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.