaking breath I clamped down on the pain and looked about, trying to see if the rent in the floor had spared some small path to get by on this level, but the only connection point was some thin, twisted beams along one side wall. Not wide or sturdy enough to cross on, especially not while trying to fight off the effects of the pink cloud. With a shake of my head I realised I'd have to go down again, surely the canyon would narrow further down.

I shouted the plan over to Neon Dream, but didn't receive a reply, at least not at first. Then there was a thunder of hooves from above and I saw another ghoul in Equestrian army fatigues running towards me from across the gap on the level above. I ducked down behind a pillar drill, but it had already seen me, a snarl spilling from its mouth as it tensed in its stride and leapt.

Despite the height advantage, the ghoul was not making that jump. The snarl turned into a sound not unlike a 'yipe' of surprise as the rotting pony dropped past my line of vision, falling down into the depths of the facility. I strained my ears, hoping for a 'splat' but was instead rewarded with a 'splash'. There was water at the bottom of the chasm and I recalled that the station was located near a bend in the river that flowed out of Canterlot mountain. Had the river drained into the base? Then I remembered what Ditzy had told us about the pink cloud, that water tended to absorb its effects and become contaminated, and that the contamination could leak back out.

I gulped, hopefully I wouldn't have to go that deep into the base.

We could really do with a map.

I agreed and turned back to the maintenance workshops to see if anypony had printed one up. There were a few terminals active including one that had been left completely unlocked although all that was salvageable on it was a back and forth message chain arguing about the best kind of screwdriver.

A ratchet one, clearly.

Not helping. I moved on, encountering a workbench strewn with ammunition, and ammunition accessories. A thought came to mind, the Stations would be the best place to resupply on ammunition for the Operator, and maybe some other kinds I could sell to Roulette. There was a terminal on the desk, locked with the password 'ramrod', that had a few items of note, including another message chain;

To: Flash.Powder
From: Bench.Press
Subject: The good stuff

C'mon Flashie, I need an edge here. The spooky science projects have got ways to punch through Zebra clankers. That's the entire point of one of them.

I need you to set me up with something high power man, like, something that goes through three clankers in a row. Or explodes inside. Or melts them. Or something.

Your brother works for Ironshod right? Surely they're sitting on something good.

Bench Press
Station 1

To: Bench.Press
From: Flash.Powder
Subject: RE: The good stuff

That'd be too much 'high power man' and just because he works at Ironshod doesn't mean my brother is sending me toys.

Besides, Director Spellwright is all kinds of weird about technological alternatives to his magical solutions. If he threatens you with weird science just for making fun of his name, I can't imagine he'd be happy with you going over his head like this.

Flash Powder
Station 2

To: Flash.Powder
From: Bench.Press
Subject: RE:RE: The good stuff
C'mon Flashie, you're at least out in Director Muse's station, she won't mind

Bench Press
Station 1

To: Bench.Press
From: Flash.Powder
Subject: RE:RE:RE: The good stuff

Look, I have been working on something, Ok.

Figured that, yeah, some of the others could do with being able to take on clankers. The IF11-1S is a good pistol for soft targets, but something that hits harder is going to be needed sooner rather than later. But it needs to be quiet.

I was looking at a paper from a Stalliongradi gunsmith, had a design that would make a revolver suppressible (if that’s a word) which would allow for a bigger round. I've whipped up a prototype, sized for .44 Mustang AP rounds. It's got some quirks, and will give your mouth a workout, but it should be effective. Won't melt them, but will get through a clanker's hull and be no louder than a normal Operator.

Figured I'd name it after my aunt, the old nag.

I'm going to lock it in my desk, you can grab it next time you're here. If I'm not about, there’s an option on my terminal to unlock it.

You know the password. You should do anyway.

Just look down.

Flash Powder
Station 2

Not a map, but it did seem like an answer to my problems with the SILVERPONE were within my grasp. I toggled down the list of options to the one that unlocked the desk then logged off to access my treasure.

Wait. What was that about the password? Just look down? What does that-

I gave a little cough to derail my rogue thoughts. I felt it was a little obvious as I reached for the drawer.

...oh? Oooohhh...

The unlock command had ejected a drawer from the desk and inside was a revolver, sitting on a cloth along with a couple of suppressors and a box of ammunition. Picking up the revolver I could feel its weight, and holding it in my mouth i could feel how heavy the trigger pull was. My pipbuck display named this gun 'The Nag'. I attached one of the suppressors and slipped it into my saddlebag, along with the ammunition. Analysing it in my pipbuck menu i found the gun itself held 5 rounds, and that the box I'd picked up held 15 rounds.

Hopefully these would be more plentiful than the rounds for the Operator.

No map was forthcoming on the shop floor, but the maintenance manager's office held the information I needed, albeit in the terminal. Thinking of the one up in the reception area, I connected my pipbuck to the terminal and tried to find a way to move the mapping data over. A small message appeared in the corner of the screen station I had connected to the 'Station-net' but it didn't seem to trigger anything so I continued.

A few minutes of fiddling and I was able to transfer the map to temporary storage, but the on screen prompt warned me that the next time I tried to move data over, the Station 2 map would be erased. An acceptable loss given we were unlikely to come back.

Looking at the map I could see that there was again a whole floor for 'Operative Storage' and it had the external walkway too. Hopefully that would allow me to get around the chasm and reach Neon Dream. So, armed with a map I headed back to the stairwell and descended once again.

As I left the stairwell and entered the operative storage level I found a familiar looking sliding door, almost exactly like the ones in the stasis chamber of Station 5. Interestingly, I realise I hadn't seen any other doors like it in the facility so far. Beyond the unpowered door that had jammed halfway along its track was a corridor made from a familiar white material, dulled over the last 200 years of neglect. Squeezing through the door I found myself facing another one directly opposite with a broken window and a simple card on it, sitting in a holder and bearing three numbers.

907

Null Sec. The Anti-Magic Soldier. I crept forwards, my hooves sounding different on this floor as I peered into the room beyond the broken window. I was hit with the odd sensation of deja-vu, but it was slightly off, seeing the familiar stasis room from a different angle, behind the pod. The room was a wreck, the pod ruined and no indication of anypony having been in there for 200 years.

I let out a small sigh, in some ways disappointed to not encounter one of my fellow operatives, in others glad that they had not been trapped in stasis for an eternity as I had been. Checking the map I had downloaded I checked the circular hallway that ringed the stasis rooms, trying to place where the chasm fell over the top of it. I felt it was slightly off centre on both axis, so turned to my right and began to follow the corridor anti-clockwise, hopefully around the fissure.

Another quiet descended upon me, just the 'tok-tok-tok' of my hooves, and the occasional crunch as I trod on fallen material from the wall, as I circled the level. The gloom of the scattered emergency lights gave way to the pink-tinged twilight haze present on the upper levels as I came across the rent through the facility. It looked like it had torn through another stasis room, and I hoped there hadn't been an operative in it at the time. The floor of the corridor was stubbornly clinging to the wall forming a narrow path around the ragged edge of the rent. Too narrow to comfortably walk along normally, but for me, there was an option.

I closed the distance until I was just starting to feel the distinctive pressure of the pink cloud's effects then pushed up from my forelegs, shifting my weight up and over my hindquarters and pulling up into the two legged zebra combat stance. I rested my back against the wall, feeling my saddlebags pressing against my back, glad I had moved Resolve to my leg holster, and the Operator to that side holster bought from Roulette.

I'm sure she'd have something to say about all this.

I'm sure she would have antagonised all the ghouls trying to scrounge ammunition. But my thoughts were not wrong, something seemed lacking without the boisterous mare. I shook my head, that was not important, not right now, I was going to need my mind on the mission for this.

Taking a breath to steady myself a began to step sideways, sliding along the wall as I crept along the ledge of remaining floor, tensing as the pressure closed around me once again. I focused on my legs and back, feeling the connection to the floor and wall as I shuffled sideways, ignoring the wet on my muzzle, and the pressure in my head, in my horn, in my lungs, in my heart, in my-

Stop. Breathe. Focus. The pain is not important. It is not the mission. Only the mission is important. Reach Neon Dream. Reach the office, the terminal.

Don't think about coming back this way.

I let myself look down into the depths of the crevasse as I sidled past the half way point. Whatever stasis room had been here was gone, just one wall remaining on the edge of the damage, which dropped below, showing that the next level down was bigger than any of the others I'd been through, cavernous, before it descended again to a shifting surface. The scattered and dying lights brought out the pink tinge to the water that filled the bottom of the rift, amplified by the drop of blood that had found itself in my eye, spreading a red film across my vision.

I realised I had stopped, distracted by gazing into the abyss before me. Gritting my teeth I blinked the blood out of my eye and pushed my leaden leg onwards, shuffling along the precipice, away from the source of the crushing pain.

Reaching the far side of the chasm I dropped my stance, managing to not fall flat on my face but only just as my legs felt like jelly. Pulling myself away from the rent in the wall I leant against the wall and felt the crush ease, though the pain remained. I fished out a healing potion from my saddlebag, the status screen of my pipbuck flashing numerous medical warnings, and chugged the magical healing liquid within. I let out a gasp as the pressure in my lungs eased, then hacked up the mixture of blood and phlegm as the healing magic collected up, and expelled, the damage from my battered lungs.

After a few moments of standing and panting I grit my teeth and raised my head gazing down the curve of the corridor into the gloom. With a deep breath I moved my legs, pressing onwards into the facility.

We need to find another way out of here.

Agreed.

The corridor brought me to another stairwell, past a third stasis room, this one marked as 904, which was again intact, but empty. Outside of the name Storm Front, I couldn't dredge any memories of them out from the hole in my mind, which seemed strange given I did recall being briefed on the other operatives. Shaking my head, and resigning myself to puzzling out that one later, I took the stairs back up to the maintenance and hangar level, peering up cautiously. I strained my eyes and ears, searching for any sign of ghouls, or of Neon Dream but couldn't pick up anything.

This side of the rift still contained workshops and tools, but as they approached the stairwell the stations became bigger and started to include parts for vertibuck transports. I made my way as close to the chasm as I dared and again peered around in the gloom.

"Neon?" I called, sweeping my eyes around. "Neon?"

With no answer coming I itched to grab one of my guns, but I knew that Resolve would alert the ghouls in the area, and nothing I had would put them down for long. Pulling away from the chasm I trotted back towards the other end of the level, seeing the transition from maintenance to hangar as the floor opened up just past the stairwell. A hoof full of vertibucks were standing around the open floor in various states of deconstruction, with two sitting on launch rails, though due to a combination of 200 years of decay, and the rubble on the rails, they were not going to fly any time soon, even if we had a pegasus to fly it.

Speaking of, I called out for Neon Dream again and finally got a quiet 'here' from the pegasus. He had hidden himself away in one of the vertibucks after seeing the ghoul leap past him into the rift.

"You recall that you have the only weapon between us that can probably put those ghouls down. Right?"

He gave a sheepish nod as he dismounted the aircraft, looking at the empty harnesses in the armoured pulling cabin.

"we were all one once," he said, a sad note in his tone, "pegasus, earth pony," he looked at me, "unicorn. We were all together, we were friends."

I shuffled my hooves, I wasn't too sure it had been all sunshine and rainbows before the war, and I wasn't convinced it would be in the future either. I ley out a sigh, "come on Neon, we need to go back up and find that terminal."

He gave a nod and formed up behind me as we headed over to the stairwell, ascending back up to the level we started on, finally on the other side of the gouge through the facility. I pressed us straight past the barracks level, being pretty sure that there were more ghouls there, and back up to the administration and operations level where we emerged in a wood panelled double of the room in Station 5, a wall of cracked and dark monitors dominating one side, with desks and terminals facing it and a row of individual offices opposite.

Unlike Station 5, there was no plaque declaring a base commander though one office was labelled 'Administrator Double Diamond' and marked with a small OIA logo below the name plate. Right at the end of the row of offices was an open door, revealing a small cupboard of a room that someone had still managed to spread a large phoenix adorned Stalliongradi flag across the wall. A glance at the nameplate confirmed the obvious, 'Project Lead: Dr Mana Magusavich Spellwright' spread out across three lines of text, constrained by the small door. I shook my head and turned to the remaining offices, searching for-there, 'Project Lead: Dr Erinnerung Muse'.

"Is that even a pony name?" asked Neon Dream, peering at the nameplate over my shoulder,

"As much as Project Lead Spellwright's is." I stated, pushing my way towards the room before pausing, remembering what had awaited intruders in Station 5.

I crouched beside the door, trying to see if I could spot a similar catch in the doorjamb. With a frown I hefted myself up into a zebra combat stance and pressed my back to the wall, waving a hoof to move Neon Dream out of the firing line. Using my magic I wrapped the door handle in a field of dark green power and pulled it down, swinging the door open and flinching away.

Nothing.

No shotgun blast, no explosives, no trap. Not this time. Thinking about it, Project Lead Muse had been in Station 5, and then went to Station 1, so, logically, so long as she wasn't in the habit of trapping her office door, this location was safe. Letting out a breath I didn’t know I'd been holding I dropped back to all four hooves.

"What was that about?"

I looked at the pegasus whose head was tilted in confusion, both eyes revealed to me as his mane swung out of the way.

"Project Lead Muse's office in Station 5 had a surprise for interested ponies" I told him, calling him after me with a shake of my head.

"Station 5?" he said, then shook his head and followed me into the office.

I didn't even try the BIOS approach on this terminal, simply plugging the pipbuck straight into the port and transmitting the password.

[Access Granted. Welcome Dr Muse]

I stared at the menu, having secretly hoped there would be a big 'unlock Station 1' command on the screen, but, alas, Luna's blessings can carry me only so far. Parsing down the list I tried from the top, which was not organised alphabetically given the top of the list was the Records folder. Inside were notes on missions, operatives and personnel appointments, though there was an audio file appended to the top of that section. I looked out to the operations area, searching for movement, before I looked back to the terminal and hoofed the button to play the file.

There was a few seconds of static before a familiar voice, slightly tinged with a Horstrian accent came through, "and you think that just because I am from Horstria I know Photo Finish?" Project Lead Muse sounded irritated, and a little insulted, "I find that very rude. It would be like assuming Mana knew Councilpony Trotsky simply because he was from Stalliongrad."

Another voice cut in, "You know, I am actually good friends with Comrade Trotsky." while talking in Canterlot Standard, the ripple of a Stalliongradi accent was strong.

"Not. Helping. Mana." as the mare ground out the three words the irritation in her voice made her own accent came to the fore. She gave a cough, then addressed the silent third party, "you are fired. Pack your office then return here for your debrief. You have half an hour."

A thunder of hooves sped their owner from the office as Project Lead Muse sighed. Project Lead Mana gave a cough,

"You know, Double Diamond is a good administrator, and having our OIA liaison running the Station would mean you wouldn't need to keep pulling memories out of their head if they leave. You're, what, three administrators deep now dorogoy?"

"Four." the mare replied, "I, it's just that this station is as much political as it is operational. It needs to be here, and that means we need to play nice with the ministries and their mares. But yes, Double Diamond knows protocol, he knows a few of the Ministry Mares personally and can smooth things over."

"We need to keep our friends close. Sil'ny Stark."

"Sil'ny Stark. Do svidania Mana."

"Auf wiedersehen dorogoy"

Hoof steps, a door closing and a sigh. "Two months to extract. Storage not required." another sigh, "I'll replace them with something happy. More than they deserve."

The recording ended. Most illuminating. I shook my head and tried another section. Diary? Nope, just meetings; with Mana, with Double Diamond, with a 'Birch and Hair' whoever that was. Back out, try another. Messages, lets see.

From: Mana.Spellwright
To: All.Users
Subject: DON'T

To all of you sniggering behind your hooves that Mana is a mare's name, zhri govno i zdohni!

Mana is a stallion's name, and I'm a stallion. It is the term for the raw force that powers magic and is in step with the naming conventions of the illustrious Spellwright dynasty of Stalliongrad.

The next govnosos that says Mana is a mare's name will find themselves wiped clean and implanted with the framework of a frog!

Project Lead Mana Magusavich Spellwright

"Someone has a sore spot" Neon Dream was literally hovering over me, reading the screen. I frowned at the pegasus,

"Guard the door Neon" I said, "be alert for ghouls, rather than for angry messages."

"aah, y... Yes," he fluttered over to the door and peered out into the half light of the ruined facility as I turned back to the terminal.

The 'Framework' folder was full of incomprehensible diagrams and mathematical formulae, a glance over to the side of the office showed a drawing board with more of the same in crisp writing. The folder named 'Stations' was a little more useful, it listed out the project stations and their status;

Station 1: Lockdown
Station 2: Unresponsive
Station 3: Lockdown
Station 4: Remote Access
Station 5: Salted Earth

Though it didn't provide much information I didn't already know it did at least confirm the extent of the project. The next entry was 'Locks' which seemed hopeful. For some reason, Project Lead Muse had access to most of the doors in the facility, and the ability to remotely lock them. A quick scan of the groups showed doors for the 'Framework Chambers', the agent storage level and the stasis chambers. The lock folder also had an entry for Project Lead Muse's desk, which I triggered, hearing and feeling a drawer in the desk pop open.

Looking down I searched the drawer. A black tiara-a recollector, four black orbs, a box labelled 'Linzer Biscuit' emblazoned with the Horstrian crest of five birds in a shield, a box of snack cakes and a familiar looking gun. I immediately grabbed the snack cakes and put them in my saddlebags, followed by the biscuits. I contemplated the orbs and decided that as they seemed to be associated with the recollector I would take them, hoofing them into my saddlebags my pipbuck declared them to be memory orbs.

The gun sat beneath my hooves, blued steel seeming to almost absorb the scant light as I looked at a double of the Operator sitting in my side holster. The barrel was longer, with the suppressor integrated, and there were some dark gems inlaid in the grip but it was clearly a Project issued IF11-1S. Muse's personal Operator. I wasn't entirely sure what I felt about that, but not wanting to squander a fortuitous find, I stored it away in my saddlebags. My pipbuck labelled it 'Memento'.

I let out a little sigh and turned back to the terminal, finally noticing that the bottom option was station lockdowns. Top of the list was Station 1, which I immediately selected. Code flowing across the screen as the system went to work.

[Trying to contact Stabletech network... Fail, switching to alterative frequencies. Ministry of Arcane Science Emergency Broadcast System frequency detected. Rerouting. Office of Interministry Affairs key detected. Utilising back channels. Project network connected, synching settings. Diagnostics online. Status display.]

I recognised some of the text from the pipbuck update but most of it was a mystery to me. More text went scrolling by, declaring the various functioning or non functioning parts of the project stations. I picked out a few about station 5; Salted Earth protocol engaged, stasis pod 5 - registered 909: empty, similarly there were updates on the other stations, Station 4 still read Remote Access, most everything in Station 3 was working, Station 1 was coming online. Station 2 was decidedly not working, though as the damage report scrolled by I saw something that made my breath catch in my throat, drawing Neon Dream back from the door.

"W-what is it?"

[Stasis pod 1 - registered 901: all readings green]

Author's Note

Thanks to kkat for creating this crazy mashup and letting others play around in it.
Thanks to Somber too, I may reference things from Project Horizons and Homelands here and there.

Chapter 10: Will O Wisp

Well if they won’t fight they will be heralded by the blue light of the Will of the Wisp.

I stared at the screen, hardly believing my eyes. Another operative, alive. I closed my mouth and frantically tapped at the keyboard trying to find a command to wake them up. I parsed through the records menu, wondering if it might be linked there, accessing what was noted under 901. A list of dates, the gaps getting smaller and smaller, seeming to have entries every couple of days before they stopped, one of the files of formulae, ratings of telekinesis outputs showing very large numbers, no stasis controls. I hammered away again, trying to think logically and heading back into the locks section, finding the command to unlock the stasis pod in the stasis chamber menu. Of course. I unlocked all the doors to the pod and hit the key to revive my comrade.

[Error]

“Well buck.”

I tried tapping the command again, with the same results. A third tap was no different but the fifth tap brought up an additional line of text; [Manual override required – access panel s1-3-1 to continue] tapping enter again brought up a map that I recognised as the agent storage level from the hub and spoke layout. It indicated the stasis chamber anti-clockwise of the stairwell, one I had not passed in my trek around the chasm.

I was about to just leave when the terminal beeped at me, returning to the root menu where a new line had appeared; [Network synch complete – confirm pipbuck? Y/N] I remembered I still had my (well, Project Lead Muse’s) pipbuck connected to the terminal and with a shrug tapped ‘Y’. A little progress bar filled then both terminal and pipbuck beeped displaying ‘Synch Complete’ on both before the terminal spat out a holotape and unceremoniously shut down.

“Did you break it?” Neon Dream asked quietly, but I didn’t dignify that with a response as I stuffed the tape in my saddlebags.

I looked back up at the pegasus, steadying my breathing, “We need to go back down, another Operative is in the stasis chambers,” a small gleam came to his eye, “but we need to open it from down there.”

He gave a nod, the badge on his cap gleaming slightly in the soft lights, as he fell in behind me and we began our descent back into the depths of the station. We carefully crept past the barracks level once again and spiralled our way towards agent storage.

“Would it have killed them to put in an elevator?” came a complaint from behind,

“Trust me,” i turned back to look at my companion, “that would be more trouble than it’d be worth right now.”

The crunch of tiles underhoof announced our arrival to the right level and I called for Neon Dream to follow me with a flick of my hoof as I turned to follow the curving corridor to the right this time. The anticipation seemed to make the journey stretch out before me, though that was being tempered by the knowledge that I was going to have to bring 901 up to speed on the present situation. I was probably not the best placed for that. Neon Dream had a better grasp of the state of the world, though he had gone from one sheltered community to another one.

It wasn’t long before we came to the door of the stasis room, already open and through it I could see both the stasis pod and the further equipment rooms that I remembered from my own station. I ducked into the room, Neon Dream following and circled the egg shaped pod, the clinical white of the shell having faded over the years to a duller, grimier, hue. The canopy had also fogged up so that the pony inside was obscured, though a hint of their white and black colouration was discernible.

“We need to look for a panel,” I said, looking around the room “it should be in here somewhere, and will open up the pod.”

Casting our eyes around, looking for some kind of screen or controls a thought came to me, we would be going back out the way we came in, if only because any central elevator shaft would have been destroyed by whatever crashed through the facility. I should retrieve 901’s equipment from the further rooms.

I motioned Neon Dream over to me, “keep looking for that access panel, but don’t touch it.”

“what about you?” he asked, still trying to spot the panel, “what’re you going to do?”

“OSP.”

“...what?”

“On Site Procurement.”

“...so, looting?”

See, I’m not the only one.

I shook my head, at both my companion and my rogue thoughts, trotting away into the equipment rooms. Despite the massive damage to the facility the series of rooms were in a better condition than Station 5, general state 200 years of decline notwithstanding. The barding in the locker seemed in better condition than my own as I pulled it out and made sure to snag the operative beret, checking it still had the 901 badge affixed with its symbol of an arrow of force punching through an upright line. I remembered the dream/memory of sitting in the station commissary with 901 and 908 and began to wonder what had happened to the other operative. I shook my head, that was a question for later given they were clearly not here.

The next room was again dominated by the briefing screen and I fought the urge to sit before it and receive a mission. I frowned, remembering Fallen telling me that we operatives were being controlled, that must have been some kind of conditioning kicking in. Shaking my head to clear it I reached out with my magic, grabbing the equipment drawer and pulling back telekinetically.

The drawer was empty.

No knife, no armour, no Operator, no ammunition.

That was... Unhelpful. But, not insurmountable. If nothing else, we could equip 901 by rendezvousing with Roulette, for a price. On that front, there might be a deal that could be made, the Stations had been sealed, and the reports showed the other ones in better condition than Stations 5 and 2. Maybe we could trade salvage runs for what we needed. It would certainly be a way of increasing our stocks of .45 ICP ammunition. And although I trusted Ditzy Doo’s improvements to provide protection for me, it would also benefit us to find some Project armour.

A call from the stasis room got my attention, Neon Dream must have found the panel. With a little nicker of irritation at the empty drawer I turned back towards my friend, and... potential friend?

The panel we needed had been hidden behind some kind of maintenance hatch that Neon Dream said he found by just pressing every part of the wall, and getting lucky by choosing the correct wall first.

The panel looked a lot like a terminal though was missing what seemed an essential component... A keyboard. Thankfully there seemed to be a pipbuck link socket, so I quickly connected it up, allowing me to use the pipbuck controls on the terminal’s entries. Skimming them the command ‘Activate Operative’ leapt out at me and, without hesitation, I selected it, a beep of confirmation coming from the panel as the stasis pod began to vent some kind of cold mist.

A voice suddenly cut in over the speakers, a measured voice, a familiar voice speaking a familiar mantra;

“Neun Null Eins, Broneboynaya Soldat, Awaken Operative.”

“What, who, what’s the voice?” Neon Dream’s wings ruffled at the sudden noise, then scooted back behind me as the lid cracked open on the pod.

“Respond.” The voice came again

“FT-909-SBS-Razor Wind,” I found myself saying automatically even as I heard another voice stating “FT-901-AAS-Door Knocker.”

“Error, Operative not confirmed. Error, briefing not available. Error, Station compromised. All Operatives report to Station 1. Stasis system shut down.”

I saw Neon Dream’s face slide into the corner of my vision, with a very confused look on his face, “whaaa?” I frowned at him, snapping myself out of the rigid stance I’d locked into, then looking back over at the stasis pod. A figure was rising from the mist surrounding the pod, stretching their limbs and shaking as they awoke from their long slumber. There was the familiar white coat and black muzzle, with diamond adorned forehead and a tangle of a mane, though, something seemed off.

It was a more slender muzzle, rounder, and though there were the same half-lidded, lazy looking eyes, they sat a little different in the face.

“New guy,” the eyes flicked over to Neon Dream’s beret, “Falling. This seems a bit unorthodox an awa... ” they trailed off, looking back at Neon Dream, “huh, pegasus. That’s new.”

It was still a laid back voice, but softer somehow than I remembered. 901 must have noticed something off about my expression as they looked directly at me.

“What’s wrong with you? Never...” the trailed off, blinking then shook their rump from side to side before turning their head to look back at it, “ahh” they said, “mare this time.”

This 901 was a mare. The one I remembered was a stallion, though they looked near identical. She gave a shrug, looking back at me, “this happens from time to time.”

I shook my head clearing the confusion, it was not important. Not right now. I tossed them the barding and beret instead, the clothing landing at their hooves, “you’ll need to get dressed,” I said, “we’ve got to get out of here and, well, there’s a lot to catch you up on.”

Giving a nod the white mare started suiting up, and Neon Dream spun around, a blush glowing across his muzzle.

The half dressed operative looked up at the skittish pegasus, “what’s up with Falling?”

Neon Dream mumbled under his breath, and I translated.

“He’s not Fallen Tactics.” I said, an eyebrow raising up 901’s face, “It’s, well, not a long story, but not one we have time for.”

She closed up the barding and scooped up her beret, somehow perching it on her tousled mane in much the same, impossible, way that Roulette had. I paused for a moment, considering my next action before giving a little snort. I hooked my Operator from my side holster and chucked it across to the other Operative.

“We’ve got very limited ammunition reserves,” I told her, “but they’re also not much use against what we’re up against in here.”

She checked the gun over and put it in the leg holster as I scrolled through my inventory sorter, pulling out Memento and housing it in the side holster.

“And what are we up against?”

As I opened my mouth to respond there came growling sound from behind the stasis pod, and a dead face slid into view, an unearthly light glowing in its eyes. Neon Dream had been turning back to see if it was safe to look at the other operative and let out a squeak as he saw the ghoul, jumping back as he struggled to deploy his rifle. I concentrated my magic, the air shimmering around the ghoul’s neck, condensing into a silent blade just as it let out one of those alert howls, the tone seeming to continue even as it’s head fell from its shoulders. The tone was continuing, it was an answer from the other ghouls in the facility

We needed to get out of here, but I didn’t think trying to edge around the chasm, suffering pink cloud exposure, whilst trying to avoid ghouls was a great plan and, while we had stocked up, I wasn’t confident our medical supplies would stretch to repairing that kind of damage to all three of us, alongside any battle wounds. We needed a better escape route.

“We need a way out of the Station,” I said aloud, “access to the main entrance is cut off and a potential emergency escape would require navigating contaminated water.”

“Contaminated?” 901 called back over her shoulder as she inspected the ghoul I had decapitated

“Pink Cloud,” said Neon Dream, which I elaborated on, “Littlehorn agent,” which got me an ‘ahh’ of recognition from the mare.

Neon Dream’s ears perked up as he had an idea, “up in the hanger, with the vertibucks,” he stopped as we both looked at him, hesitating before swallowing and continuing, “the hangar doors, we could get out that way. I m-might need to fly you out, so it’d be one at a time. The... The one waiting might have to... To...”

“Defend themselves” 901 finished the thought, the young pegasus nodding as they withdrew behind their mane.

I nodded and started towards the door, “best option we have. Lets get going. I’ve got point, Neon, cover our rear. 90-” I stopped, grunted and tried again, “Door Knocker, take the centre, but keep your senses on a swivel. These things have a tendency to get back up.”

Neon Dream gave a quick salute, with Door Knocker providing a tip of the hoof, and we hurried out into the corridor, aware that unless that ghoul had been just standing around the corner by the chasm, they had to have come down the stairs from the levels above.

The three of us crept up the stairs to the maintenance and hanger level and it was only then that I considered the possibility that that ghoul had come up from a lower level. Reaching the exit to the stairwell I held up a hoof for the others to halt and then stuck my head out around the doorway, straining my eyes in the gloom to try and spot any more ghouls.

“Clear,” I whispered, leading my team out onto the level proper.

We trotted along the hanger, and I gave a little wince at even the quiet sound of our hooves seeming to reverberate around the much more open space. We passed by the decayed vehicles and I caught Door Knocker staring at the remains.

“how...” she whispered softly, “how long have I been in stasis?”

I gave her a sympathetic look, “About 200 years, give or take. It’s, a lot to take in.” I looked back over at the doors at the end of the launch tracks, our destination, “we’ll bring you up to speed once we get out of here.”

The doors were solid, and apparently were not one of the ones I opened from Project Lead Muse’s terminal. I looked around, trying to spot any kind of controls that would open this next impediment in the long list of problems this station had thrown at us. I didn’t notice Door Knocker leaning in until she spoke, setting my coat standing on end.

“What about in the launch control booth?”

I followed the line of her pointing hoof to the steel box structure at the far end of the hanger that we must have passed on our way down. Huffing in irritation I motioned for the other two to form up as we marched back across the hanger and up the stairs to the control booth, the low growls of the ghouls still audible on the edge of our hearing. The booth had a couple of terminals and radio stations, along with a few controls of unknown function and a jacket of some sort hanging over one of the two chairs. Door Knocker’s horn flared as she picked up the jacket, a padded leather garment with a fur trim around the collar, and pulled it over to herself.

“I’m just feeling a little chilly New Guy, that’s all.”

I frowned at the name, but rolled my eyes and shrugged it off, if she wanted the jacket then there was no particular need to deny her. I ran my eyes over the locked terminals and decided to just cut straight to using the pipbuck link to override them. However, as I looked down at the device I could see a notification on the screen that I hadn’t seen before; ‘1 new message’.

How had someone sent me a message? I didn’t think pipbucks worked like that. I hoofed the access button, half convinced that it would be revealed to be something picked up from a terminal in the station. Or Roulette. I wouldn’t put it past her to have found some way of messaging me. As the menu opened I froze at the name displayed.

Message from Dr E. Muse.

I automatically activated it, which opened the message that turned out to be an audio file. Whilst using the pipbuck to access terminals I must have accidentally hit the volume control as Project Lead Muse’s voice came spilling out of the speakers, reverberating around the hangar. I tried to stop the file playing, but it would not stop, and in my haste, I completely forgot to just turn down the volume. Door Knocker just yelled at me,

“Earbloom!” I just looked confused as she repeated the word, before she flicked her hoof at the pipbuck, catching a small component that unspooled on a cable until it was jammed into my ear.

A familiar voice resounded in my ear, though I must have missed an amount of the message. I tried the controls again and restarted the file.

“This is Dr Erinnerung Muse, joint project lead on the multi-ministry Framework project. If my plan... No, no plans, not anymore. If my predictions are correct the bearer of this pipbuck, and the pony hearing this, should be Framework Trooper 909 – Razor Wind.” My eyes were wide as the horstrian accented voice addressed me directly, after her usual confidence faltered.

The message continued, “First things first, I will release you from some of the project conditioning, if you have not already broken it. I, regret, that it cannot be more at this time, but I think I will still have need of you as an Operative. Klarer und ruhiger geist, your coda is gone. And feel free to just call me Muse.”

My eyes widened, unsure exactly how breaking conditioning was meant to feel though, as she had said, I had been eroding it. My coda had fallen out of use in the days since I awoke, the arguments with my rogue thoughts had broken that.

Glad to be of service.

“I am leaving these recordings as things go from bad to worse. They will be stored on the pipbuck under my profile and will be released to you to provide context and history. They will also serve to recognise my sins and, just maybe, earn me some forgiveness. I am travelling to Station 1 to link up with Mana, and try not to die in a balefire holocaust in the process.”

This largely confirmed what had happened at Station 5 and that we were on the right track.

“I, regret what will become of the Station 5 staff. I would not have enacted the protocol, but it might be a gentler death than the balefire. Another sin for the pile.”

She sniffed, seeming near the edge of tears but then pulled herself back.

“Razor Wind, armes liebes leidendes kind, I am sorry. And one last thing.”

There was a pause and in my mind’s eye I could see her looking around, trying to confirm she was alone.

“Do. Not. Trust. Mana.”

The recording ended and I realised I was simply staring at the pipbuck screen, my mouth hanging open. I closed it and gave a small swallow as I pulled the earbloom out and let it retract back into the case. Looking back up I became aware of my companions staring at me,

“It was, Dr Muse,” I said, slowly acknowledging that I could indeed say just that, I looked at Neon Dream, “we’re on the right track” I told him.

“We’re also in trouble,” Door Knocker said, leaning out of the doorway. As she spoke I could hear the howl of a hunting ghoul and realised that the burst of sound had given our position away.

I frowned and leaped at the terminals, hooking the pipbuck into them and trying to unlock them.

[Error]

That... Was not helpful. I tried to boot into the BIOS to crack the password.

[Error]

I looked at the controls as the howls grew closer, but could not identify a mechanism for the launch doors. There was a beep from my pipbuck that was still hooked into the terminal.

{Remote Access: You are having some interface issues? Y/N}

I confirmed yes.

{Remote Access: Stand by, assessing situation.}

Now I was just confused. Code began to scroll across the screen, then similar code crossed the terminals before ending up with just a blinking box. Slowly something typed out across the terminal screen:

OPEN SAYS ME

The terminals suddenly died, screens turning black as a rumble was heard at the far end of the hanger. The doors were opening, our way out.

“Move!” I yelled, the howls drawing nearer as we heard hoofbeats on the stairs.

I pulled the interface cord from the now dead terminals, spotting a quick flash of text on my pipbuck screen,

{Remote Access: Good luck Razor Wind.}

And then it was gone and we galloped for the far end of the level, aiming for the growing opening and a glimpse of freedom. We passed through the doors only to find a further tunnel, and no light.

“Now what?”

The howls were closer now and turning back I could see some of the deadlights of the front runners approaching through the wrecks of the vertibucks. I concentrated, spreading my spell wide and encircling three of them before triggering and parting their heads from their bodies. They kept running forwards for a pace of three before dropping to the ground, momentum sliding the corpses towards us as more emerged from the gloom. A buzzing beam of magic lanced out from the pegasus, burning through one ghoul and into the one behind, enveloping it in a field of red magic before dissipating the second ghoul as a cloud of glowing dust. Door knocker gave a cry of triumph as she stepped forward, looking at the downed ghoul before that grinding noise sounded out and the dead body got back up to its feet, the singed hole closing up.

“just headshots aren’t enough,” I encircled another ghoul and severed its snarling head, “either disintegrate them or remove the head.”

The black and white mare looked up at the oncoming ghouls, a horde like something out of an old zombie film, and stepped back, ears down and eyes wide instead of lazily lidded.

“Door Knocker?” I said, confused, but she just shook her head, “Door Knocker!”

“Razor!” Neon Dream’s shout alerted me and I spun back, already warming a silent blade as I turned. It wasn’t a clean ring, I just lashed out with an edge of razor sharp air and caught the ghoul that was pouncing on me right through its gaping maw, splitting it’s head horizontally, the two halves going either side of my own head like it was unhinging its jaw to swallow me whole.

Looking back at Door Knocker I spotted something at the end of the tunnel, a crack of light. There was a reverberating clang as the first set of doors locked open and the far pair of doors began opening.

“We have a way out,” I said to the others, “we just need to hold out.”

Door Knocker looked between Neon Dream and myself then took a shaking breath and nodded, a look of concentration came across her face as she warmed up her own spell.

A blue glow appeared around Door Knocker’s horn, a mist coalescing around the unit badge on her beret. She reopened her eyes, no longer wide and panicked, but not her usual lazy half opened expression either. These were hard, focused, and glowed with the same blue glow as the will o wisp that had formed over her head.

A ghoul approached her, mouth opening in a snarl then, suddenly, it’s head exploded, flying apart in a shower of liquid as a massive force struck it. Her head whipped around and she fired off the spell again, though took a step back from the carnage.

901 – AAS. Anti-Armour Soldier. She was usually deployed against zebra tanks and robots. These soft targets were completely unable to stand up against that spell.

We unleashed on the horde of ghouls, painting the floor of the hanger with necrotised bodies and fluids, a slight pink tinge in the air as the absorbed pink cloud steamed from the remains. I had one ear cocked to the doors, listening for them to lock open over the buzz of Neon Dream’s rifle and the snarls of the ghouls. The air itself seemed to waver and bend with the combined wake of multiple telekinetic spells, some patches starting to lens the beam of Neon Dream’s rifle. As he started to compensate for the effect I heard the doors lock open.

“Neon! Go!” I shouted, flicking my eyes over to the blank faced mare firing off high-powered telekinetic bolts, “Take Door Knocker first.”

He threw me a pained look as his rifle slid back into its stowed position, “b-but...”

“I’ll hold. Lets not waste what we’ve done here.” He wanted to argue, I could see tears welling up in his eyes but I flashed him a soft smile, “please, go.”

He swallowed, nodded and leapt for Door Knocker, wrapping his limbs around her barrel and heaving back with a flap of his wings. They left the ground, flipping muzzle over dock before a flick of the wings spun the pair right side up and they sped down the launch path and out into the sky.

My eyes hardened as I turned them back to the ghouls. While we had made progress, this must have been the full population of one of the key project stations, unaffected by concentrations of pink cloud or contaminated water, and we... I, had woken them up. I was beginning to tire, repeatedly using my spell had some strain to it, trying to encircle multiple ghouls was more taxing, but more efficient than multiple single loops, especially as single blades would not consistently fully sever heads. I would need to adapt, as I had against the Silverpone. I formed a silent blade and stretched it out, forming a horizontal plane, holding it out aligned with as many necks as I could and fired it, angling slightly up.

A shimmering wall appeared in the air, lopping the heads off of the front rank of ghouls, and surprisingly halting their advance as the suddenly solid, micron thick plane of air blocked their path. I could form barriers. Even briefly, being able to put some distance between myself and the flesh eating zombies was useful.

I alternated between blocking barriers and wide planes, herding then decapitating ghouls. The downside was that it concentrated the remains and the pink cloud fumes were beginning to get to me, sending blood running down my muzzle from my nose, my ears, my eyes. My lungs were squeezed and my head felt like my mane was made of fire, burning from the back of my head all the way to the root of my horn. It was a good thing I was using wide area slices as my aim was starting to get sloppy and I did not want to let any of them get close.

And then they did.

I let my aim drift too far, the angle to oblique and what should have taken a line of ghouls’ heads off ended up clipping the ears and mane from the last one in the line. They broke through and were bearing down on me, I could see the glow of the necromantic magic that kept them animated in the sunken pits of its eyes, could see the chipped and decaying teeth and feel the hot, rotten breath as its mouth opened wide.

Something wrapped around my barrel and it was only extreme self control that prevented me from flinging a cluster of silent blades along my own spine. I was yanked up and over, into the air and as we corkscrewed around I felt those rotting teeth graze my cropped tail, before slamming shut on empty air.

‘Not again’ I thought, how much abuse could one tail get in a single day.

Flying with a pegasus was a lot different to flying with Fallen, there the nature of the telekinetic flight was much smoother, more controlled, and usually a descent, being carried by Neon Dream was a frantic affair of micro adjustments, quick changes of direction and powerful wing beats to gain height. We bust out of the launch path into a cool night, the temperature making me acutely aware of the sweat and blood coating me, sending shivers running through me. Again, the cloud cover stubbornly hid Luna’s moon and the distant gaze of her stars from me. Roulette’s words came back to me and I found that, yes, it did hurt, to know that not only has she physically perished but that her very essence was also hidden from those left on the ground. Both the princesses had been stolen away when the pegasi sealed the sky.

We banked sharply as if Neon Dream was scared of even touching those clouds and instead began to spiral back down. I could see the glint of the river and a dark depression nearby, like a lakebed. Albeit a lakebed with an extra crater in it, one split by an ugly rent in the ground, glowing softly with an unearthly haze. That was Station 2. It had been under a lake, fed by the river. Some zebra missile had exploded in the lake with enough force to crack open the facility, and a lakes worth of water had cascaded down into it.

Neon Dream swooped down, carrying me over the big bridge we had passed over only this afternoon.

The Steam Hammer memorial bridge.

Right. We passed over the Steam Hammer memorial bridge and headed for a small structure, a signal box by the rail line that still looked intact. A large crate was blocking the door in, but my pegasus companion simply dropped me on the gantry surrounding the upper level, where there was an other door to the inside, soft light spilling out into the darkening evening.

I trotted inside, followed by Neon Dream and found myself in a snug little shelter, filled with blankets, a small lamp and an old skeleton still holding a tin of beans in its hooves. I quirked my head at that, wondering how this pony had finally lost their life in their secure little home. Sat on a pile of blankets in the corner was the white form of Door Knocker, having shed their barding and beret and now staring at the lantern.

I turned back to Neon Dream, “Thanks for the timely extraction Neon,” I gave him a small smile, “your timing remains impeccable.”

I turned to look at the other Operative, “Door Knocker,” I began, but Neon Dream interrupted, “Do you have a shorter name, or nickname we can call you?” he asked, “not all of us are formal, full name ponies like Razor.”

My frown sent him beneath his mane again, but the smile was still on his face. Door Knocker looked up and met Neon Dream’s smile with one of her own, the lazy expression back in her eyes, though tinged with something else, sadness? Regret? I didn’t know.

“He is a by-the-book stick-in-the-mud, isn’t he? ” my continued frowning simply elicited a chuckle, “Normally just went by ‘Knocker’, though that never sits quite the same when I’m a mare, so, just call me ‘Dee’.”

I nodded, mentally acknowledging the name, though knowing I would likely still call them Door Knocker in my own mind.

You are a stick-in-the-mud.

Am not.

You changed how you called Fallen.

I sighed, “Dee, I...” I wanted to ask what happened in that fight, but, really, part of me knew that that wasn’t the path to take here, “how are you feeling? Coming out of long term stasis is... Disorientating at the best of times, never mind straight into a fight.”

Her eyes crinkled in appreciation, but resumed their regretful look, “you want to know why I froze up, wasn’t going to fight? Don’t you?”

My mouth became a thin line as I looked away from the white mare before nodding just slightly.

“I’m the first successful framework trooper, the first operative, and, well, I was a bit rushed into service.” She sighed, “Project Lead Spellwright was obsessed with magical superiority over technology and, when he heard about the MWT anti-material rifle project, he just had to get his anti-armour option available first. The conditioning has always been a bit loose with me,” she looked back up at me, “probably why it’s so strong in the rest of you. Well, after the first couple of re-applications an override was written in, the will o’the wisp. It, well, it’s like some kind of trance, I don’t feel anything, I don’t really think anything while I’m under its influence, it just keeps telling me to fight.”

As she spoke she had drawn her legs up underneath herself and was glaring at the operative uniform, she let out a sigh and looked up at the two of us.

“I can trigger it myself, and I knew you needed me in that fight but, its, hard. To fight something like that...” tears were welling up in her eyes, “we lost, didn’t we? That’s what caused those things, right?” I nodded softly, “After everything we did, everyone we killed, all the harm we caused. It was all for nothing.”

I couldn’t say anything as she let her head drop to the blankets. Instead i flicked through my inventory and pulled out the box of snack cakes, offering one of the sugary treats to the mare, holding it in my mouth. She looked up, a small smile on her face, wrapping the packet in a telekinetic field,

“Conserve magic, deceive opponents, subterfuge, huh?”

I gave a shrug, and smiled a little as Door Knocker’s eyes widened the minute the treat went in her mouth, “200 years have only matured the flavour,” I said, passing one back to Neon Dream while I first drained one of the half finished health potions. Chasing it with a snack cake of course.

We settled down in the blankets strewn about the shelter and at Neon Dream’s request I turned on the radio for a while. Between the old crooners the DJ had a new announcement;

“Looks like our wasteland crusader from Stable Two is an equal-opportunity saviour. From the reports I’m getting, she and her companions helped out a bunch of raiders up at Shattered Hoof from being enslaved and decimated by an attacking slaver army.” Had the Stable Dweller hit her head in the train crash? I thought back to the gang of raiders I’d encountered with Peach Lemonade, can’t think they’d be worth saving, but the DJ continued, “and then, because you can’t have a cupcake without icing, she killed a dragon! Don’t know if I agree with you on this one, kid. Saving raiders? Some monsters deserve to be enslaved.”

Looked like the DJ and I agreed on some things.

“That some kind of serial?” Door Knocker was looking over at me,

Dee.

I sighed and started to reply, but Neon Dream got there first, “The Stable Dweller is some kind of hero out in the wastes. Righting wrongs as she comes across them.”

“And causing a few.” Neon Dream winced, recalling, as I did, the tale of Peach Lemonade.

“Huh, good to know,” Dee let out a yawn, settling her head down, “I know I only just woke up, but I need a sleep.”

“I’ll wake you for third watch,” I told her, settling my head down.

“Wait,” Neon Dream shot to his hooves, “what do you mean you’ll wake her?”

“Enjoy first watch Neon.” I said, setting Resolve down beside my head as I laid it down on the blankets.

“This’ll be coming outta your paycheck Razor.”

Author's Note

Thanks to kkat for creating this crazy mashup and letting others play around in it.
Thanks to Somber too, I may reference things from Project Horizons and Homelands here and there.

Chapter 11: Memento

“If you can feel your heartbeat, you're not done yet. You can’t be. On your hooves soldier, you're not spent yet.”

We were coming in hot, low down to the ground, as their wings strained in the flight harnesses the vertibuck strained almost in sympathy as it rushed to the mission, our second one of the night. I had been assigned to sabotage and clear another listening post, destroying all the equipment and neutralising the staff, which had been completed flawlessly. Upon extraction we had been contacted by Project Lead Spellwright and re-routed to assist two other operatives, 901 and 908 with their own mission.

They had been dropped behind enemy lines to disrupt a resupply point, to blunt the zebra’s advance in this sector, but it seemed that a zebra tank cohort had arrived unexpectedly looking for resupply. The short missive from 908 had identified it as the Ghost Cohort, the group commanded by the influential commander Velox Armoured-Storm and one directed so tightly and swiftly that oftentimes neither us nor the zebra themselves knew precisely where they were. With the disruption in plans, 901 and 908 were forced to ‘go loud’ as the missive said, and I was being redirected to complete their original goal while they provided a distraction.

As two ponies against a tank formation, no matter how depleted, time was of the essence.

The vertibuck hopped a rise and I saw the station and the crowd of zebra tanks circling just south of the buildings, trying to bring their sponson weapons to bear on their targets, but the flash of the tanks guns was countered by great gouts of flame.

I slid the side door open and tensed as we approached the huddle of buildings and crates that made up the supply point, the pegasi pilots on marginally pulling back their speed.

“Three, Two, One...” one of the pegasi called out, and they banked the vertibuck slightly, giving me a little encouragement before I let myself drop out of the open door.

I rolled with the impact, bouncing once on the loamy ground before digging my hooves in and trying to bleed off the speed, while aiming to take cover behind one of the supply crates.

It seemed like the other two operatives had at least made it inside the hastily constructed building before the tanks arrived, as it had clearly been bust open from the inside. Likely by a heavy telekinetic blast from 901. Slipping inside I found the outpost in shambles, everything was overturned, crates had burst open spilling their contents everywhere and near the burst out timbers were a set of hooves, bloodied stumps bound in red cloth.

Thankfully, though it was on its side, a zebra terminal was giving still giving off the flickering glow of an active screen. Righting it I tapped through the sequence I knew to break into the firmware, hunting for any information. Manifests, inventories, orders-there! Troop movements, largely to this outpost, but it showed where a number of divisions were scattered around the front. This was useful intel.
There was an extra note, that some prisoners had been locked here in the resupply point to be picked up by a courier from Roam. They had been picked up a fair way into the Zebra territory, last survivors of an expedition that had struck deep.

I cast my eyes around, no sign of ponies here. Not enough hooves for them to have been collateral in 901’s blast. My gaze did catch a cage though, the bars buckled and the door open. I guessed they got out.

I turned back to the terminal, staring at the intel, trying to burn it into my brain, to be retrieved later when I returned to a base.

A crackle of static caused one of my ears to flick around, my eyes following a second later and spotting the broadcaster sitting on the floor. It looked to be sturdy, military grade, though the design and the interface was distinctly pony in style, not zebra. Trotting over I scooped it up, noting the frequency range and giving the dials a little turn.

The display flicked through numbers before i settled on 140.85, our designated frequency. I looked for some kind of scrambler function, but failed to find anything. Lips pursed into a straight line I frowned. I gave three short transmission blasts, to indicate the line was not secure, then tapped out ‘9-0-9’.

A pause, then, “Line unsecure, routed via vertibuck. Report”.

“Mission complete,” I said briefly, “extraction requested”.

A pause, behind the crackling radio I could hear the guns and fire and impacts from my fellow operative’s fight. Control seemed to reach a verdict.
“Negative. Extraction too hot. Literally.”

The line went dead.

Looked like I had to lend a hoof to my fellow operatives.
Sneaking out of the shattered station I made my way towards the battle, trying to spot which tank was the commander. The cohort was weaving around, trying to encircle the operatives, but not end up in each other’s firing line. Without infantry support, they were having difficulty catching the two smaller forms, but it wouldn’t be long, even with their dented hulls and melted cannons.
One of the tanks was hanging back from the rest, weaving slower as it tried to survey the battle, the melted remnants of communication antenna sticking up from its hull. The commander.

I crept my way toward them, trying to move between patches of shadow and grass as I crossed the expanse, aiming to keep the tanks back pointed at me. The heat was perceptibly higher, drying my throat as I approached and clambered onto the tank as softly as I could, hooking my hooves onto a ladder added for just this purpose. Trying to keep steady I could see a hatch on the top of the hull, and a melted tube nearby, a periscope. If those inside wanted to see the top of the tank, they would have to come out.
Preparing my spell, I rapped three times on the hatch, and crouched back, visualising the space above it and judging where the occupant would be.

The hatch clanged open and a let lose my spell, the rippling air more visible in the fire-glow as it tightened around the neck of the zebra that had come up to check the knock. I had judged the gap a little poorly and a third of the silent blade bit into the hatch itself, scoring a deep line in the metal, but not cutting through. There was a grunt from the zebra, who spun around as locked eyes with me for a second.

The expression in those eyes was hard to read, partly surprise, anger and... resignation? They seemed tired, sunken and bloodshot. They flicked up, possibly to my cap, possibly to the sky above, before momentum caught up with them.

With a sickening squelch, the zebra’s head continued to rotate, spinning around the remaining strip of flesh the silent blade had not cut through, until it separated from the stump of remaining neck, blood welling up in a hot torrent.
As the head went one way, and the body dropped down, I noted what the zebra had been wearing. The usual commander’s helmet, with its signifying short, red mane bristles, wouldn’t fit into the confined body of a tank, instead this zebra was wearing a sloped cap with a symbolic stripe of red along the centre. The commander, Velox Armoured-Storm.

I could hear yells from inside the tank as the commander’s body dropped down and glanced up at the other operatives. 901 had a wisp of light floating by their head and was standing there, firing off blasts at the tanks surrounding them, but 908 was looking at me, her image wobbling through the heat haze. She seemed to be saying something. I squinted and focused on her lips.

Get. Down.

My eyes widened as the head haze intensified, the mounting pressure all around me coincided with the air temperature spiking. I ducked back down behind the hatch then, considering the size of it, let myself slide further along, back down to the ladder.

As I caught myself on the rungs there was a sound like a building growl, a herald before the blast that emanated from the other operative. The howl of a gale ripped through my ears as the wave of fire crashed against the body of the tank and rocked the solid machine. I hung tight to the ladder, hauling my hooves up and squeezing as small as I could to avoid the flames. The ground below me looked like lava, the sky was ablaze, and the ladder itself began to burn as the heat conducted through the metal beast.

Through the burning pain I held fast to my perch, enduring the heat, knowing that moving would be the death of me. The firestorm lasted maybe a few minutes, but felt like an hour as the rungs of the ladder burned into me and the air drew the breath from my lungs. Eventually, the flames stopped and died down, taking with them all sound it seemed, except for the light crackle of some remaining burning detritus.

I peeled myself off of the ladder, dropping to the still warm ground, bars of fire still burning in my legs and barrel where i had pressed to the hot metal. Looking back up at the tank I could see the open top hatch had bent and twisted, melted by the flames, and from the stench emanating from the hole in the top, I could guess what had happened to the crew.
Walking to the epicentre of the blast I found 901 and 908.

Or, what remained of them.

They looked like sculptures made from charcoal, pony shaped rocks frozen in a final burst of power.
With a lump in my chest I returned to the resupply point to pick up the radio again and gave the blasts on the frequency.

Three blasts. 9-0-9.

I was being shaken, pretty roughly, and there were voices calling for me. ‘Razor,’ one said, ‘New Guy,’ came the other. My mind was fuzzy, and I could feel the burns across me still, sinking into be flesh.

Hey, come on, up, up, upupup!

I’m getting there, I thought, just need-my eyes snapped open as yesterday bucked its way back into my brain.

“I’m up!” I yelled, “I’m up. What... What’s the situation?”
I found both Neon Dream and 901... Dee, looking at me, then Neon threw himself forward, wrapping his forelegs around me in a hug.

“You weren’t waking up,” he said with a sniff, “I’ve been trying for about half an hour, I woke Dee, and she couldn’t get you up either and you started shaking and,”

The other operative cut off the pegasus, “It was a little worrying, not gonna lie.”

I frowned, that dream, or memory, did seem to have run for much longer than the others, and lingered too, I rubbed the phantom burns on my side as Neon released me.

“I’m alright, just, bad dream. I think,” I looked up at Dee, seeing, momentarily, the carbonised statue from the memory, “Tank Cohort, Velox Armoured-Storm.”

Recognition bloomed in the other pony’s eyes, she gave a shudder, then a nod, “yeah, I remember that one. Up until the fire”. Turning back to Neon Dream she gestured to the piles of blankets, “right, lets get some sleep, if we can after that excitement.”

As the other two settled down I left the warm enclosure and stepped out onto the balcony, letting the cool night air wake me up. I thought back to the many flashes of memory I had seen in my dreams, at least I thought they were memory, but they didn’t all seem to tally up. Maybe this one was affected by whatever restrictions Dr Muse had lifted, maybe that was why it had been longer and, apparently, deeper.
I gave the horizon, and then the clouded skies, one last scan before I settled down to watch. Given the time we got here it now occurred to me that we might not get to third watch my morning, and checking the chronometer on the pipbuck seemed to confirm that. I shrugged, I would push longer through watch and let the others sleep.

Looking back at the pipbuck I saw a little blinking notification, hoofing over to it with the controls I saw new messages and files had appeared.

[Magical signature detected: FT-909. Files unlocked]
[Magical signature detected: FT-901. File unlocked]

The file was an audio message again, so this time I made sure to release the earbloom and put it in my ear before playing the file.

“Framework Trooper briefing number 1: Context,” Dr Muse’s accented voice filled my ear again, “I will be recording... Brief (?) notes about the project, and the individual operatives, for you Razor Wind. While you were given a grasp on the capabilities, I have some more... Un-clinical observations to note.”

I nodded, I did have some knowledge of each trooper’s skillset, but further info would be appreciated. This file was not quite that though

“I began my journey to the project from, shall we say, an odd starting point. I began the war at the Ministry of Peace, of all places,” she nickered sadly, “the Dr in my name is, nominally, medical. My training is in biology, anatomy, physiology, genetics and neurology, my expertise, however, is in memory. The Dr in my name is also for my PhD, a thesis on memory; viewing, extracting, modifying and potentially replacing memories. If you wish to be specific, in Horstrian parlance I would be Frau Doktor Doktor. I chose to spend my wartime helping, first in a medical capacity but as the war progressed, I found myself dealing more with cases of Wartime Stress Disorder."

It seemed an odd image to imagine, the august Erinnerung Muse talking gently to WSD patients.

I don’t remember her.

Shushing my rogue thoughts I let the recording continue.

“My skills and knowledge of memory magics saw me recruited by the Ministry of Morale instead. While I had done a lot of work with memory orbs, they wanted a way for non-unicorns to interact with memories. I led a joint team from the MoP and the Ministries of both Arcane Science and Wartime Technology that created the recollector technology, to better manipulate memories. That was where I first encountered the OIA as well.”

Made sense, with multiple ministries working on the project the OIA would definitely want to be involved. I recalled the recollectors from a hazy patch of my memory, they were used to debrief operatives post-mission. That was why I had stared so intently at the info in the terminal, so it could be extracted and transcribed later.

“I... Never inquired as to its use beyond its creation. Clearly it was going to be used by the MoM to extract intelligence, but the ethics of it, and my specialism, eluded me at the time. Now, however, I doubt that these ends justified the means.
My next step came following the death of Big Macintosh. He was seen as a hero, a great soldier and commander, leading his marauders to victory time and again and I thought that his sacrifice need not be in vain. As I said, I have some grounding in genetics and with my skills in memory magics honed with the recollector project I wrote a proposal. ‘Le Poulain Terrible’ to quote a book from Prance, the terrible children. A plan to create clones of Big Macintosh, raised isolated, artificially aged and given knowledge of combat via implanted memories. We could have had dozens of Big Macintoshes, an army of artificial ponies who could strike and fall in secret, sparing brothers and sisters and parents and children the pain of loss.”

When she said it with such conviction, Dr Muse’s plan sounded almost ideal, but what life would those foals have? Bred only to fight and die.

“The project was almost approved, though at the last minute an OIA operative stepped in and confiscated it. All my notes and proposals and evidence base, taken by this Dr Trueblood for his own secret project. But on the panel for my proposal was one Mana Magusavich Spellwright, who had his own project in the works and saw a use for my skills.
This was the Framework Trooper project, a combination of his own research into spells, my memory manipulation skills and the possibilities presented by the MoP’s Megaspell development. Why create and train clones when you could create an operative as a spell, built from arcane science, trained on memories and imbued into an existing pony. A better use for those traitors and insurgents the MoM was dealing with, or so I was told.”

Did... Did that mean I wasn’t... Real? Was I just a spell cast on a body? I stared down at the pipbuck on my foreleg as the file finished up.

“Each Framework Trooper is a carefully, mostly, crafted megaspell framework detailing their abilities, skills, training and memories that is applied to a pony, overwriting the host with the operative. The operative then feeds back into the spell framework, incorporating their experiences and memories and, after the first application, physical form into the spell, so that when it is reapplied, that same operative is continued.

What this means to you, Razor, is that you are a distinct, self-reinforcing, personality that while born from a spell, are an ongoing, self-developing existence. Philosophy aside, I at least believe you all exist as yourselves, and so I... Regret, everything I have put you all through. The needs of wartime drove us far beyond what we might have done under peace, but to what ends? We believed that if it would help end the war, then everything was justified, but now...”

She trailed off, leaving the answer unspoken as her accent thickened and voice wavered and in my minds eye, I thought could see her tearing up.

“Es tut mir lied, meine kinder, Dr Muse, signing off.”

I was left with silence as the file ended and I let the earbloom fall from my ear and retract back into the casing. I spent the next few hours in a bit of a fugue state as I processed what Dr Muse had said, one part of my mind tracking the erratic movement of a few bloatsprites down below, and twitching an ear towards the distant tubas that signified a spritebot. The sun had risen behind the cloud layer before I headed back inside, the warmth of the enclosed snug banishing some nights cold that had seeped into my coat. I found Neon Dream sprawled out across a blanket, but Dee had roused and was waiting for me.

“You didn’t wake me,” she said, head tilted questioningly.

I nodded, “I was... Thinking. And I already cut into your rest time.” I paused, “There was another message from Dr Muse. It... Well...”

I stopped, trying to find the words to explain. Instead I scooped out the earbloom and offered it to the other operative. Dee took the peripheral and put it her ear, listening to Dr Muse’s report. When it had finished she let out a sigh and returned the earbloom to my pipbuck.

“Ahh New Guy,” I frowned as she used her nickname for me and her eyes softened, “sorry, Razor, I’ll give you a little advice, as the oldest operative.” She paused again, “it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter how we came to be, we just are. Back then, that was the justification I used to get on with what we had to do. Now, we don’t have the mission, we don’t have the war, we’re just going to have to survive, and existential angst isn’t going to help with that.”

She put a hoof on my head, “I’ll admit, I’m jaded, I’ve been re-applied so many times I stopped getting too attached to my bodies, but you, you are still pretty fresh. Think you were only re-applied once.”

As she took her hoof away, I re-adjusted my beret with a frown, “and now? I don’t think we have the option to be ‘re-applied’ out here”.

A sad smile came to Dee’s lips, “then we are just like everyone else, we get one life to do what we want with”.

I was about to respond to that, but we were interrupted by Neon Dream letting out a big yawn as they woke up, their mane splayed out at odd angles giving a rare look at the whole of their muzzle. I looked back to Dee as Neon shook his head and at next glance his mane had fallen back into its usual concealing curtain.

How does he do that?

Magic? I guessed, with a shrug. Strange, unknowable inherent pegasus magic.

Breakfast was a quiet affair as I contemplated Dr Muse’s message, and Dee’s advice, while Dee stared at the 901 beret as she chewed on some of the supplies we had brought from Ditzy Doo back in New Appaloosa. Neon kept looking at the both of us between bites and I could almost hear the cogs whirring in his brain as he tried to interpret the mornings atmosphere.

Hunger kind of satiated, I pulled up Dr Muse’s map and scrolled over to the mark for Station 1.

She did say you could just call her Muse.

I feel she deserves a certain level of respect, she earned the ‘Dr’ so I’ll use it.

You just like people having ranks and hierarchy.

Stow it Private Rogue Thoughts.

Touché.

I shook my head a little, trying to get back on track, a glimmer of green and teal in the corner of my peripheral vision.

“Is there a problem with the route?” Neon Dream asked me, squinting at the display of my pipbuck.

I shook my head again, “no, just getting my thoughts straight. The marker on the map looks like its inside a mountain, there’s got to be a route in somewhere”.
Black and white slid into my other periphery.

“Where are you looking to go?”

I looked over at Dee, noting she wasn’t wearing the barding retrieved from the station. Or the beret. Just that flight jacket. I twisted my foreleg to show her the screen of the pipbuck.

“Station 1. On the last day Project-ahem, ” I paused, and gave a small cough before forcing myself to drop a word, “Mana contacted Dr Muse and directed her to Station 1. Given both of us, there might be a chance she is still there, in stasis. We should free her. What?”

Dee was grinning at me. I repeated the ‘what’.

“Someone is exercising free wiiiiiil,” she said in a little sing-song voice. Then the amusement dropped out of her face, “but, really, you’re going into another project Station?”
“I think he’s just wanting to check them all off a list.” Neon Dream chipped in from my other side, “you’ve done, what, two now?”

My head slowly swivelled to face the pegasus, bringing my glower to bear, “Neon...” I began, before he ducked away into his mane with an ‘eep’. I sighed and turned back to my fellow operative.

“Its really the only direction I’ve got.”

She sighed, and gave a shrug, “Ok RZ, we go.”

We packed up our meagre possessions and squared away the blankets, leaving one wrapped around our skeletal companion and their beans, before heading out to the upper gantry to be lifted down by Neon Dream. I noticed again that Dee was just wearing the jacket, looking back I saw the operative barding neatly folded in the corner of the room, topped with the beret.

“I want a clean break,” Dee’s voice cut in just behind my left ear, “like we discussed this morning, we’ve only got one life out here, and I’m electing to put my past behind me”.

It makes sense.

I know that, it just feels... Odd. Probably because I desperately needed that thread of belonging to anchor me. Still, I trotted back in and grabbed the beret, complete with cap badge, stuffing it into my saddlebags.

We said nothing more about it was Neon Dream gave us a quick descent to the ground below and, after a quick perimeter sweep, we returned to following the tracks, away from Canterlot and back towards Ponyville.

While I took point, Neon Dream trotted up next to me and whispered in my ear, “what was up with you two this morning?” I declined to comment, “it was really weird. Did you... Did you hit on her? Or something?”

I stopped in my tracks and craned my head around to look at the young pegasus, unable to make sense of the expression that had stamped itself on my face, and neither could he as he staggered back.

“what?” I started, but then Dee’s voice cut in,

“Oh yeah, definitely. He was chatting me up all night long”, my head snapped round to look at the grinning face of our companion and I half expected my pipbuck to flash a medical warning for whiplash, “RZ was all like ‘oh we only have one life’ and ‘oh there’s not many of us left’ but I was like ‘it doesn’t matter what bod I’m rocking...”
She pranced forward, swinging her rump from side to side to punctuate her words, “I only like mares.”

I stared at her, any words forming just becoming sputters as the red in my cheeks could surely be seen through my dark green coat. Dee turned her head back to look at the pair of us, flashing a smile.

“Joking.” She said, “Just joking. RZ needs to lighten up”.

We cannot let her meet Roulette!

I think that’s inevitable. Though, one question,

“RZ?” Neon Dream asked my question for me.
The white coated troublemaker gave a shrug, “I nickname ponies, it helps having short names. High Temp was always HT to me. Like CT, and FT,” she nodded at Neon Dream, “lotta ‘T’s now I think about it. And ‘W’s don’t work, so Stone Wall became ST. And now, you’re RZ.” She gave a nod of satisfaction and turned back around, resuming the march to Ponyville.

Grumbling I got moving again, passing Neon Dream and the goofy grin on his muzzle.

We retraced our route back along the tracks, coming back into sight of the Ironshod distribution centre which was still a hive of activity. The New Appleoosan train was back in front of the warehouse, ponies hefting crates onto the flatbed carriage. My mane itched and I looked up, spotting a circling griffon in some kind of body armour, one of the guards Roulette had mentioned in her negotiations with Railright. I dipped my head, encouraging our little group to press on.

“But what about” I cut off Neon’s protest with a look.

“not now, later.” I wanted to give the guard griffon no reason to come down and investigate us. He gave one last look at the warehouse, presumably trying to glimpse cream and red.

As we came up to Ponyville I halted the group, taking a quick sweep with the binoculars. While it had been deserted last time we passed, there was no guarantee new raiders hadn’t moved in. It looked clear from here, but given the ruckus we had missed previously, I wanted to look a little closer. I gave over the binoculars to Dee and snuck my way through the ghost town. No raiders around, but someone had definitely been through here, judging by the hoofprints. There were two sets, or, well nearly two as one of the ponies seemed to only be walking on three legs, they were also strangely deep, like the ones that made them were heavy.

Steel Rangers?

No, didn’t seem like it, the prints lacked the distinctive marks made by their anchoring cleats, these seemed smaller than power armoured hooves. Dainty almost. I shrugged, whoever they had been, they weren’t here now, though they had wandered off in a similar direction to where we were headed. Looked like they were headed to what looked like an apple farm on the hill, we, however, were falling back to the rail line and following that.
We hit a switching point and turned northwards, cutting across the route Neon Dream, Roulette and I had taken to reach the warehouse. The track we were following headed into the small mountain we had circumvented, the mouth of the tunnel visible in the distance. As was something else.

The hooks, chains and gore chic that seemed to characterise Raiders.

There was a cluster of them around the mouth of the tunnel, around some kind of barricade stretching the width of the tunnel, funneling anyone approaching into a single small entrance. As we looked, we saw that a group had approached the tunnel and were regretting their decision as as they sat at the points of a variety of sharp implements. Eight patchwork, leather strapped raiders were surrounding a group of about five other ponies who seemed laden with travel gear. One stallion was trying to block the raiders’ advance on the mares, two of them fillies, and seemed to have taken a few nicks from the rusted weapons aimed at them. I could see one of the mares, strapped up with a pack, slowly reaching for a holstered weapon.

Don’t you dare say-

No, it is the mission. We need to get by and,

“We need to protect those ponies,” Neon Dream was also observing through his scope, though I couldn’t see them, I could already feel his puppy dog eyes readying behind the ground glass lens.

I cast a look over at Dee, “not the mission?” she asked with eyes narrowed in a frown.

I shook my head, “no-” she seemed about to yell before I continued, “-our mission is to protect ponies”.

She flashed a grin then jumped a little as I tossed the binoculars at her, “we don’t have much time before this becomes a bloodbath,” I looked again at the décor, “possibly literally. I’ll push in close, try and thin the pack, but when I do, it’s going to go loud.” I quickly glanced between them,” you think they’ve made me, or they start for the civilians, you engage”.

A quick nod from them both and I started away, scrabbling down the slight incline and trying to make for some cover. I managed to slide in behind a crate of some kind, largely shot to pieces, but enough of the structure of it remained to shield me from view as I looked at the scene before me.

The raiders were in a loose horseshoe shape around the travellers, not completely encircling them, but leaving them no escape route, and were armed largely with melee weapons; bats with nails in, a large knife and a few big hammers (one of which had railroad spikes attached to the face).

That’s gotta be some real shoddy welding.

It’d be good enough to kill someone. One had one of those pipe weapons which, somehow, screamed automatic from the short barrel and long magazine. I doubted it would be able to cycle the whole magazine, but would rather not take chances. The last one, possibly the leader, was armed with a cut down hunting rifle held in a telekinetic grip. I presumed he had some telekinetic skill as using it would require him to hold it and cycle the bolt at the same time. Again, I doubted it, but didn’t want to take chances, he would be the first to go, shortly followed by the mare with the smg.

I could draw a bead on the riflepony, though the shot would pass very close to one of the traveller’s ears, but the smg mare was being blocked by the stallion at the front of the civilians. A pair of raiders with melee weapons, a hammer and a bat, were standing quite close together on this side of the group, close enough that I could probably catch them both in a horizontal sweep of a silent blade. But could I do both a blade and a shot at the same time?

I quietly hoofed the Operator from its holster, my pipbuck hud displaying the word ‘Memento’. It was Dr Muse’s Operator. The mouth grip felt a little strange with the gems inlaid into it, but the trigger felt just as light as any other Operator. I lined it up on the riflepony by eye as I reached out with my horn, preparing a silent blade, unlooping and flattening it out, ready to strike.

“Come on Longshanks, just pay your toll and the rest of you can go on your merry way,” the riflepony was talking to the stallion, his weapon floating menacingly, “its a cheap deal today, we only want one.”

“yeah,” one of the others, the one holding the knife, said, “one of the little ones.” They liked the blade held in a telekinetic sheath, staring at fillies that were cowering behind the mares’ legs.

Memories of Peach Lemonade and her cousin Rose snapped across my mind as my eyes narrowed, slipping into S.A.T.S. and targeting riflepony’s head, aiming at the convenient scabrous patch of lighter fur between his eyes.

As S.A.T.S. engaged, and I tongued the trigger of Memento, I released the silent blade as a horizontal plane, aiming away from the civilians. There was a tingle on my tongue as some kind of magic was mixed into the round as it left the barrel, striking the riflepony just below his horn. He was clearly dead the second the bullet struck, but with a ripple of magic his joints all seemed to lock up, like rigor mortis had immediately set in, and he did not drop to the floor, only his rifle. The other two however dropped like sacks of stones, heads tumbling after them, melee weapons dropping from their mouths. Their blood coated the floor, inching towards the hooves of the civilians.

There was silence for maybe two seconds before chaos exploded from both groups, the raiders yelling and the travellers screaming.

I had to move fast, and encircled the pointed top of a wooden stake in the ground on the far side of the group from my hiding place. The tip was sheared off, the dark, dried blood exploding in a shower of flakes which drew most eyes and gave me the opportunity to dash to another hiding spot, galloping to an overturned piece of scrap that looked like it had once been a train carriage.

These are definitely bogies.

Combat situation. You shut up.

I peeked my head around the cover, trying to track my other targets. The raiders were scattering, trying to spot where the attack was coming from, I could see the remaining bat wielder and the custom hammer pony sticking together going right, the mare with the smg had ducked behind a rock, making her harder to get a bead on and the knife wielder was kind of just standing in the middle yelling and swinging the knife around. A knife that was waving close to the paralysed fillies and the mare they were sheltering under.

I queued up S.A.T.S. and aimed for the knife wielder, with their head tossing about it was hard to get a great target, but anything in the head would be sufficient. Still, I stacked up two shots, just to be sure, and was just about to engage the spell when I spotted something in the periphery of my eye.

The last hammer pony had gotten the drop on me and was closing fast, having rounded the train car as I was evaluating targets. I tried to tag them for a shot as well, but I had already begun letting go of the spell and it had decides now was a great time to glitch.

Memento fired twice, but I’d been turning my head, so the shots went off course, one missing completely and the second tagging the target in the neck. That magic tingle was on my tongue again and I saw them lock solid, the magic sheath holding the knife vanishing. Unfortunately, the swinging knife kept its momentum, sailing over to the civilians and burying itself into the rear flank of the dull pink mare that was protecting the fillies.

I saw all of this in slow motion as I tried to turn to intercept the pony rushing at me with a hammer. The reduced pace of time, to my perception, gave me a moment to think. That hammer was coming in swinging and nothing was going to stop that, my only choice was really to try and get out of the way though my options were pretty limited. I grit my teeth and made my choice.

As my perception re-synched with real-time I finished my turn and pushed off, rearing back into the zebra stance and hoping the extra distance would bleed off some of the force of the swing. I’m not sure it did.

While the point the hammer made contact was one of the reinforced compression seams of the operative barding, the force still pushed into my barrel and almost in slow motion again i could feel the weight of that hammer, and the swing, press into my ribs. They did not endure that force, and I felt them snap like twigs, driving the breath from my lungs and knocking me backwards off of my hooves and out into the open.

The hammer pony gave some kind of gurgling cry from behind the haft of the hammer before they dissolved into sparkling red dust accompanied by a harsh buzzing noise. Neon Dream had engaged.

Wheezing I looked around again, noting eyes swivelling to look at me as I lay on the floor. I had managed to keep my teeth around Memento and so snapped off two S.A.T.S. enhanced shots at the first raider I could aim at, the second batter. A butter coloured mare once, now dull buff and matted with dirt, the raider had bullet holes in her ears and a nasty scar across her face which I noted seconds before two of the uncommon .45 IPC rounds punched through it. Again the body stiffened up, freezing in place and even seeming to tighten its grip around the handle of the bat.
I scrabbled to my hooves as I spotted the custom hammer beginning to charge towards me, the crushing pressure around my lung affecting my manoeuvrability as the hammer bore down on me.

Shoddy welds

I said

It won’t hold up to a solid strike

I threw up a silent blade vertically as the hammer swung, forming that split second shield just as the railroad spike approached, the hammer crashing into that suddenly solid plane of air. I felt an impact in the back of my brain as that energy dispersed. The hammer rebounded with the spike buckled and seemed to be held a little looser as the reverberations shook the wielder’s teeth. Giving my head a shake to clear it I looked back at the pony with the hammer who also seemed dazed, and vunerable. I whipped up Memento and put a round between their eyes.

I expected it to snap off...

I didn’t dignify that with a response as my ears instead picked up the click of a firearm being cocked and snapped my head around to see the mare with the smg standing by the entrance to the tunnel.

“Y’all can suck it!” she yelled before putting the grip back in her mouth and pulling the trigger.

Fire spat from the barrel and the mare just let the recoil thrash her head around, spraying the area with rounds. Everyone dove for the floor or behind any cover they could find as the mare indescriminately hosed the area.

Click.

From the expression on the mare’s face it seemed like an unexpected stop. The pipe gun had jammed. Everyone was still, with a groan coming up from the stallion who had been leading the travellers and had caught a round somewhere. The knife wielding pony that had been frozen since I shot them was still standing in the open and was now bleeding from a dozen holes.

The mare spat the gun from her mouth and turned tail, galloping for the tunnel mouth whilst yelling inarticulately before a high pitched buzz filled the air and a bright red line lanced out and pierced her throat. She collapsed to the floor, her breath whistling through the cauterised hole through her windpipe. I trotted over to her, holstering Memento as I stood over the mare.

She spotted me, rolling her eyes and spitting as she tried to yell obscenities without a larynx. I sighed, wincing against the pain in my ribs before triggering my spell and putting the mare out of her misery.

Turning back I ment to approach the civilians and assess their situation, check what medical attention they needed and find out how to get them on their way, however as I took a few steps towards the group I was halted by a sound behind me. Heavy hooffalls echoed from inside the tunnel, the sound of straining mechanics following close behind.
Out of the dark of the tunnel came a figure that made my heart sink. It wasn’t a Steel Ranger, but it had once been power armour, now stripped back to its basic frame and mechanics, though with the addition of some kind of pony shaped additions strapped to the outside.

Are, are those Fun-Farm animatronics strapped to it?

It was a raider, in power armour, armoured in animatronics.
“Dee?” I called out, stepping back,

No answer.

“Dee?!”

The raider kept coming, bloodshot eyes staring out from inside the armour.

I took a deep breath, fighting against the pain in my lung as I turned my head back towards the hill I had slid down from.

“DEE?!”

Author's Note

Author's Note:
Thanks to kkat for creating this crazy mashup and letting others play around in it.
Thanks to Somber too, I may reference things from Project Horizons and Homelands here and there.

Chapter 1: Awaken Operative

“The 900th Division doesn’t exist.”

“I’m telling you it does, it does. It’s just... Invisible.”

“Neun null... neun, Tikhiy S... S... Soldat Klinok, Awaken... Operative.”

The darkness faded, light growing to fill my vision, but something was different, the light was faded, I did not need to strain to prevent squinting.

The lid of the pod slid open, or at least it tried to. The mechanism ground to a halt before the pod was halfway open. My mind struggled against the fog of my stasis sleep as I reached out to the pod lid, straining to lift it up. I felt weak, barely able to get the lid any further. I pressed myself to the gap, squeezing my head through and twisting the rest of my body after it. I hit the floor with a thud, struggling to rise to my hooves.

It seemed like an age had passed, but slowly I was stood on my own four hooves. The light was indeed dimmer than I recalled, the walls faded but the door was still there, still shut. Shuffling my way across the room I pressed on the door and it, by some miracle, slid open.

“Sweet Luna,” I breathed, then almost repeated it in a sharper tone. The room beyond was in some ways worse off that the stasis room. The locker had fallen over, cracking the floor, while one of the lightbars in the ceiling now hung down from one end, dark and dead. Dust hung in the air.

My barding had spilled out of the locker, looking a little worse for ware with a layer of dust settling in the creases, but the beret was still tucked away inside, a little fresher looking. I pulled on the barding, which felt a little looser than usual, and perched the beret on my head, tucking my horn in behind the protective plate. The familiar uniform helped to calm me, focus me, start to feel more normal.

I noticed that the door was slightly ajar, slid along its track by maybe a hoofswidth, and that the room beyond was also dim. I set my shoulder to the door and heaved with my reduced strength, the door squealing in protest as it slid along unwilling tracks.

The third room was in tatters. Only one light was still working, the rest dead and blackened, with the dim illumination showing the cracked floor and missing ceiling tiles. The monitor was shattered and parts of the wall panels we peeling away. What had happened here? Had we been attacked? The Zebras had megaspell enhanced balefire bombs, maybe the facility had been bombed?

No. Do not Speculate. It is not important. It is not the mission... What was the mission?

I turned to the screen, dark, dead and shattered.

“FT-909-SBS Razor Wind.” I stated. Only then did I realise that I had not had to give my response to the voice. It had not addressed me since I awoke.

The panel below the screen was peeling away, the panel that contained my equipment. I tried to get in with my hooves, then my teeth, but could not get a purchase. I frowned then reached out with telekinesis to envelope the drawer and pulled back, the drawer following with a pained squeal but only opening a third of the way. I was able to retrieve my knife and with a bit of finesse I also retrieved the pistol. An Ironshod Firearms IF11-1S Operator with a suppressor, customised sights and a light tongue trigger. There was a magazine of ammo in the pistol itself, but I could not reach any extra ammunition. Storing my weapons in my barding I stared back up at the smashed screen.

What now?

I do not recall how long I sat before the broken screen, but it must have taken a while for my mind to even consider proceeding without a mission. Again, something tickled the back of my mind, like the hint of a memory long since lost. We had not always slept between missions, I was convinced there was a time where we had time outside stasis, where we would talk with other operatives, and base staff, and the project leads.

Project? What project?

No. Do not remember. It is not important. It is not the mission. I need a mission.

Don’t I?

Do you?

I frowned, I had to do something. Sitting in front of a broken screen would achieve nothing, I may as well be back in stasis. In the field, I could choose my approach, assess the situation and form a response. I could set my own mission. Right?

The mission... I needed to get out of the base, assess the situation. Locate the other Special Operations Unit bases and rendezvous with the other operatives. That sounded correct. With that decision I felt my limbs unlock and pushed myself up to my hooves, able to move with purpose over to the elevator door. Another heavy door that fought moving, but this time it may have been a blessing as I glimpsed the open elevator shaft behind the door. Not great.

Looking up and down the shaft I could not see anything in the gloom so, lacking any other light source, I pulled the beret from my head, tucked it under a band on my shoulder and lit up my horn. Green was never the best magic colour for illumination, but it showed me enough to spot the elevator car below the door, and the cracks of light from other busted doors above. I had an idea, not a great one but a serviceable one. Struggling with the door I managed to open it enough to squeeze through and wrap my forelegs around the cables connected to the elevator. Looking up, I could see the counterweight in the gloom above me and the light coming from the door at the top of the shaft.

Stepping out I gripped the cables with my hind legs and gritted my teeth. ‘Luna protect and guide me’ I thought, ‘Celestia light my path’. I was not sure this was a good idea, but with little other choice, I just had to have faith.

No. Faith was not important. Only the mission is important.

That’s really annoying.

What? That thought didn’t seem right. The coda was important, I had been taught it to keep focus, to keep my mind on the mission. Hadn’t I? I struggled to remember, to reach into the void of my memories. It was the project leads, they had taught it to me, I thought, to help me when I was new to the unit, to stop me getting distracted.

I shook my head, getting distracted was a danger right now.

I looked up at the counterweight again, then down at the cables below me, gripping tight and focusing. A glow surrounded my horn as I summoned up my spell, encircling the cables below me with the magic and firing it off. The cables squealed as the blade of air snapped into them, biting a slice from the braided steel. The cables in my hooves quivered and there was an ominous rumble from above, accompanied by a sprinkling of dust. I cast the spell again, biting further into the cables, dropping more dust on my head, coughing as it tickled my throat. One last time I cast the spell, invisible blades cutting into the steel, reverberating up the cable.

The cable creaked and squealed, the counterweight rumbling until there was an almost comical ‘ping’ sound as the steel gave way. Holding on with all four limbs helped with not having them torn out of my sockets as the cable broke and the counterweight plunged down the side of the shaft. I was hauled up, eyes pressed closed and legs gripped tightly to the steel, willing the cable to stay straight and not whip out and smear me across the wall. There was a crash below as the elevator smashed into the bottom of the shaft, throwing up a wave of stale air and dust. I felt my mane whipping around in the blast as the counterweight encountered the remains of the elevator. With a resounding crunch the counterweight stopped its fall and I found myself bounced as the cable stopped its climb. Cracking open my eyes I found my head was just above the threshold of the door at the top of the shaft, the hanger access.

Loosening my grip on the cable I raised one aching leg up the cable, hooking a fetlock around again before repeating the process with the other foreleg. Locked on once again I heaved with my forelegs, sliding my hindlegs up towards my barrel before gripping back on. I inched my way up the cable, trying to get further up the door before attempting entry. I tried to swing closer to the door, to try and get a hoof in the crack, but even at the apex of my swing I could barely scratch the door. Letting the cable slow I focused on the door with my magic, gripping it with telekinesis, a pressure building in my skull. It seemed like the weakness I had been feeling since I awoke was limiting my magic reserves, and telekinesis was never my strong suit, especially compared to some of the other operatives.

That I could not remember well.

How long was I in stasis? Was my memory usually this hazy? I didn’t usually try to remember previous missions, or experiences, or ponies while I was on a mission. I just... Focused on the mission. What had happened to me?

No. It’s not important, it’s not the mission.

It is important

Yes, it is important. However I’m still hanging in the middle of an elevator shaft. I shook my head, trying to focus, grabbing the door with telekinesis again and straining my horn to shove the door aside. It moved in fits and starts as I grit my teeth and magically shoved the door along its track. Holding the door open I began to swing again, gaining momentum as I oscillated between the door and the rear of the shaft, judging when I had enough momentum. I let go, flinging myself across the gap and through the open door, scrabbling with my hooves to get purchase on the floor. I pulled my hindquarters through the door and released my magic, though the door did not slide back nearly as fast as I feared.

I lay on the floor for a few moments, panting slightly as I tried to control my breathing. Looking around from my prone position I saw that the hanger was in as poor shape as the rest of the facility. There were great patches of darkness where lights had failed and the floor undulated like a giant had gripped one corner and flicked it like a bedsheet. The air seemed stale, with a hint of earth. Pushing myself to my hooves I trotted trough the hanger, aiming for the large shutter doors that led outside. I passed a number of vertibucks, most of them were shattered husks but one looked mostly intact. Coming to the doors I could see where the earthy smell was coming from, on the far right side the shutters had burst open and a deluge of dirt had slid in, the shutters buckled in other spots all along the width of the hanger.

I was entombed in the base.

We must have been attacked, but how would they know where we were, Special Operations Unit bunkers were supposed to be secret. An infiltrator perhaps? But how? Recruitment was supposed to be stringent, and with the project’s ties to the Ministry of Morale... Wait. What project? And the Ministry? Questions were leading me back to the hole in my mind again. I didn’t even remember being recruited. I didn’t remember what I even did before I was an operative.

No. Plumbing the depths of my hazy memory was not the mission. The mission was to get out of the base. Remembering could come later.

Better.

Yes, better. Wait. What? Never mind, get out of the base.

Walking back across the hanger I glanced at the crushed vertibucks and noticed a glimpse of white poking out from the wreckage. Trotting over I stared at the object for a moment before realising what it was. A bone. Clear of flesh and sticking out through the smashed canopy of the vertibuck. Glancing in through the hole I could see more bones, including the array that made up a pegasus’ wing and a lone skull staring out at me.

Again I wondered how long I had been in stasis for a dead pegasus to have been reduced to lonely bones. Though not that lonely I realised as I looked about the hanger, noting where debris had fallen and spotting some bones peeking out from some of the piles. I looked back at the pegasus in the vertibuck, noticing the spread of the bones, seeing how the pegasus had died trying to stretch their way out of the canopy, but their rear legs had been pinned by the crushed roof of the vehicle. Their hoof was on the floor by the vertibuck and I felt a compulsion to reunite it with its owner, placing it gently in the cockpit.

I gave a sigh and looked around the hanger searching for some kind of alternate exit, I didn’t think I could get back down the elevator shaft. Looking along the back wall I saw a few more elevator doors, one of which was an empty frame as if to taunt me. Frowning at the piece of architecture I pressed on and found a door more like the ones between the line of rooms I passed through. Sliding this back I saw a short hallway that led to a flight of stairs descending back down into the base. With a resigned sigh I pulled my beret from the shoulder clasp and set it back atop my head, drawing some sense of stability from the familiar accessory, then walked down the stairs.

Flickering lights guided my steps as I traipsed down the stairs, spiralling into the depths of the base. After about seven flights there was a landing with an open doorway, though the stairs continued down into the darkness. Stepping through the doorway I praised Luna for giving me a break as, attached to the wall was a map. Given it was stuck to the wall with ductape, though one corner had come loose, it must have been an unofficial addition, especially as it was likely a security risk. In the end, frustration must have won out over security as some pony got lost for the umpteenth time.

I took some time to study the map, the base was a series of rings spreading out as it went deeper into the earth with the hanger layer being the smallest. There was a layer that was made up of five corridors radiating out like spokes of a wagon’s wheel connecting up to a circular corridor enclosing them. The map labelled these as ‘Operative Storage’. That felt... Strange, like I was being treated as a piece of equipment. I also never realised there was a connecting corridor linking the stasis rooms, and that the base only held five rooms for operatives, meaning that the full unit could not be deployed from this one base. I frowned, there was the hole in my memories again, I knew that there were nine operatives, including me, but I couldn’t name them. Turning my attention back to the map I saw there was an emergency exit route out through an administration area. I peeled remaining corners from the wall, noting some kind of circular logo in one corner, and resolved to take the map with me to guide my progress.

I was on the mechanic’s level, designed to maintain equipment and fabricate parts. As opposed to the maintenance level, which was the deepest part of the base and held generators, water pumps and air cycling systems. From where I was, the barracks was below me, then the administration & operations level. Below that was ‘Operative Storage’ and that sat on top of a single large room labelled ‘Megaspell Framework Chamber’. So, I had two levels to descend.

My initial plan was to run straight to the emergency exit, bypassing any distractions. Once I reached the Admin & Operations level I made a bee line for the labelled exit, trotting down the main corridor and around a few corners before I reached the door marked with ‘Exit’ in glowing green letters. The door was slightly ajar and there was a skeleton slumped beside the door, a horn on the skull showed it belonged to a unicorn. There was a small hole in one temple, and a larger one nearer the back of the skull, with a discarded pistol on the floor a testament to the skeleton’s last act. It was only then I noticed the faded rusty-brown stain on the wall, surrounding a dent.

Frowning at the remains I pushed open the door and suddenly found myself sympathising with the corpse. Behind the door was a pile of dirt, where the escape route had collapsed, sealing the base.

I sat back on my haunches, staring at the mound of earth that filled the shaft, feeling numb. Had I awakened only to die down here? I suddenly felt some kinship with the skeleton in the corridor. I couldn’t say how much time I spent just sitting and staring. My mind had ground to a halt, just trying to process the situation and I didn’t notice that I had actually moved back out into the corridor. When I noticed that it wasn’t much longer before I realised I was cradling the skeleton’s gun in my hooves.

Was this my plan? Join this unicorn in death? It would be quicker than waiting for the air to run out, or to starve to death. It was not death in battle, or a peaceful retirement but it would be a way out.

Is that the mission?

No. It was not the mission. The mission was to get out of here. I needed more information. What had happened here? How do I get out?

The Admin level might hold some answers on at least one of those questions, so an exploration of the offices was in order. Half the floor consisted of blocks of cubicles, all fairly identical with desks and chairs and terminals broken up only with scatterings of personality now faded and peeling. A poster here, a figurine there, one had a stapler attached to the desk with heavy duty bolts and the word ‘MINE’ engraved on the top. Most terminals were locked, but I didn’t think there would be any illuminating information in the analyst and administration cubicles. The other half of the floor was an open room dominated by a bank of shattered screens with a few banks of equally dead terminals. I backed out of the operations room and turned to face the bank of offices, my last chance for answers.

‘Base Commander Mint-Ripple Fudge’ was the nameplate on the first door, which itself was ajar. Peeking my head inside I could see a skeleton collapsed on the desk, a second sprawled on the floor, their skull sprawled a little further afield. The terminal had several holes in the back of it, a dead end in more ways than one.

The next office declared it’s occupant to be ‘Project Lead: Dr Erinnerung Muse’ which sparked some recognition, but nothing definite.

Is that even a pony name?

There was a hole in the door that looked almost like a beast had taken a bite from the side, with a skeleton strewn across the floor before the door. Said floor was stained rust brown with dried blood. Looking into the office I could see the remains of a jury-rigged contraption, a sawed-off shotgun in a clamp with a dented metal device in the doorjamb testament to how the trap had been triggered. There were no other bodies in the office, and the back wall was lit with the green glow from the desk terminal.

Tap. Tap. Tap. I may not have magic computer skills, I was not 905 after all, but I knew the basic workaround to get into a terminals BIOS root and try and pick out a password from junk. Two tries, find some little bugs that could reset the counter or clear incorrect answers, try again, back all the way out, go back in. Repeat. It only took the two cycles, thankfully. The password was ‘Medical’ for some reason.

Inside was a number of after action reports, some notes on theoretical magic, megaspell framework equations, a folder labelled ‘FT Review’, some messages and some audio recordings. I opened the folder out of idle curiosity, seeing a selection of files sorted by operative, selecting one of the ‘909’ files.

‘909 has stabilised well, which makes it a greater shame that they had to be included in the mass failure-reset. I think the adjustments made to the framework have been a success, even on a subject that was, if I am honest, hurriedly selected.’

That... Wasn’t particularly illuminating. And I suspected the rest of the reports would be similarly useful. I parsed down to the audio recordings and selected the first one in the list, pressing the enter key to play it.

“Enter,” came an accented voice, followed by the sound of a door opening and somepony trotting through, “yes?”

A second voice sounded, “I vanted to speak to you, to velcome you to zeh project. You haf come a strange route to zeh Ministry off Arcane Scienze.”

“’Zat’ is the worst Stalliongradi accent I have ever heard Mr?” the first speaker, a mare I thought, responded, her own voice holding some inflections of an accent,

A deep chuckle came from the other party, a stallion by the sound of it, “It comes and goes, I thought you might appreciate a welcome from someone as enamoured with their own culture as you were.” The voice now spoke in a much more normal Canterlot Standard accent, though some hints of rough Stalliongradi could still be found under the surface, “After all dorogoy, you keep your name, Erinnerung. Its Horstrian, correct?”

“Yes, it means ‘Rememberence’. And you are?”

“Mana Magusavich Spellwright. Welcome to Project Ramochnyy Soldat Remeberence.”

The mare’s voice was formal and steady, but carried an amused undertone, “Surely it is Project Rahmen Soldat? Or shall we compromise with Framework Trooper? And just call me Muse.”

“Maybe the Canterlot Standard will keep everyone happy. Have you met our OIA liasions yet? I think we’re crossing over three or four ministries with this little project.” The stallion, Mana, said with a couple of hoofsteps carrying him out to the door, “I’ll let you get settled in, then we can go over your ideas. The ones relevant to this project anyway. Auf wiedersehen Muse.”

“Do svidania Mana.” There was a sound of the office door swinging shut, “end recording and save, prepare to record next meeting.”

Some insight into the project leads at least. Interesting that both were members of cultures within equestria that held tight to some of their own culture rather then fully blend in. Still didn’t help me get out of here. My third roll of the die was the messages, and this time I picked the last one.

To: Erinnerung.Muse

From: Mana.Spellwright

Subject: Salted Earth

Muse, it’s all gone to Tartarus in an applecart.

There’s been some kind of strike on Roam, something separate from the back channels, a rogue operation maybe. Their response is already in the air, and it’s big. We’ve got maybe half an hour before the balefires burn out that list of targets. I had my selection of operatives working on launch sites, along with others, including the MOA, so there’ll be less bombs, but it’s not nearly enough.

We can’t risk the project falling into zebra hooves in a follow up push, and station 5 is right near the front. I’m enacting Salted Earth protocol on station 5, but I need you back here.

OIA has engaged some kind of hit list, we can’t be left hanging in the breeze, sil’ny stark right? Strong Together.

There’s a secret escape shaft. Get the key from my desk, taped to the inside of the bottom drawer then go to maintenance. Air pump 3 is a fake, behind the access panel is a way out. Meet me at station 1.

Sil'ny stark dologoy,

Be swift.

Mana Magusavich Spellwright

P. S. I know you hate that pipbuck, but it’ll be more useful on your leg than in your desk drawer.

This was what I was looking for. The mission was still on track, I was going to get out of here. Curiosity held me though, and I caught the handle of the desk drawer with my hoof, sliding it open. Sitting inside was a black cased leg mounted computer. A Pipbuck. One of stabletech’s miracles of technology. At some point, I was going to determine why I knew things, but not how I knew them.

It’s common knowledge. Though this one looks different.

I strapped the device to my leg and switched it on, watching the screen glow to life with a cool teal display. The same colour filled my vision as a compass resolved itself at the bottom of my peripheral vision. The screen displayed a little animated pony with the words ‘Pipbuck model Sigma – custom BIOS OIA-Framework 6.2’ which meant next to nothing to me. I was more interested in the text that scrolled by reading ‘welcome back Dr Muse’. Turned out there were files and recordings on the pipbuck too.

Pausing briefly back in the corridor I considered checking Project Lead Mana’s office, but as there was no sign of Project Lead Muse in her office, I reasoned she would have already claimed the key and made her escape, therefore there was little else that could be gleaned from the Stalliongradi pony’s office. Except maybe his regional pride. From the hallway I could see a large banner across the back wall of the office bearing the spread phoenix emblem of Stalliongrad.

Shaking my head, I returned to the stairwell and began to descend once again. Round and round I walked, the ‘tok, tok, tok, tok’ of my hooves on the steps the only sound. I started to drift away again, hypnotised by the unchanging environment and the steady beat of my hoof falls.

Where is everyone?

Dead I presumed. I had seen enough bodies around to get that. Some having died in the landslide of some sort that buried the base, some to unfortunate firearm related incidents.

That can’t be everyone, right.

I wasn’t sure, I had never seen that many other ponies around the base, just in the hanger.

Because you only went from stasis to hanger and back.

True. Or, not? I was sure I could remember being around the base, socialising with base personnel and other operatives. But, again, trying to latch on to those memories led to the hazy hole in my mind. For instance, I knew there was a commissary on the barracks level, while I could have got that from the map, I somehow just knew that the sparkle-cola machine in the far corner would stick almost every time, requiring a good hard buck if you wanted your bottle.

I broke from my reverie when I nearly walked into a wall. I had reached the bottom of the stairwell and, still running on some kind of auto-pilot, turned again to continue descending. I rubbed the back of my head in embarrassment, not that there was anyone around to see me. Shaking off my daze I turned back to the corridor into the maintenance area and pulled the map from where it was tucked under a strap on my barding. I didn't want to wander a maze of pipes and cables blindly, so spread the map out on the floor, looking for the air pumps. Down the corridor, left, left, right, end of the hall, middle hatch. Got it. Map rolled back up and tucked away I marched my way to my destination. All about me was the hum of generators, though I could see a few parts where the lights had died, leaving dark black expanses deeper into the machine maze. I guess I was fortunate that these generators and air pumps were hardy enough to continue working without maintenance.

‘Air Pump 3: Maintenance Access’ was stamped on the hatch, with a simple handle at the side of the panel. I gripped it with my teeth and gave an experimental tug, rattling the panel in its frame. For a moment I was worried that it had been locked again and I was truly trapped in this tomb. But I tried turning my head and the handle twisted, popping the panel open with a click and letting it swing back out into the corridor. Behind the hatch was a large square of corrugated material, a filter. I frowned, Project Lead Mana had said this was a fake pump, so why did it look very real?

There was a small gleam at my hooves and I looked down to see a small key on the floor. Switching my gaze up to the filter I saw a small circular keyhole on the edge of the frame. Picking up the key in my hoof I manoeuvred it into my mouth and placed it into the lock.

You do insist on doing things the earth pony way, don’t you?

Conserve magic, deceive opponents, subterfuge. Why was I questioning this?

Giving the key a slight twist, I found half the filter panel swinging back out towards me. It hadn’t been locked, just pulled closed. I looked back at the access panel, not noticing any way to open it from the inside. Did I want to come back here? Possibly. It was the closest thing I had to a home, and besides I might need to return if I found nothing at Station 1, wherever that was. I left the access panel open, and the filter. I did shove the key into a pocket though, who knew, maybe it would work in other Stations.

Behind the filter door was a ladder. A long ladder. I was at the very bottom of the base and would have to climb this ladder to the surface. I let out a sigh, it couldn’t be easy.

No. No wishes, no grumbling. It’s not important, it’s not the mission.

I started to climb.

Once again, I was lost in the repetition. One leg at a time, forelocks over a rung, hindhooves onto another. Pull, push, swap, pull, push, swap.

I remembered something from before the war. A film about a special ops soldier left in the jungles of the zebra lands, forced to eat meat to survive. There was a strange focus on snakes in particular. Following the trail of a mad centurion he had to climb up to a clifftop base and, for some reason, the filmmakers insisted on a scene of the soldier, an earth pony, climbing a long ladder while the theme music played.

While I couldn’t remember said theme song, I could certainly empathise with the soldier’s climb.

It felt like I had been climbing for hours. With the atrophy I had clearly experienced in stasis it was hard going, and by the time the top of the ladder was in sight my limbs were burning with the effort, my chest was heaving as I tried to keep my breathing regular and I had slowed to a crawl, forcing each limb up one at a time. This was not an escape route for general use, this was for determined and desperate ponies. I finally came to the top of the ladder, inching up the last few rungs and sliding myself across the flat ground at the top. Panting, sweating and burning I simply lay on the ground for a while, a fine example of a highly trained operative. Catching my breath, I pushed myself to my hooves, wobbling only slightly as I walked away from the ladder. If I was coming back, I could only guess at how going back down would be.

There was a short hallway that curved to the right before ending a series of stairs up to a door in the ceiling. There were a pair of buttons beside the stairs, green with an upwards arrow and red with a downwards arrow. I hooved the green button and stepped back as some system gave a hiss and the ground rumbled overhead. The doors in the ceiling opened upwards and a surge of air pressed down on me. The smell was odd, woody yet slightly burnt and with a slightly rotten component, but it was fresh, not recirculated.

I walked up the stairs into the open air.

Mission completed.

Now what?

Author's Note

Thanks to kkat for creating this crazy mashup and letting others play around in it.
Thanks to Somber too, I may refernce things from Project Horizons and Homelands here and there.

Chapter 12: What do you want?

What do you want?

The second Key Question

Situation? A huge raider was approaching fast. Or, at least, as fast as a raider improbably wearing power armour could. Also, my anti-armour specialist was MIA.

Options? Sniper support? There was the harsh buzz of a magical energy weapon discharging, a red beam lancing out and striking one of the smiling heads that were bolted onto the stripped down frame. While it melted a hole in the metal face, it didn’t do much to stop its advance. What else? I had an Operator with one round left, and a spare magazine, but I knew it wouldn’t punch through, similarly, while I had used Resolve against the Steel Rangers, it had very much been an encounter swung by luck. That and while that gun seemed unreasonably accurate, there was not even a small glazed visor to aim for, the eyes of the raider were hidden amongst animatronic faces.
I had my spell but, again, my experience with the Steel Rangers wouldn’t match up accurately to this bout as the key components I had targeted then were either obscured or missing here.
What else?

I glanced down at my pipbuck, the display showing a medical warning about my broken ribs and damaged lung. Did I have anything else to draw upon?

Yes. Actually, I did. I thought back to my exploration of Station 2 and brought up the inventory management screen on the pipbuck, sorting a recently acquired weapon to the top of my saddlebags. Swinging a hoof back I fished it out and transferred it to my mouth, biting down on the unfamiliar grip.
It smelled of gun oil and the darkened steel felt a little different to that of the Operator, as did the trigger, sitting heavy on my tongue.
I brought up S.A.T.S. and focused around the armoured form, seeking a weakpoint. No, no, no-there! Stripping away parts had left areas usually covered by flexible seal exposed, and one point was also unguarded by fun-farm animatronics. I keyed in and executed the spell, the heavy pull required by the double action being assisted by the aiming magic.
The Nag had a kick but, as the cylinder pressed forward, the loud bark of the big round was dampened down to something a little quieter than Resolve. The bullet crashed into the exposed gearing at the raider’s ankle, knocking the whole foreleg back, though the support provided by the rest of the power armour kept them on their hooves.

The howl of anger that issued from the head of the armour was proof of some sort of effect. A click from the raider preceded two smgs swinging out from a resting state and, as the raider forced their leg back down, the guns barked out a swarm of bullets.
The ache in my chest grew as I threw myself sideways, out of the stream of lead, hoping the raider would follow my path. They did indeed seem more interested in chasing me down, rather than just spraying and praying like their fellow had been. Which was good. But the trail of bullets chased after me like a swarm of angry wasps. Which was bad.
I rolled to my hooves and tried to circle around the armoured raider, noticing the rusted spikes mixed in amongst the animatronic parts, and noting that it was entirely faces that had been used as armour, metal pony faces in a variety of colours staring at me from every angle. Some even had those spikes jutting out of their empty eye sockets.

Talk about glaring daggers.

Combat time! Quiet!

The bulk of the armour meant that the raider couldn’t turn quite as fast as I could circle them, and there was only a little bit of pivot in the gun mounts. But I could only circle for so long, the crushing pain in my chest slowing me down and my breath coming in ever more ragged gasps as I exerted myself. I needed a way to bring this beast down. I tried to think, tried to remember any briefings about power armour. With Zebra robots the standard solution for us had been to take down the remote operator, or Shaman as they called them, given we would be behind the front. Behind. A memory surfaced, if you had to take down something like this, without anti-armour support, you had to shoot the core.

I put on a burst of speed to bring myself directly behind the raider and swept my gaze across the armour’s back, looking for where the magical spark core would be housed. Unfortunately it seemed like the extra armour was still serving its purpose as welded over the generator pack was a glowering metal pony face. I fired the Nag at it, punching a hole clean through, but with no idea whether I’d done any damage whatsoever.
My eyes narrowed in both frustration and pain and, pushing through it, I summoned up a brace of silent blades, hammering them into the weld lines where the animatronic face met the armour frame. The grumpy metal pony face went flying off and revealed the glow of the exposed spark core, humming with power. As I tried to draw a bead on it there was a whine of actuators and the armour went rigid, tensing like the muscles of a live pony.

There was a hiss of air, and possibly some kind of ‘sproing’ sound as the heavy armoured form leapt straight up in the air, rotating to face me and dropping the angle on the attached guns. I very nearly dropped my jaw, and my gun, to the floor before throwing myself up onto my rear hooves then backwards to escape the falling hunk of pony and steel. It felt like there was a shockwave in the air as the raider crashed back into the ground, and definitely a rumble in the dirt that threw me back to the floor. The dust kicked up by the impact obscured my vision as I dragged myself back to my hooves.

As the dust cleared I could see the raider standing in a small crater, tossing their head back and forth, trying to spot me. I took the opportunity to launch more silent blades at the gun mounts, trying to sever them from the rest of the frame, but ended up taking chunks out of all the surrounding clutter. The mass of armour and spikes and faces clomped its way up to me, guns aimed but not firing, and then reared back on its hind hooves, letting out a strangled howl from inside its casing as it prepared to bring those heavy hooves down on me.

There was a buzzing through my ears, and a lance of red lit up the still clearing dust, burning into the spark core on the back of the armour. Magic can have a distinct smell, depending on who uses it, and industrial magic, that of spark power and household convenience, had a tendency to smell like the passing of rain, the smell of the ground after a storm.

Petrichor.

But only when it leaked out of containment.

I wrenched the Nag from my mouth with telekinesis as I bellowed at the top of my lung,

“GET DOWN!”

Scrambling towards the barricade I could feel the heat of escaping spark power as, out of the corner of my eye, I could see the raider turning to look in the direction the lance of magical energy came from.
It hadn’t been that long since I’d felt that wave of magical energy from the Silverpone’s face gun broil the air above me, but I felt like I was reliving it as the spark core of the armour detonated, bursting a bright flare of energy from the raider’s back, and towards me.
I didn’t reach the barricade, I couldn’t. I snapped my head around to try and find any cover to put between myself and the magical inferno rolling towards me.

Ground!

What? How?

Grab it, lift it, move it!

Grab? I focused on a patch of hard, dry ground between myself and the fire, trying to dig telekinetic grips into and around it, to pull a dirt barricade from the very earth beneath me. A flare of orange magic coated the ground, the overglow from my horn lighting up my hat as I heaved with magic, pulling a wide triangle of dirt up between me and the fire. I threw myself against the solid earth and curled up into a ball as the fire struck my barricade, breaking on the point of the shape and sweeping past me on either side. Once again, the sky was ablaze and the heat stole the air from my working lung as I endured the fire for another of the longest minutes I could remember.

Silence filled the air and my heart sank, had my warning been too late? But then there came the cry of a child, the break in the tension and the end of the life-or-death situation finally opening the floodgates of emotions. Extracting myself from behind the baked solid column of earth I stepped up towards the form of the power armoured raider, still standing, but eerily still.
They had turned to face Neon’s perch, and had frozen in place, the back of the armour burst and melted, rivulets of steel having flowed away from the spark core and then re-solidified, freezing the explosion in time. I had fished the Nag up from the ground on my way over and, holding it in my mouth and tasting the residual magical energy, I approached the armour cautiously. As I pressed in close, I cocked an ear towards the raider and could hear a rattling breath from inside the armour.

The occupant breathed. Once. Twice. A third intake, a rattling exhale and then, silence.

I wanted to be sure, and used the silent blades to cut away at the armour seams, the ejection systems having been one of the things ripped out of the frame. I used my telekinesis to pull ruined machinery off of the raider, green magic grasping and peeling the scrap apart until the body inside flopped out of the ruined armour.

It was a stallion, though only just. They looked young, though their flesh was marred with scars and sores and as their head lolled sideways, their mouth opened and showed that their tongue had been removed. They had a cutie mark, still visible on their flank, of a screwdriver, albeit a screwdriver with a bone as the handle.

I shook my head and stepped away, looking first up to the hill to give a nod to direct my companions down, and then to the cluster of travellers as they too stumbled out from cover. The stallion was bleeding from two bullet holes, one in his flank and one through his left ear, and one of the mares still had that knife stuck in her. The two fillies, thankfully, seemed unhurt, at least, physically. A shadow passed overhead announcing Neon Dream joining us, with a scrabble of dirt heralding Dee’s arrival. I turned to look at my fellow operative, glaring as she at least had the good grace to look a little sheepish. Glancing back at the civilians I swallowed my anger for the time being.

“They need medical attention,” I told her, “get extra supplies from Neon and see to them, I’ll get our pegasus to keep watch from the skies”.

She cocked her head a little, “you, uhh, you also need some medical attention”.

I waved her off before walking over to the travellers, I could wait. The dark red blood had merged with the magenta of the stallion’s coat as he lay on the ground, trying to calm his breathing, still covered in the nicks and scrapes where the raiders had toyed with him. One of the mares approached me, the one that hadn’t been stabbed and signalled me with a hoof, tossing her scarlet mane and trying to guide me back to her fellow traveller. The one with the knife stuck in her.

“Thanks Scarlett,” she said, before looking up at me. “who are you and what do you want?” she asked, looking stern. I noticed she had unholstered her firearm and had it near her hoof, “we don’t want to go from one encounter to another, but if you so much as breathe on those fillies...”

I held up a hoof, “I am Operative Neun, Equestrian Military, 900th division. We mean you no harm.” There was a pause, and both our eyes drifted to the knife sticking out of her flank, close to a cutie mark of a hammer. I winced slightly, absolutely because of my lung. No other reason.

“Equestrian Military? All of you?” she cast her eye over the other pair as Neon Dream took to the sky, “was there some sort of military stable we didn’t know about?”

I gave a small shrug, “Something like that,” I said, “what are you doing out here?”

“we were trying to get through the tunnel, out to Shattered Hoof. It sounded like Gawdyna Grimfeathers is putting together a settlement out there and Stone Rhyme over there though it might be a chance for us to set up.” She indicated the stallion that was in the process of being tended to by Dee, “we’ve been at a bit of a loose end since we left the Stable.”

“Stable?”

“Doesn’t matter now, it’s...” she paused, “well, it’s gone now. Dead. Nothing left. I got us out before everything went wrong.” She looked over at the stallion, Stone Rhyme, again, “is he going to be OK? Stoney’s brave, but he’s not a fighter.”

“He should be.” I looked down at my pipbuck, pulling up the map and looking for this ‘Shattered Hoof’. Turned out it was near the rail junction settlement I had spotted Roulette spying on. I showed the mare the map,

“look here miss...” I trailed off, “Marble,” came the response, “Marble, there’s an alternate route around that should lead you to this Shattered Hoof. I came down that route recently and it was clear of any raiders. That might be a better path for your group.”

Marble thanked me as Dee wandered over, followed by Stone Rhyme. A smile spread across her face as she looked over at the other pony, with a cry of ‘Daddy!’ coming from the two fillies that had been sheltering with Scarlett, who proceeded to run over to the stallion. I quirked an eyebrow, one of the fillies looked like Marble, but the other had a dark red mane, like Scarlett sported. I looked over at Marble, who rolled her eyes,

“look, the thing between Stoney, and me, and my sister, it’s, its a long story, Stable thing, ok?” she said in a tone that she’d had to explain this situation a few times before.

I shrugged, and winced, it wasn’t really relevant to the mission at hand. I asked her a little about the stable, and what they had been doing since they left, giving a small nod. Marble started explaining the basics of their stable then, suddenly, let out a screech of pain.

“Drink.” Dee pushed a healing potion into her mouth, holding the bloody knife with her telekinesis, having grabbed it out while I distracted the mare. Marble glared her own daggers at the both of us as she drank the potion, waving away her concerned looking companions.

“And you,” Dee waved half a potion at me, but I shook my head, “not now,” I rasped.

With the wounded healed, I gathered up the travellers and outlined their route through the pass and on to the junction settlement, and Shattered Hoof beyond it. They thanked us, well, all except Scarlett who just nodded and waved with a smile on her face. As they gathered up their packs, Neon Dream landed beside us.

“All clear out there,” he said, giving the fillies a little wave, “what’s going on?”

“This group are trying to get to Shattered Hoof, near where we met up with Roulette,” a small smile tickled the corners of his mouth, “we’re sending them the way we came down.”

“Makes sense,” he nodded, “everyone fine?” he asked

“Except for RZ,” Dee chipped in, but I waved her off again.

The travellers turned away and began their march out to the pass, the fillies waving and calling and giggling as they went. I watched them pass out of sight before rounding on Dee.

“What, under Luna’s stars, happened?” I glared at the white mare, “you are our anti-armour support, there-” I gestured at the remains of the armoured raider, “-is somepony in moondamned power armour, where was your support?!”

“R-Razor?” Neon started, but Dee cut him off, “lets get one thing straight here RZ, you are not my commander. I am done with the military nonsense.” She stomped towards me, “look around, there’s nothing left, war’s over, what are you doing?”

“I’m doing what I can,” I spat, “If you’re not going to fight, why did you even come with me? If you’re done, why not just walk away? There’s no coming back for us, but you were willing to just watch me die?!”

Her face was in my face, only our horns preventing her from pressing her muzzle flat against mine, “I wasn’t intending to watch you die! Any more than you intended to watch me die at that supply depot! I just... Just...” her eyes filled with tears, “I just can’t do it anymore Razor, I can’t. All I know is killing. Killing and dying. I.. I just... ”

She slumped down onto her haunches, “I just, don’t want to be a weapon, pointed at the next target, and the next, and the next. I want to live a life,” her eyes hardened again, “so why are you so determined to make me one? Why are you so determined to be one? What do you want?”

Neon tried to get in between us, “g-guys, please,” he said as I glared over his head,

“Because its what we do, its what we were made for,” I felt my own eyes watering, voice wavering as thoughts that had been living deep in my mind began to surface “and, its the only thing I can do. This... mission, these stations, the uniform, its all I have to stop myself from falling down this empty hole I have in my mind.” I tapped my head with a hoof, wincing from the pain in my lung, realising I was getting short on breath, “I don’t have family,” I gestured in the direction the travellers had taken, “I don’t have any other skills, and I don’t want to just lie down and die when I’ve just got the opportunity to live!”

Dee flung herself at me, forelegs wide and I began to rear up, preparing for impact, tensing muscles for a hoofstrike, only to find myself encircled in her forelegs and crushed into a hug. Dee’s messy mane filled my vision and her head pressing against mine threatened to spill my beret from its perch.

“Don’t be silly,” she sobbed, “you’ve got family. You’ve got Neon, and you’ve got me.”

I gasped, partly at her words, and partly from the pain of having my already injured lung crushed further, “Dee!” I rasped, “too tight!”

She dropped me like a sack of apples and I fell to the floor sucking on air and coughing as my lung failed to expand properly.

“Luna damn my hide,” Dee fished that half drunk healing potion back out, “Some big sister I’m being”.

I gulped down the healing draught and inhaled deeply, trying to push my lungs and ribs back out to encourage them heal in a somewhat normal position. The pain rippled through my barrel as I felt the bones knit back together, and the blood in my lung get condensed into a dense packet of phlegm, ejected from my body with a series of hacking coughs.

“I-” I coughed a little more, looking up at my fellow operative, the oldest of us, “I won’t make you fight, but... But I need you to watch our backs”.

A green coated foreleg swept towards me from the corner of my vision, “we could probably do with a medic,” came Neon Dream’s voice. I nodded in agreement,

“That could work. Would that work?”

Dee nodded, “yeah, I think so. I think I could do that”.

I raised my hoof, “though, one extra thing,” Dee tilted her head quizzically, “might still need you to punch through structures”.

She frowned a little, then closed her eyes. After a moment she let out a sigh, “Ok. Ok. I can still knock on doors for you.”

Our emotions vented, and our expectations realigned, we decided to scour the raider camp for anything useful. “OSP,” Dee said in a sing-song voice, “what is with you guys? ” Neon Dream called back, “it’s just looting.”

I chuckled at his exasperated tone and set about seeing what was of use to us. I decided that now was a good time to listen to another one of Dr Muse’s logs that had been unlocked and slipped the earbloom into my ear, playing the file. Dr Muse’s voice filled my ear as I worked,

“Framework Trooper briefing number 3: FT-901. Their Full designation is FT-901, Anti-Armour Soldier, Door Knocker. As the first successfully implanted Framework Trooper, 901 was a milestone for both the project and in the fields that made up our research: spell development, memory implantation, megaspell frameworks and so on.” The mare gave a sigh, “that fact that it was the 9th iteration should tell you how much trouble we had succeeding, and Luna will damn me to Tartarus for what happened to the first 8 implantees.”

The power armoured raider had expended all the ammunition for their weapons, or it had cooked off in the firestorm of the spark core’s containment failure. That same fire had also melted the guns themselves to slag so there was no retrieving those either, in fact there was nothing of value to be found on that raider, no ammo, no caps, no personal effects of any kind.

Dr Muse continued her dictation about Dee, “901’s embedded spell is a high power, concentrated telekinetic burst, intended by Mana as a way to counteract Zebra tank and robot armour without relying on, in his words, ‘dirt pony bells and whistles’.” She seemed to spit the quote out, some distaste on her tongue for repeating it, “We had knowledge that Ironshod Firearms was working on an anti-material rifle for the MoWT, and Mana had us rush to ensure our option was completed first. Apparently, the initial idea had been to build an anti-armour pistol, that could be issued as a sidearm allowing any soldier a chance against tanks and robots, however it was concluded that to be effective, any such pistol would have to be fired practically knocking on the door of the tank. I think Mana named 901 ‘Door Knocker’ to antagonise them.”

The smg dropped by the fleeing mare was intact, and cycling what passed for a bolt un-jammed the feed. There was a hooffull of rounds left in what was masquerading as a magazine as well. Both went in the saddlebags to sell later.

“While successful, 901 proved to be a bit too wilful for Mana’s requirements. At the fifth re-application, they began to refuse to engage targets and while Mana insisted I reinforce the control measures in the framework, the matrix is self reinforcing. That wilful personality was ingrained into the runic sequencing and no amount of tweaking would change that.” There was a pause, and the subtle sound of a mouth moving, with the tine of the next few words I could envision a sly smile on Dr Muse’s muzzle, “at least, that’s what I told him. A Spellwright Mana may be, but he is much more embedded in theory and speculation, he couldn’t write more than a basic runic framework, and certainly couldn’t modify a megaspell. So long as I wrote the controls in, he would be content. At least, until he developed the Will of the Wisp.”

I left the other two to clear outside and delved into the dark behind the barricades, the inside of the tunnel lit only by some barrels filled with flammable material, looking for what the raiders might have kept in their personal quarters. I could probably have guessed as to the general theme, but finding the tumbledown shack that had housed one of them really reinforced to me that raiders were definitely on the ‘shoot on site list’. It was largely empty, consisting of a stained mattress that, between brown dirt, red blood and lighter fluids, had chosen to settle on ‘green-grey’ as a colour, a broken refrigerator full of empty tins and an organised collection of hooves, lots of them quite small.

Dr Muse’s voice in my ear was not exceptionally comforting whilst I was confronted by this, “I’m not sure how he developed it as it seems a mite outside his usual stable, but it used a code phrase to activate and put the target under a trance, to make them... Pliable. If 901 would not engage, then they could be forced to do so. While that was applied to 901, I made sure to write more stringent controls into the others. I will not have Mana interfering further in my troopers”.

The file ended with a click as I inspected a maintenance harness for the power armour, set up in a room that looked more like a jail cell than a workshop. There were hoofcuffs attached to the frame, and a bucket set behind it filled with foul smelling excrement. A funnel and tube were tied to the front of the frame as well, with a variety of tools and knifes scattered about the floor. I was beginning to see more and more that the raider in the armour may well not have been there by choice. Something rattled behind me and I had a sudden thought, the armoured raider would not have been able to get off of the harness by themselves.

I spun to face the noise, readying a silent blade, and saw a filthy matted mess of a pony spring from a pile of soiled newspapers with a wrench in their mouth. With a quick bit of mental gymnastics I adjusted the composition and angle of the silent blade and swept it up as a wall of force, blocking the raider’s swing and shearing off the head of the wrench. I sprung up into a zebra stance then came crashing down on the stunned raider like a ton of bricks...

Don’t kill him!

...Aiming hoofstrikes to further disorient and disable my assailant. The raider was just screaming obscenities as I pummelled him, ending as a strike to the head knocked them unconscious.
The noise brought the other two galloping into the tunnel, sliding to a stop on the loose gravel that peppered the ground. We dragged the raider outside, stripping him of weapons, which really only amounted to a small knife made from a shard of metal, and a number of inhalers. I decided to stand guard over him while the others continued to clear the camp. By the time he came round we had a decent pile of items that were either of immediate use, or trade goods. I had given Neon Resolve to wield, and had convinced Dee to just hold her Operator to intimidate the raider. She had insisted it had no rounds in it.

“ugghh, my head,” the raider groaned, “Sawtooth? Hoof Herd? Colt?” he opened his eyes to see the three of us standing over him, he bared his teeth, “hey stripe-dicks, where are the others?”

“Dead,” I said simply, gesturing with a hoof, “and yet, here you are.”

His head whipped back and forth, trying to spot any of his comrades, “No, no, th-the Colt, the Colt’ll getcha, he’ll plough you were Celestia don’t shine,” he was scrabbling about his rags, clearly looking for a weapon, “Luna’s ragged plot, I’ll-”

At that I stomped forwards, looking over the wretch as he cringed, I flicked an ear at the blasphemy, but decided to let anger show in my eyes, “They’re all dead, and I’m wondering whether you should join them,” he froze, eyes darting to the two guns aimed his way, “from what I’ve seen here, I don’t think Equestria would miss you,” I turned, and pulled up one of the bats the other raiders had wielded, stomping up to him and raising the bat high.

He cringed back again hooves over his head, trying to cover his already bruised face. I stood frozen for a second or two, bat held high, before I let it drop.

There was a clatter as the bat bounced from the ground before the raider. He cracked open one eye, looking up at me, then down at the bat, then back to me. “huh?”

“I’m a soldier, not an executioner.” I said, glaring at him, “You have 10 caps, a bandage and this bat,” I nudged it with a hoof, “it’ll see off bloatsprites, but your raider days are over, find a settlement and help.” I leaned in, muzzle nearly touching his, face scrunching in disgust from his rancid breath, but trying to mask it as rage, “If you don’t, we’ll know. And you will not get a second chance.”

I stepped back and straightened up, “now git.” I said, pulling Memento from my holster and pointing it in his direction. After a moment of scrabbling, hooking the bat and turning away, the ex-raider galloped off, ears pinned to his head. I waited until we could no longer see the dust of his flight before I holstered Memento and gestured to Neon Dream to toss Resolve back to me.

“Thank you.” I looked up, having expected that line from my rogue thoughts, rather than Dee.

“Like I said, I’m not an executioner,” I didn’t think this was an opportunity to discuss my rogue thoughts.

“uhh, honey, you do recall that we were assassins?”

I frowned, “we engaged military targets who were appropriately equipped and perfectly capable of killing us if we were noticed.” I scratched at the ground with a hoof, “I might still be a weapon, but I will choose when I will be wielded”.

Dee gave a nod of approval, a small smile on her muzzle, below her lazily lidded eyes. She kicked the Operator over to me. “I’m not going to keep this RZ,” she said, and I gave a little nod. She had kept the knife she had extracted from Marble for use as a scalpel, though had bemoaned the loss of ‘HT’ as a way to sterilise the raider weapon. She was also carrying the meagre medical supplies we had gathered from the encampment.

I picked up the Operator, reloaded it and passed it over to Neon Dream, “I want you to have this Neon, we’re heading into another station and you might need something a little more suited to close quarters.”

While he took it, and stowed it in his hoof-me-down trooper barding, he did have a look of trepidation on his face. Mouth firing a solid slug pistol was going to be different to a battle saddle rigged magical energy weapon, but we didn’t necessarily have the time to practice.

In our pile of trade goods was an interesting find, and, perhaps, one of the reasons I let the raider go. A bundle of stained and tattered mechanics periodicals and a technical manual for that power armour. The foulmouthed raider had had, rather than the gruesome marks often found on others of his kind, a wrench as a cutie mark. Not even bone handled like the one in the power armour. I hoped that he had some skills he could turn to use. As for us, we turned back to the tunnel mouth and proceeded along the tracks and into the dark.

Author's Note

Thanks to kkat for creating this crazy mashup and letting others play around in it.
Thanks to Somber too, I may refernce things from Project Horizons and Homelands here and there. There might be the odd reference to other FoE fics as well here and there.