Fallout Equestria: Dead Tree - The Crimson Path

Chapters

The Red Pegasus
Unforgotten
Focus
Loaded for Bear

The Red Pegasus

War. War never changes. When balefire rained from the skies and ushered in a wave of necromantic death and disaster across Equestria, the world burned. The pegasi in their hubris took to the clouds to escape the fires that ravaged the land below, commandeering military equipment, food stocks, technology, and the very sky itself.

Utilizing the weather control stations of the Single Pony Project, or Sustainable Pegasus Project as they came to call it, the skies over Equestria became naught but dark walls to block out the sun for all the unworthy creatures below. For this singular act, the Enclave earned the eternal ire of every creature to come after the Fall of Equestria.

Being a faction made up of a single race though, meant that the sins of the Enclave also fell upon those Pegasi who remained below the clouds. From simple citizens left behind to deserting soldiers and Ministry personnel, the Wasteland shunned the winged ponies for the Enclave's actions.

As the nation shattered into warring tribes, alliances, and warbands following the devastating necromantic winter, the hatred of pegasi dulled out of necessity.

The hatred lulled to distrust, the betrayal of the pegasi slowly becoming a fact of life rather than a drastic world changing event. Almost one-hundred and fifty years after the fact, a common saying remains: 'Every pegasus is a Traitor to someone.'

This is the story of one such traitor, a soldier from the Great War itself brought back by scarcely understood technology. A traitor to the Enclave by his sheer existence, a Traitor to Equestria by his failure during the war, and most recently... a Traitor to his only remaining reason to live.

For choosing to protect the life of his Lover and those of civilians over the band of 'Wasteland Heroes' who dragged his hide across a hellish wasteland, all because a friend of theirs's remained locked in the arcane machinery bound to his heart.

This is the story of Second Lieutenant Martini Marechaser Markerlight, The last Shadowbolt.

Amid cracked, dry soil and unhealthy brush a flag flaps in the strong winds of a growing storm, green flecks of wild magic occasional brushing over the synthetic fabric of the red marker, leaving behind washes of black or silver in its surface for a moment before the dull red color returns to its surface.

It's a simple affair really, a thin metal rod of flexible material and a red triangle. Non-to different to what one would see indicating the holes of a golf course, unsurprising really considering the flags origin. As it once stood to mark a hole for the eager eye of the average pony in a game of golf, so too does it now act as a beacon for the keen sight of a pony. A crack of thunder in the distance signals a rising arc of brilliant sapphire energy far on the horizon.

Unlike lightning though this bolt of magic arc's down into the ground where it stikes a distant flag marker before it rises once more, bouncing like a rubber ball across the wasteland towards the aged banner. Once, twice, on the third bounce the arc crosses paths with a bolt of emerald-green wild magic. For a moment it seems as though the contaminating force of uncontrolled magic will overpower the sapphire blue, before the two seperate in a thunderous crack.

The arc of blue crashes down and rises for a fourth time. In its last moments before destruction, the flag whips back from the force of the wind blowing against it. As if staring up at the sapphire streak of lightning coming down upon it with contempt, then with the crash of thunder the flag is obliterated.

The wave of lightning grounds out in the short crater around the point of the flags resting place in a wave of short arches, darkening the dried soil black for almost three feet around. In its wake a heaved breath rises from the stooped crimson figure standing at the center of the lightning bolts impact.

Rising to his feet on three black-booted hooves and a single cybernetic limb stood a pegasus, his exposed face a brilliant red in color, marred by a series of small scars and bruises.

The stallion's vertically slit eyes look over the brief and violent destruction his arrival had caused, one golden amber and the second surrounded by a plasma-scoring scar, a pale yellow, take in the flickers of Wild Magic swirling in the air as he extends his oversized crimson wings.

Touching the darker tips of them against the ground as he lets the after-effects of his brief touch with the uncontrollable storm mana mesh into the dead soil around him.

Lowering his head, the rich brown and vanilla mane of the stallion trails like a wind vane from the strength of the gale, his matching tail and tufted red ears flapping in the wind behind him as he anchors into place.

Gritting his teeth in a strained growl, the pegasi bares his fangs as the wind tears at his skintight purple jumpsuit, the flashes of ever-increasing emerald lightning illuminating the pastel yellow stripes accenting the deep royal color of the uniform and highlighting its most notable addition: the white, winged equine skull insignia at his collar, and the unmistakable Cloud and Thunderbolt of Rainbow Dash resting over his uniformed flank like a cutie mark.

He hadn't intended on encountering a storm but given how close Wandering Sunrise and her party had been dragging him to Cloudsdale's last known coordinates, it really came as no surprise to the stallion.

Any of the surviving weather generators there had likely fallen into disrepair, or malfunction from overuse long ago... add to the mix that the Wild Magic of the Everfree was likely being pulled into the uncontrolled storm cycles, and there is no telling what unnatural phenomenon could be produced.

Drawing some of the wild magic from the air, the stallion flares his wings and pushes against the storm, forming a bubble of calmness in the center of the storm.

Smiling to himself, the stallion takes to the air with a powerful leap. His oversized wings fully extended to keep his wingtips in contact with the edges of the calming bubble as he soars through the violent sky, sparring only a single glance over his shoulder at the distant sight of a decrepit structure in the far distance.

Obscured mostly by the rising walls of rain and magically active lightning. Even at this distance he could make out the miniscule form of a pink and white zony at one of the first story windows.

There was no way for Chifundo to see him at this distance, but the simple fact that the beautiful shaman was still watching. It tore at the stallions' heart, not that he didn't deserve the pain for his actions.

He deserved every second of the emotional anguish flowing through him, his actions led to this. After all. Perhaps things could have been different? His choice to let one of the Bounty Hunters seeking to claim the mark on Wandering Sunrise and her band, live, for the simple price of Chifundo's survival had seemed like the only option available to him.

After all, he'd foolishly sworn a Pinkie Promise not to act against them should Chifundo remain unharmed during their attempt to kill their targets: Wandering Sunrise the explosive earth pony, Nyota the Starkatarii, and Scopolamina the Drug Dealing twenty-something Filly Scout... Three lives, three ponies who had dragged him through hell, who had blamed him from the very moment they'd met for acts beyond his control.

Nyota, who thought him nothing more than an Enclave Traitor in a different uniform. Scopolamina, who put the blame of all Wartime Equestria upon him and claimed him responsible for the Wasteland itself... and Wandering Sunrise, the mare chasing after a ghost of her own creation.

The final resting place for a fragment of Pinkie Pie, and the creature that had willingly became a weapon for the Ministry of Morale to accomplish it. A hypocrite that claimed to stand for mercy and tolerance, but in the same breath would pass fatal judgement on those she knows nothing about.

'I was careful in my wording, and even more careful in my consideration...' Had he chosen not to negotiate with the Bounty Hunters, they would have written off the entire caravan as a loss, collateral damage... and they wouldn't have been wrong. 'Had I raised the Alarm, not only would I have broken a Pinkie Promise... but they would have simply lathered the sleeping area with grenades and other forms of high explosives.

Nyota would have fallen first amongst them, his martial prowess and strength ill-prepared to face the explosive force of a dozen fragmentation grenades.

'Mina would have died second, as Pulse and Frag grenades disabled her premier weapons and shorted out her horn, followed by the fragmentation grenades. She was never one for armor, after all... and last to fall would Be Wandering Sunrise, her armor and equipment might be built to handle explosions, but volume would ensure that even she could fall... especially if out of her armor, like she usually is at night with Nyota.'

Diving under an arch of lightning, the stallion rolls over on his side and scans the clouds for the compatriot he expected to be waiting at this rally point, his expression stoney.

'...but the others would have fallen first. The caravan wasn't just us and the Hunters after all, there were over a dozen civilians mixed in. Caravaneers, traders, settlers, the gryphon mercenaries... mares and foals too. They would have died long before even Nyota had fallen, them... and Chifundo.'

A faint blurring of his eyes and a blink to dislodge the growing tear keeps the pegasi's vision clear as a dark shape in the storm flashes into visibility among a lance of lightning. Sleek and winged like himself.

'I really had no option but to make a deal at that point... if Chifundo had died, had they chosen to kill him. I would have been lost... utterly. I might have finally given in to the sirens call of bloodshed and drowned my sorrows in a slew of violence to avenge him.

Right up until the end.' Shaking his head, the stallion leveled out as the dark form descended. Her effeminate form clad in an older variation of the Shadowbolt Jumpsuit worn by the Stallion, mane and tail black as the fabric balaclava worn over her face. Leaving naught but the red of her muzzle and wings visible to decern her natural fur color. Attached to her barrel was a battle saddle of immense size, looking more akin to the wings of an aircraft and loaded down with mine deploying pods.

The mares hazzled eyes, hidden behind a pair of gold lensed purple goggles, regard the stallion with a sorrowful nod.

Her name was, Rum Rush. The Bounty Hunter responsible for him making the promise in the first place. The Bounty Hunter he could have killed had he chosen not to make that Pinkie Promise... the mare whose uncanny resemblance to himself left the stallion unwilling to strike her down.

He knew he had family left in the wasteland, descendants. Either directly from one of the previous instances where his Recombulator had activated and chosen him as the individual that would live and suffer in this hellish wasteland, or indirectly from the countless sons and daughters he'd spawned in the series of lives he likely lived.

It had been so many years since the war, he must have had hundreds by now, maybe thousands if he'd simply chosen to live up to his namesake. But without some way to unlock the memories locked behind his failing mental locks, there was no way of knowing.

As he dove past another arch of lightning and met the eyes of the Bounty Hunter, he considered for another countless moment if that was a blessing, or a curse?

"We need to get under cover!"

Despite the crack of thunder and the roar of wind, the masked mare nods. Forming up just off his right wing. Close enough for the two bubbles of calm air their enforcing around themselves to gently touch and rub against one another.

With a shift of his wings, the Stallion's bubble expands slightly, encompassing that of Rum Rush's. The mare seems briefly surprised until she adjusts her wings to support the new singular bubble of order amongst the chaos of the storm. Guided by his instincts, the stallion and his impromptu wingmare weave through the storm.

Only really altering their course to avoid errant clumps of cyan colored ambient magic, flowing through the storm like magelights in the dark clouds. Throughout it all, the stallions nose remained aimed to the south.

Following his old gut instinct for almost two hours, wings straining from the force of the gale upon their barrier, the pair breach the stormfront in a crash of arching wild lightning, each arch lashing at the edge of their little shield of order like webs.

Trying to drag them back into the chaotic embrace of the supercell. Blinking in the slightly brighter darkness of the normal wasteland, the glowing amber eyes of the stallion snap to the ground, seeking out a familiar shape amongst the rocky outcroppings.

"There!" He cries, motioning to the angular form of a nondescript building partially built into the wall of a gully far below, surrounded by an empty parking lot full of burnt out motorwagons, the dying embers of campfires, and heavy overgrowth, the outwardly civilian structure was welcome cover to any wastelander.

But to the pair of pegasi it was something far more... beneath that facade was a sizable military facility. Heavily fortified and reinforced, surrounded by a razor wire fence and guarded by a thick minefield beyond the boundary.

"Keep close, that storms going to be right back on us the moment we land!"

Rolling on his side, the stallion dove with Rum Rush following right on his tail. Pulling up just above the ground the pair fly wing to wing in a race to reach the safety of the structure, while above the pair the storm seemingly roared with rage as its prey dove for safety.

Tendrils of cloud and lightning roaring outwards from the stormfront like the fingers of a vast and malicious claw, intend on closing around the pair.

Bolts of emerald ate into the rock and soil as they closed in on the edge of the building, Rum Rush raising a hoof to shield her face as a particularly close bolt evaporated a portion of the greying brick facade of the building, pelting her with chips of glowing rock as she passed the first corner.

Snapping into a sharp turn on the second corner, the stallion flares his wings and lets his booted hooves connect with the old concrete as he slides to a halt before an old wooden door.

Gripping it by the handle with his cyberhoof, the red pegasus wastes no time in ripping the door from its hinges, revealing a four-section security blast door and its connected console.

Fumbling with the holotags beneath his collar-line, he presents them to the console's scanner as Rum Rush's panicked 'Eeep' reaches his ear.

The screen and everything around him flashing a white green as a bolt of lightning strikes the parking lot behind them close enough to fluff his feathers, then another, and another.

"Come on... Come on you heap of scrap!" He curses as the ancient OS of the console processes the credentials.

Turning to Rum Rush the Stallion watches as the fourth strike of lightning comes close enough to wash across the brickwork of the facade, with a hiss he grasps the mare and pulls her flat against the blast door as he flares his wings.

Once more forming a protective barrier of weather magic as the fifth bolt evaporates a solid foot of the brickwork only a few inches away, the arches of wild lightning flowing across his bubble of order like a thousand clawing, demanding talons.

Each tearing and ripping at the thin barrier with malicious intent.

The sixth strike finds no further brick to evaporate, catching on the solid reinforced concrete behind the brickwork.

But enough of the arching energy still clawed at the bubble to earn a strained whimper from the stallion, teeth grinding from the stress on his thaumatic lines as the wild magic wormed its way along his Zepher's Shield.

Eyes narrowed with pain; he gives Rum Rush an apologetic look. Certain that the next strike will plow through his barrier, even as the mare herself flutters her wings in a panicked attempt to form her own, when a high-pitched noise breaks the roar of the storm for but a moment, followed by an amplified, monotone voice.

Access Granted, Welcome Back Second Lieutenant Martini Markerlight.

Behind the panicking mare the vast Blast Door separates into four corners, leaving a dark 'X' in the center of the door as the first layer unlocks, then withdraws as the second and third layers of the balefire bomb-rated door withdraws into the walls of the entranceway.

Before either of the pegasi could react, the terminal pings again. "Severe Weather Detected, door closing in five seconds."

Releasing his Zepher's Shield, Martini wraps his forehooves around Rum Rush and thrusts his wings backwards, throwing the pair through the door in a rush, where the stallion comes to a crashing halt on top of the mare.

Behind them a final strike of lightning ravages the entranceway before the blast-door cycles and closes. Leaving the pair in a deathly silence as the stallion all but collapses with exhaustion atop Rum Rush, the mare wrapping all four of her hooves around him in a brief, adrenaline filled hug.

After a few moments to catch his breath, Martini's trembling hooves come to rest on the tile as he lifts the front half of himself, stopping only because of the tight death grip of the pegasus mare under him... it takes him a moment as a blush grows on his cheeks, and he is deeply relieved no-one else is around to see him in this position.

Especially with This mare in particular. She's attractive and all, but for all he knows she could be his daughter! Shaking his head, the stallion clears his throat.

"Hey, we're inside... you can let go of me."

The response was amusing... if only it wasn't as embarrassing for the stallion as it must be for Rum Rush, a veteran mercenary and bounty hunter reduced to a shuddering wreck beneath the Shadowbolt's form.

Her hooves release him almost immediately as she tries to scoot away and roll over, only to find herself stuck on her back by the large wing-like battle-saddle she'd borne. Similar to a turtle on its back, the pegasus flailed for a moment.

Trying to find a way to right herself as Martini rose to his full height and walked over.

Offering her a hoof, the mare's flailing came to a pause as she glared up at him... before reluctantly accepting it, with a quick tug the stallion pulls her bipedal, then back onto all fours with a grunt.

"Alright... well, we cleared this base out last night. There shouldn't be any turrets or Ponytron's still active on this level."

He averts his eyes from hers for a moment, letting his amber gaze run across the aged concrete of the base's angular interior.

Despite the dust that had settled on the floor and furniture of the main lobby, the dimness of the emergency lighting, and the skeleton of the unicorn at the Duty Desk, the facility was still well and truly intact... it still irked him that the bases entire population had seemingly died without a struggle.

With a sigh, the stallion lets the soft whisper of wind tickle his ears as he lets the blush fade from his cheeks.

Wait...

Blinking, the stallion extends his wings, fluffing his feathers up... and sure enough, there was a breeze. Faint though it may be, there shouldn't be a breeze in this fully sealed facility. Especially with the environmental systems offline like they were.

Turning his gaze back to Rum Rush, he smiles disarmingly. No sense in freaking her out after all, better to let her calm down while he figures things out.

"Sooo, Rum Rush. If you want to rest and get yourself cleaned up, there's Officers Quarters down that hallway there."

Lifting his hoof, Martini points to one of the two hallways leading from the Lobby. Specifically, the long length of straight hallway immediately beyond the Duty Desk to the, filled with the shattered debris of a dozen turrets, their ceiling-mounted housings long since ripped open by a mix of plasma and rifle-fire from the night prior.

"Thats the Eastern Hall, just go down that it, take a right at the T-Junction, then follow that hallway to the Barracks. The doors on the right are Officers Quarters, but the three doors on the left are for the general barracks... and those are still full of skeletons."

Those last words slip free with a hint of sorrow to them, belaying the mask of calm the stallion keeps upon his face.

Following his hoof with her head the mare nods, removing a piece of chalk and a small board from her saddlebags, with practiced precision she writes something out before presenting the board to the stallion, unsurprised at the mute's method of communication.

If your certain its safe, I'll leave your armor and equipment by the door I decide on. Don't peek on me, or I'll beat you with your metal hoof.

Reading over the written words earns a nod of acknowledgement at first, and a snort of amusement at the second. "You don't have to worry about that, I'll knock if I need to talk to you... as much as I'd like to see you try and go hooves on with me a third time." He chuckles, Rum for her part merely rolls her eyes in irritation despite the light blush lighting her cheeks.

After all, they were both in this mess because she had tried to engage him in close combat, with disastrous results on her end. It was frankly a miracle that she hadn't killed herself in her poorly executed attempts to attack the stallion the night before.

Regardless, she nods and starts down the hall at a quick trot. Leaving Martini alone in the lobby.

Once the mares tail disappears around the corner, the stallions calm mask falls, replaced by a determined frown as his flared wings direct him after the air current.

Trotting forward on silent hooves, the stallion slips into the shadows of the only other path. The Southern Hall.

Passing by the busted open or lockpicked doors of four administrative offices the stallion took great care in avoiding the discarded bones of one of the ponies whose office had been ransacked by Wandering Sunrise's group.

The rage at the back of his mind slowly adding it to the list of things he would hold against them... even if they didn't truly care about respecting the dead, beyond Chifundo.

Stepping through the door at the end of the hall and into the four-way intersection beyond. Martini found his gaze rising to the still-sparking remains of the four turrets that had protected this place. Granted, the raised ceiling at this intersection meant that none of them could fire down any of the halls, their position did ensure that anyone attempting to go through this intersection would find themselves pelted by small arms fire.

That alone would have raised the alarm...

tilting his head to the western hall of the intersection, the stallion continued to follow the breeze towards the door to the motor pool, only to pause as his eyes settled on something he had missed in his initial sweep of the base with Sunrise and her party.

A vent... nothing important really, were it not for the fact that the grill was left ajar, sitting over the wall mounted vent rather than fixed into its mountings. Folding his wings, Martini stepped closer to the unsecured vent, the tufts of his ears leaning forward as neared it.

...

......

.........there!

It was faint, but he could hear the faint whistle of air across the fan blades of the ventilation system. Pushing the vent cover aside to admit himself, the pegasus ducked his head into the vent.

Followed by his forelegs as he slipped into the maintenance gap beyond, it wasn't anything fancy, just a simple crawlspace to allow workponies to maintain elements of the ventilation system.

The cold steel beneath his boot's echoes with every light step as he stepped between banks of old wiring, fan-blocked tunnels, and rows of broken emergency lighting... broken?

A brief flicker of his amber eyes confirmed that the red lighting tube ahead of him was shattered, a worrying sign, given Chifundo had mentioned them being 'Bad Juju' to him, an old but understandable phrase he used to describe things that he found uncomfortable on the spiritual level.

Perhaps the emergency lighting had been warded against Spirits? . . . ...that thought only made the destruction of the emergency lighting in this area more chilling. Perhaps it hadn't been a leaked chemical agent that had killed everyone within like he'd assumed, but something far more insidious? Carefully, the stallion pressed forward.

At the end of the crawlspace, he found the rungs of a ladder leading down to the lower level... and an uncomfortable sight with it. At the bottom of the shaft was the skeletal form of a pony clad in the distinctive multicam of the Equestrian Army. A soldier, perhaps even one of the ponies who operated the vehicle bay... or maybe just someone passing by who chose to investigate?

Grabbing a hold of the rungs and swinging his flank over the edge, Martini slowly descended towards the fallen soldier only to stop half-way down as an unusual sensation fell over him, familiar... almost... the stallions' eyes widening in horror as an airless gasp slipped from his lips. Flaring his wings, he threw himself upwards towards the ladder rungs at the top of the chute, ignoring the pain shooting up his twin appendages as they clattered along the metal plating of the crawlspace. At the top of the shaft the stallion chokes down a breath of air greedily.

"F-faust fuck me with a three-footer... I was hoping it wouldn't be spirits." Letting his pulse settle and his breathing return to normal, Martini took a deep breath and once more traversed the ladder.

Once again, he found the uncomfortable sensation, and only now properly registered it from the growing weakness in his wings... An Aura of Emptiness, years of dealing with Spirits and Shamans on the battlefield reminded the stallion that his dwindling air supply was the only thing that would keep him alive down here.

So as his hooves touched the steel plating next to the skeletal body of the soldier... a Gunnery Sergeant he could tell at a glance, the Shadowbolt wasted no time. Looking into the crawlspace beyond, he could make out a distant shape, maybe twenty meters down the length of the space. But the number of pipes and conduits meant he'd need to crawl...

'Well, the ladies always said I work better on my knees...' With a grin, the stallion dropped low, dragging himself along the tightness of the space. 'Okay, twenty meters, this is nothing...' pausing to duck his head under a particularly low coolant pip, Martini frowns at the growing light... and the growing weakness in his limbs.

'Fifteen meters...' The light continues to grow closer, a malevolent flicker of orange and red. 'Ten meters...' The empty feeling in the stallions' wings was starting to send spikes of cold pain up his spine, earning a wince as he continues to grow closer, pulling himself past a water junction. The source of the odd light almost visible. 'Five me~ergh!

"Fu-!"

The curse is cut off as quickly as it emerged as the stallion slams his jaw closed, lungs pained with the loss of air as every nerve connected to his spasming cybernetic left hoof fires off at once, the pain nearly forces a pained cry to slip from his lips and claim yet more of his invaluable air... but he didn't come this far to die now! Dragging himself the last five meters with a twitching left foreleg, he found it.

A single body, not a skeleton like the others. Laid curled around the glowing form of a simple black candle. The Blue stripes marking the young fillies coat identified her as a Zony... likely the daughter of one of the uncountable Zebra who immigrated to Equestria before the war began, and worse still... likely the daughter of one of the many sleeper agents employed by the Kaiser's Legion throughout the conflict.

There were rumors of spies training lineages as far back as three generations, made to strike at Just the right moment. Acting like normal Equestrian citizens, until the time finally came. The stallions' amber eyes shifted from her still form to the black candle as he dragged himself into the space. Lungs screaming at the lack of air, he lifted his rubber-booted right hoof and brought it down on the candle with a solid 'thud!'.

He barely had time to lift his hoof before he found himself thrown against the wall violently, crying out in pain as he felt the steel plating behind him dent from the impact. His ears rang and his head throbbed, while his fur felt as though someone thrown him into the wall of a Tornado again.

With a deep heaving breath, the stallion managed to draw some of the fast-moving air to fill his beleaguered lungs... and then, as quickly as it had started, it was over. The stallion dizzily raising his head and seeing only the darkness of the crawlspace. But he could breathe again... he could feel the air moving again!

Drunkenly, Martini lowers a hoof to his saddlebags, drawing a single watered down healing potion from it and downing the watery concoction, coughing as some of the healing liquid went down the wrong way... but that didn't matter as the blurring, dizziness faded.

Rolling over onto his belly, the stallion winced as his repaired eardrums popped. It was then that he heard a sound he could only smile at. The subtle roar of restarting electronics, followed not a second later by the standard lighting of the crawlspace igniting, bathing the space in a soft yellow-white.

"Spirit of Emptiness... I knew they could drain magical power. Didn't know they could drain air..." He murmurs, mostly to himself.

Tilting his head to consider the corpse of the filly, the stallion pauses, finding no sign of the candle or the filly... nothing but dust flowing down the nearest ventilation shaft. 'Was she even really there to begin with?' Suppressing a shudder, the stallion once more reinforced that this is why he didn't mess with Spirits or Shamans unless absolutely necessary.

They might not hold a candle to a Warlock in terms of power, but even the weakest of shamans can bring calamity upon their foes. Chifundo had proven that with his ability to tame even the most dangerous of creatures and take heads off at range with his hunting rifle with ease despite his nature as a Shaman of Life... though the fact he bore more than just the usual stallion bits beneath his tail, meant one could certainly argue that he was more a Shaman of Fertility than Life.

Shaking his head to clear the mental image of Chifundo's rear from his mind before he focused too hard on, Martini regained his footing, swaying slightly as he once more dragged himself along the pipes and conduits towards the uniformed skeleton by the ladder. With the primary lighting and ventilation reactivated, the tight space felt far less oppressive... perhaps that had been the spirits doing, Moreso than the environment?

Regardless, the stallion paused as he reached the remains of the Gunnery Sergeant, taking care to secure his holotags from the chain around his neck. In the magical void created by the Spirit of Emptiness their magical charge had been badly suppressed, but now both of the tags glowed brightly with the name of the poor soul who almost stopped this silent massacre. Even as he read over the name, a strong southern voice whispered in his ear. A brief memory of a few words from a life long since passed slipping free.

"You can call me Gunny, Gunny Master, Sergeant Metal, or Sir~"

...

Gunnery Sergeant Master Metal

...he knew this stallion, perhaps it had been while he was stationed here... maybe it was earlier? But with his memories so jumbled and unclear past the point where he had reluctantly joined Wandering Sunrise and her crew at gunpoint, it was impossible to tell.

Still, he wouldn't forget him here. He'd be back later with a body bag. Gently, almost tenderly, the stallion gives Gunny's remains a soft pat, pausing as something metallic shifted beneath his form.

Carefully reaching down with his wing, Martini pulls the thin form of a key from beneath the Gunny's left foreleg... a simple thing really, tarnished steel with a space for a chain or string to tie it off at the base of the key. In the hooves of any other soldier, it would be little more than just a key. But in the hooves of the Gunny..."

'I need to check the Armory when I'm done here.'

It had been the only place he knew that Sunrise or her husband Nyota couldn't have broken into, even Scopolamina with all her magic prowess wouldn't be able to do more than dent the heavily reinforced doors of the main armory. Especially since the entire crew had seemed utterly convinced that the little test range in the bases lower levels was the main armory... Shaking his head at the ridiculousness of that line of thought.

Martini offered one last thanks to Sergeant Metal as he pocketed the key and grabbed the rungs of the ladder. Climbing back up to the main floor the stallion pulled himself up and over the edge, glad to finally be back up on his hooves, rather than scrunched down in the tight cavities of the base... pegasi just weren't meant to be put in tight spaces.

Even a quarter-bat pony like himself found the claustrophobic space deeply uncomfortable. It truly made him wonder how some pegasi could have ever lived in the Stables after the bombs fell.

Trotting down the dimly lit maintenance corridor past the now-running fans of the ventilation system, the pegasus could only smile. With the power restored and the Enviromental Systems seemingly back online, maybe he could actually get some rest... but first, had had something to check.

Stepping out of the vent and into the open hall, the stallion turns and continues down the easter hall towards the motor pool.

His cadence slowing as he approaches the door and steps into the abandoned bays, the disassembled forms of at least two combat-motorwagons visible in the bays to his left, while the remains of the two Construction Ponytron that had been active in High Security-mode still laid where he had left them in the bay to his right.

Stepping into the room proper, the stallion steps over to the first bay and then to the armored double doors lying just beyond.

Pushing them open, Martini stops. "Your weapon is your life, don't lose it." Turning his head to find the source of the sound, the stallion finds nothing... and with nothing to stop him, he steps into the bare room beyond.

A heavily armored counter with a series of equally armored, and sealed, slits set into it forms an impenetrable wall. Broken only by the intimidating frame of the door leading through the miniature fortification.

'This is it... no wonder they didn't find it. None of them even bothered to check out the Motor Pool...' The pegasus scoffs, removing the key from his pocket with a wing as he approaches the door.

With reverence, he slides the key into the lock and turns. With the clatter of three different locks despite the single keyhole, the near half-a-hoof thick door opens smoothly and quietly. Belaying its form, to reveal a room with no skeletons. Perhaps the Gunny was the last one in and was on his way to bed when he chased that Filly into the vents? It would certainly explain the lack of skeletons.

But what the room lacked in death; it made up for in ways to bring it about. Extending on for dozens of meters and lined with racks upon racks of service rifles, With the racks extending up beyond the reach of even the tallest earth pony, something probably handled by the near ten-foot-tall ladder attached to the end of each row of shelves. There had to be hundreds of the simple weapon... maybe more than a thousand!

Walking down the first three rows of Service Rifles, the stallion finally found a different type of weapon, the lightened Service Carbine... not much different compared to the standard Service Rifle, a little more compact, not as heavy. It was mostly a Non-commissioned officer's gun, the thing you hock off to a corporal.

But beyond that first rack of Carbines lay the true tools of destruction the stallion was hoping to find. Racks of .45 Auto sidearms, their pristine forms glinting in the armory light... calling for a wielder. Light Grenade Rifles, fitted for 25mm rounds.

Crates of EG67 Fragmentation Grenades, ten pairs of G113 Sniper Rifles, the premier equestrian Long-Range Rifle and Triple-S Markspony Carbines for spotters. There were even a full two racks of Bazooka's, and three racks of machine guns. Both of the light and heavy variety.

Not including the hundreds of crates resting behind the ammo-cage at the back of the armory, there was enough munitions and equipment here to outfit not just a full company of infantry... but handle replacements for lost equipment on top of that! "Sweet Celestia's plump white flank... Thank You, Gunny." The stallion smiles, clutching the armory key close to his chest like a treasured artifact.

Taking a moment to still his beating heart, Martini made his way back up to the front of the armory. Letting his eyes trail over the counters, he spies a clipboard with some bound papers on it. "Ah... please be the manifest, please be the manif- yes!" He hisses happily... only to stop on the first line.

"One thousand, five hundred M12 Service Rifles..." Carefully scanning down the exhaustively detailed list of explosives, weapons, equipment, armor, uniforms, and ammunition, he sets the clipboard back down, a prideful tear slipping from his eyes. For the first time since he woke up... he doesn't have to worry about ammunition.

'I have options, actual bucking options!'

Stepping back outside the armory, he locks the door and tucks the key into a pocket at his right shoulder. "Well, that's going to be a treat to go through... for now. What else do I need to do?" He wondered aloud, his tired hooves taking him back into the Motor Pool... then to the hallway beyond as his trail weaves through the base, heading to the same area he'd pointed Rum Rush only a half-hour prior.

The Officers Quarters of the Barracks.

"Oh buuuuuuck yeeeeees~" To say that Martini was happy to find a room in the officers section of the barracks without a skeleton in the bed would be accurate, to then say that he was pleased to find that the officers' quarters each contained their own personal refresher station, including a small shower powered by a built-in water talisman... "Goddesses yeeeees, it feels so gooood~! ...would be true, but utterly fail to capture the gravity of that statement.

His jumpsuit and boots abandoned by the room's door, along with the fairly ugly 'tinfoil' variant sky camo that Sunrise had given him. Having grabbed it alongside the rest of his kit as he passed the room Rum Rush had claimed for her own, the crimson pegasus writhed in guilty pleasure beneath the steaming water of a hot shower.

His scarred red pelt on full display as he balanced bipedally in the stream of hot water, wings flared hard enough for one to mistake it as arousal as the steaming water flowed down their feathered lengths, earning twitches from both of the limbs as the heat reached deep into the stressed tissue of the stallions muscles.

Turning to present his front to the water, the pegasus lets his head dip into the spray, moaning contently as the hot water streams down his aching muscles and bruised spine.

'By Luna... I missed having access to a warm shower, if Sunrise comes back to blow this place up like she said she wanted too... I'll fight her just to keep this shower intact' That silent vow stated, the stallion continued to soak in the spray.

Resting his mechanized forehoof against the tile beneath the showerhead the stallion blinked through the pleasant spray, reaching up to a small metal basket hanging from the water source for a bar of soap with the feathers of his lengthy right wing.

Sure, he could have used his flesh and blood hoof, or even his cyberhoof. But even he knew not to trust either of those with a brick of wet soap... besides, his feathers were going to get a good sudding as well.

Gripping it tight in his wing, the stallion curls his limb to run the bar across his forelegs, then up his crimson shoulders in smooth strokes as he lathers them the alluring scent of Sandalwood.

'At least Nyota had a decent nose for soaps...' The stallion smirks, a quiet snort slipping from his fanged lips as his wing carries the bar up his neck.

The tip of the bar bumping lightly against his chin with each pass before sliding back down, sending shivers up Martini's spine as it slides across the fresh scar tissue across his chest. A permanent reminder of how close his careless words had brought him to the edge of death again... by Blackhawk no less, then again, that snowy-white mare had been drunk, they both were.

'She'd waved around that Plasma Defender, so certain that Chifundo and I had been bucking... and I made the mistake of shouting "It was just casual sex!" ...Goddess's, imagine if that had been the end of me?' Letting his wing trail lower down to his belly, the stallion sighs in through. 'I don't even know why I said it, neither of us had slept together like that... yet.

But she shot me just the same, then Chifundo came barreling in~' Tilting his head slightly to let the scarring around his eye soak in the warm water, the pegasus shuddered.

'I don't even remember the second shot... just a flash of darkness, before I woke up in that cell with Quick Stitch. for all his skill there wasn't all that much he could do.'

Blinking away the water around his eyes, Martini lets his gaze rest on the cybernetic hoof at the end of his left foreleg. It had long since healed thanks to the powerful unicorn doctor, but the damage was done.

'They could have left me alone in that cell, untreated... I wouldn't have survived without Quick Stitch, but the last thing I expected Chifundo to do was stay with me.' Lowering his head to let the water flow across his back, the pegasus shudders again.

Seemingly without noticing, the wing baring the bar of soap slides lower along his belly, brushing along the folds of his darker sheath.

'I gave him every ounce of trust I had... he was more than just a friend, or a casual fuckbuddy after that.'

Letting his mind fog over as the blunted, dark red form of his stallionhood slips free of its matching sheath. The stallion's wing drops below the growing length, supporting it atop the sandalwood-scented bar, and wrapping it in a tunnel of crimson feathers as all 14 inches of the pegasus meet the moist air of the hot shower.

'He listened to my story, and rather than reject me... he embraced me as a lover, even wounded as I was. He found a way to fill our first night together with bliss~ Bracing his right hoof against the tile, the crimson pegasus moans. As his soapy feathers glide along his glistening length, unconsciously matching the speed of the stallions non-so-distant memory.

'It wasn't like just having sex... there was something, more? A connection I hadn't felt before. The pleasure was there, but that feeling, that warm sensation at my very core... whatever it was, whatever We were, was different to the innumerable partners I've been with before now.'

Braced against the wall, it doesn't take much for him to buck against the tight embrace of his wing. ...the way he held me, kissed me... f-fu-fuuu~' Clenching his teeth with a hiss, the crimson stallions pride flaring for a moment, leaking a generous string of slimy pre as his bucking slows.

'He knew just how far to go before I gave him every drop, how to tempt me to the very edge... before pushing me over~' With a tightening of his wing and three rapid thrusts into the squeezing embrace, Martini hisses in bliss as the brunt of his seed splatters against the tile before him.

The thick lines of viral ivory flowing down the rows of grout with the water of the shower as it trails down towards the floor, and the drain beneath the stallion's hind-legs. Letting the tension fade from his soiled wing, the stallion lets the soap-slick form of his cock hang on its own as the.

Raising his head above the streams of water, the stallion allows it to spray along his underbelly and wash away any sign of his deviant dalliance with the bar of soap. His glistening tool soaking in the streams of purified water as whatever hints of seed or soap fade away.

Leaving nothing but the gentle scent of clean sandalwood to mark the stallion's crotch. 'Luna help me... I miss him already~ I hope he's safe, wherever he is.'

Looking up at the ceiling, Martini closes his eyes. Offering a brief prayer for the gentle hermaphrodite's protection to whoever might be listening, the crimson stallion simply stands in the spray of water... relishing it for as long as he can.

Of course, eventually all good things must come to an end... but in the stallion's case, it's merely trading one pleasure for another as he finally shuts off and steps out of the shower, dropping down onto all fours again as he snags a fresh towel from a hook by the sink.

This newest pleasure for the stallion's perusal happens to be the most enticing for any soldier serving in a hellish multi-month operation in the great outdoors. Namely, a soft bed with recently washed and dried sheets.

Both having thoroughly been de-dusted, washed, and in the case of the sheets, conditioned! So as the last errant drops of water are wiped from the stallion's coat, it comes to no surprise that the next pleasure he intends to indulge in is the simple pleasure of sleep.

To that end he hangs the towel on the hook once more and trots over to the door where his saddlebags, abhorrently tin-foil colored armor, carefully removing a simple talisman from an internal pocket of the armor's neckline.

Gently pulling it over his head and letting it settle against his chest as the string holding it snags on his neck, like a long necklace. It's a simple affair really, a rudimentary carved piece of wood wrapped in blue beaded string. Not even really a Spiritually Blessed item, not that it mattered to Martini.

Chifundo had made it for him, to help him sleep well at night... while it wouldn't be like sharing a bed with the stallion, at least he would be free of the nightmares that haunt his dreams.

Those thoughts are what bring a smile to the crimson stallion as he pulls himself into the bed. 'But do I truly deserve to sleep without worry... after betraying his trust?' Once more, the voice of doubt rears its snake-like tone, slipping in at the moment when the stallion feels most at ease... but, maybe it was right?

Did he truly deserve Chifundo's blessing after everything he'd done; did he deserve to sleep soundly while his lover would have to deal with the antics of Sunrise and her little clique alone?

Laying back against the plush pillow, the pegasus could only stare down at the talisman in uncertainty.

...

......

He didn't really deserve the peace it gave him...

Reverently, the stallion removed the talisman. Handling like one would a holy artifact as he set it down on the nightstand beside the bed. Tonight, he would try to manage it alone.

Tomorrow, he would start working to regain the trust he'd burned. Perhaps the dreams would come easily tonight...? As the stallion settled into the inky claws of sleep, the dreams he prayed would come failed him. In their place only the nightmares he deserved filled the void.

As he thrashed and wept through the night in the eerie green light of the Plasma Rifle leaned up within reach, clutching the plush form of the pillow in a vain attempt to ward them off, the stallion fell deep into the embrace of his fears. Unaware of the faint darkness glittering over the scar across the rear width of his lower neck like a shimmer of smoke.

-----------------The Military Base----------------

Author's Note

I updated the character art with pieces commissioned from LazyMichel.

Unforgotten

When the time to awaken came for Martini it wasn't with the chime of his watch, nor the claws of a nightmare forcing him from slumber. Rather it was the cry of a bugle through aging speakers.

The familiar rapid blasts of reveille piercing through the faint fog of dust flowing down the now-ventilating halls of the barracks wing, snapping up in his bed and throwing aside the sweat-soaked olive-drab comforter as he scrambles from the bed in an almost automated fashion.

Stumbling as his wing catches on the covers, the stallion pulls himself free as his bleary eyes race across the walls of the metal-paneled room, from the nightstand to his bag and worn Shadowbolts uniform to the large steel standard issue locker taking up the corner.

Unthinkingly, he rushes over to the Locker in a flurry of steps and throws it open.

Within he finds a trio of Equestrian Army uniforms in the usual Arid Scorpion pattern, a seemingly random mix of earthen colors ranging from a pale grassy-green to earthy brown and sandy tan, all meant to conceal a soldier in a variety of environments.

Each tabbed with a Captain's rank insignia, a blue uniform patch with white and red crossbar... and not one of the uniforms had a slot for wings. They weren't even in his size!

'These aren't my uniforms, why are a Captain's uniforms in my... wait.' Shaking his head, the stallion blinks and looks down at himself, still naked. Still bound with the scar Blackhawk had left on his chest with the Plasma Defender, and still bearing the weight of a cyberhoof.

Raising the mechanized replacement, he lets the four mechanical digits slip free of their housing on the cardinal corners of the hoof, and gently pinches the bridge of his nose with two of them.

"I'm... not late for formation, the wars over." He murmurs, gently shaking his head as the memory of the last month slowly returns.

"The wars over, and we lost." He sighs, lowering his cyberhoof with a click as the digits retract back into their housing.

Closing the locker, he slowly trots to the door and opens it. He pauses to lift the limp form of his Shadowbolt's uniform on the width of his wing and slip his three boots over a strong primary feather each as he steps into the hallway, gaze narrowed in discomfort as the warm lighting of the ancient bulbs finds his eyes.

The hallway seems oddly more welcoming with the power restored; the thick layer of dust that had been present on nearly every surface seemingly blown away by the waves of air flowing through the reactivated ventilation system.

Of course, this left a bit of a haze in the air and a tingle in the stallion's nose. But it was certainly good to get fresh air flowing through the facility again.

Two doors away, next to the hallway leading back to the main lobby, Rum Rush stumbles from her quarters with a bleary look of confusion on her hastily masked face. With a sigh, the crimson stallion makes his way up the hall with a dismissive wave.

"Don't worry, its not an alarm... its just the base playing the wake-up sequence. It must still be on automatic play."

The mare blinks, tilts her head for a moment, then nods in understanding. It takes her a moment to shake the sleep from her hazzle eyes, visible without the goggles to hide them. Raising her left hoof, Rum Rush taps on her right foreleg as she looks to the stallion.

'What... is she asking if I have a wa- oh... Ooooooh right.' Shifting his uniform from the tip of his wing to rest it across the back of his barrel, Martini smiles.

"Its Seven in the morning, the base plays that every morning at the same time."

Understanding blossoms in the mare's brownish eyes as she nods, looking over the stallion before her with a critical eye, and a raised brow. The expression earns a mirrored eyebrow raise from said stallion.

"What?" She points at him with the same hoof, then to the uniform on his back, then back to him.

"...I'm going to use the laundry, maybe find a uniform that fits me to wear in the meantime." The mare lowers her hoof, blinking in a clear lack of understanding.

"...a Laundry, you know. A place with machines for cleaning your clothes?"

...

The blank stare and silence he receives in turn leads the stallion to understand that Rum Rush does not in fact, know.

"Err... follow me, i'll show you. Its actually pretty useful." Raising his left wing in a beckoning sweep, Martini continues on past the mare, with the muffled hoof-steps of Rum Rush following close behind. He doesn't lead her very far.

Not even a dozen hoof-steps in fact. Walking straight up to the wall of the hallway running beside the mares chosen quarters, the stallion points out something that she likely hadn't noticed... something he hadn't even noticed in his first pass.

Namely, that the designers of this laundry room must have been from the Ministry of Image.

That, or they were just massive cunts.

Gripping a portion of the slightly protracted wall plating, Martini pushes, revealing that the wall panel is in fact just a sliding panel door. Made from the same material as the walls.

Economic, yes.

User friendly and identifiable? No.

Not even slightly.

'I wonder how long it took for the grunts to figure out this was even here?' He wonders sadly, revealing the realm of military wonder beyond.

Namely the Two rows of standard, boxy, side-loaded washing machines standing two machines tall, one of which took up the entire right wall of the room. Two Rows of similarly positioned dryers backed up to the rear of the free-standing washing machine row right up to the far wall, and lastly a set of six massive, olive-green cylindrical machines and a vast control box taking up the entire left wall of the room.

Easily large enough to hold a full-sized Hellhound if one tried to compare it. It was as large as a Motorwagon!

Staring at the array of machines, Rum Rush just gives the stallion a confused look. One he returns with a smile. "Don't worry, its alot easier than it looks... here, let me show you."

Trotting past the array of fairly normal machines to the vast unit at the end, the stallion gives it a gentle slap. "This, is an Equestrian Laundry Advanced System".

"Its purpose is to clean clothing to such a degree that even things like radiation, biological agents, harmful chemicals, all that stuff... gets filtered out while applying a protective coating to make our uniforms more resistant to those things."

"On top of cleaning off dirt, stains, and all the other stuff that these normal machines~" He motions to the standard laundry equipment, smiling as the mare's stare widens with surprise.

"~are already capable of doing." Pulling a red-hued latch to unlock the single circular hoof-thick glass door of the machine, the stallion pulls it open and tosses in his uniform followed by each boot in an arching yeet.

Closing the door with a reverberating thud of armored steel and the clack of the latch being locked into place, Martini strides up the line of machines to the control box. The mare following hesitantly behind.

Stopping at the control box, the stallion raises his right wing and taps on it to draw Rum Rushes attention to the vertical array of buttons and dials taking up the right side of its surface, while a large screen takes up the left. Resting a primary feather against the topmost button he says.

"So, this first one is usually used when there's a few hundred uniforms going in at a time, usually. It just repeats whatever the last operation was... so we won't be using that."

Moving his primary feather from the first row to the second, the stallion adds a second feather to point at the small dial next to the button.

"This one allows you to set the time for a wash, generally you give it an hour, but this system can be run up to twenty hours... In a rush you can wash stuff for half an hour, which is why there's forty little pips on this dial rather than twenty."

The mare nods in understanding, staring at the panel with a visible sense of wonder... though she does motion to her clothed foreleg and make an itching motion, while mocking a look of discomfort.

"Oh right, itching. Don't worry I'll get to that. This third one just controls water temperature, but we're in a base with Water Talismans. So, we don't have to worry about the cold temperature regulations on that." He shifts his feathers down to said button and dial, tapping it for emphasis.

"Turn it left for colder water, higher for hot. Don't worry about burning anything though, it maxes out at ninety degrees for the water, and minimal temperatures at thirty-six. So, you won't go making ice cubes or boiling soup." He chuckles, earning a snort of amusement from the red mare.

"Now this forth row one is important. Load Size is determined by this first dial~" He rests one primary on the button, the second on the dial in question.

"Now, because of Ministry of Image requirements. Even this machine is designed to be used for individual laundry... so for you I'd recommend keeping it at the first pip. This second dial though... this is for the specialized applications." Tapping the second dial with a primary, he rather pointedly shifts his feather to where the pips should be on the surface... instead, there are a set of five small images.

"This first one, the one that looks like a sad pony? Thats normal application, just water. None of the chemicals." The mares snort shifts to a silent chuckle. "The sad pony with a little shield around him is standard decontamination and warding. It adds the specialized coating that protects against all those nasty things I mentioned earlier."

Shifting his wing from the sad pony pictograms to the next, he smiles but keeps his tone serious. "This happy pony is for the normal application, with some top-secret softener stuff... something the Ministry Mare herself came up with after she had to use one of these for laundry." The stallion smirks.

"Makes whatever you coat it in feel bucking amazing, same for the shielded smiling pony. Except that stuff is compatible with the warding compound... We call it Fluffle-Puff Stuff." A faint honk of choked air joins the silent laughter as the mute cackles.

Shifting his feather from the Smiling pony to the last pictogram, the stallion taps the Skull and Crossbones.

"This one is specifically for clearing the machine in the event something contaminated with high grade magical liquid, liquid balefire... or Goddess's help you, Taint, ends up in the machine. It's usually only used for cleaning dedicated Hazardous Materials gear, the stuff that you'd need Other Ponies in Hazmat Gear to handle. I doubt you'll need to use it anytime... we used to use it for removing the occasional stain from an idiot missing something in a pocket. At least before things got really messy with the Zebra..." The stallion trails off as the mare's laughter fades, she gives him a nod. Already aware of his Wartime nature.

"Right... anyway, this last button is just the start button. You dial in everything and lock it in with the buttons above, then press this button to start it."

Demonstrating, the stallion sets his to wash for an hour, sets the temperature to seventy degrees, the load to individual, the application to 'Happy Shielded Pony', and finally with a clank, presses the start button. Immediately the vast machine rumbles to life with a growl, the space beyond the glass window filling with oddly colored water and suds as the machine begins its cycle.

"...and that's how you use this type of machine. The dryer works the same way... and there three of each. So, you can get your clothes taken care of if you feel like it." He adds helpfully, earning a nod from the mare... then a pause as she looks down at herself, then back at him, then back at herself... before she taps her foreleg and makes a clockwise circle around the point on her leg.

...

"Oh... do you... are you not comfortable with other creatures seeing you naked?" The stallion asks, hesitantly at that. As though the idea that a pony would be bothered by a lack of clothes was unusual to him. The mare nods, shifting her eyes to the machine.

Less out of interest in the things it can do... and more to avoid meeting the stallion's amber gaze. "Oh. Well, I'll let you be then. Sorry." Turning his back on the winged bounty hunter, the stallion moves through the line of standard machines to the other side of the room until he stumbles upon the packaged bundles of laundered uniforms meant to be picked up by soldiers.

Cleverly hidden out of sight by the driers row, it doesn't take him long to find something in his size. Whispering a prayer to the uniform's previous owner, Martini hopes Sergeant Black Wing didn't suffer when he died.

He was probably still in the barracks with the rest of his ponies... lying there.

Something in the stallion's heart clicked, a small switch of sorts. An urge... a need even. A sense of purpose as he let his gaze rise from the sacks of uniforms. Looking down the line of laundry equipment to the hallway beyond.

Finding himself a set of socks and hoof-boots, the stallion tugged them on, using his teeth and cyber-digits to tie them before finally recovering the last piece of clothing he intended to take. A field cap, taken from Sergeant Black Wing's bag. Putting it on and adjusting it to cover his eyes, the stallion stepped forward.

His cadence slipping into an old and familiar stride as he marched down the line of dryers, sparing only a glance in the direction of Rum Rush as he steps out the door. He only caught a flicker of a red hoof and part of her flank as he stepped around the corner and into the hallway proper. Heading back towards the T-junction leading to the main lobby.

Rounding the corner at the end of the hall, Martini continued on past the passage leading to the lobby, instead continuing on up the other side of the 'T'. Rounding yet another corner he came to rest at the door to the Medbay, it would have what he needed.

Even if the shelf-life on body-bags was a hundred and forty-give years past their due date. They would still do. Opening the door, the stallion could only sigh in despair at the sight before him.

"Scopolamina... if I ever see you again, we'll have words." His hiss carries over the destruction coating the med-bay. Sure, the medical tools and equipment was present. But the cabinets for holding the various medicines, surgical drugs, and variety of other key elements for any medical operation had been thrown open and ransacked.

Even the Medical variant Mister Hoovsie was gone! Shaking his head in a mix of disappointment, and disgust the stallion got to work.

Locating a simple four-wheeled medical cart, he layered the pre-rolled black, rubberized bags in the cart. Stacking up sixty before running out of room... then with a grunt he gripped the handles of the cart and pushed.

Trundling the wheeled stretcher out of the med-bay and back towards the barracks with steady steps. Only to pause at the T-junction, his gaze resting on the sealed blast-door. Nudging the cart up against the wall, the stallion made his way up the turret-strewn passage into the main lobby, crossing it silently as he moved to the door and ran his Holotag over the scanner.

Access Granted, Second Leftenant Martini Markerlight.

With a pneumatic hiss the door separates into four sections once more, withdrawing into the wall. Beyond the lip of the door a number of craters line the parking lot from Wild Lightning, but nothing too abnormal... Leaving the door open, the stallion steps out and takes to the air rising up above the edge of the building as he takes in the sight of the base grounds.

Staring down at the base, it's easy to see why it remained undisturbed given its location. Tucked into a ridge and built to outwardly appear as an old factory, there would have been very little reason for anyone beyond scavengers to check it out. Assuming they got past the forty meters of barbed wire and landmines that served as the base's outward defenses.

Then either got over or through the chain link fence without getting fried by robotic defenders. Anyone that managed that much would've found themselves out of luck at the door to the base... and while the stallion hadn't checked out the Motor Pools door system, odds are it was just as formidable.

Still, despite the overgrown nature of it, there was a fair amount of relatively clear space still to see. To the left of the road leading to the main gate of the facility was a large area of crabgrass and dried dirt.

Mentally measuring out the area, Martini dipped his wings and glid back down to the open blast door... today was going to be a long day.

When Rum Rush eventually found him, more than an hour had passed. In that time the stallion had procured himself an entrenching tool and was up to his hind-legs in a hole roughly the size of a pony, surrounded by a mist of condensed air as his wings flared and curled behind him, shaping the thin fog with his weather magic.

With a grunt, Martini jams the edge of the entrenching tool deep into the dry dirt once more, unaware of his watcher as his right wing pulls a portion of the fog down against the flat of the shovel and squeezes it into place, forcing it into the dry soil beneath.

Shifting his grip, the stallion shoves down into the now-wet soil and hefts it up and over his shoulder to join the pile that will eventually fill the hole he's digging. Heaving a relieved breath, the crimson pegasus straightens up and stretches his forelegs, using the E-tool to support his weight.

They were hardly deep enough to call true, proper graves. But three feet deep and long enough to fit the average pony... they would work far better than simply leaving the skeletons in the barracks.

'Four down... a few hundred to go.' He sighs, pausing at the sound of a clearing throat.

Glancing over at the confused form of Rum Rush the stallion... nods. "...I, couldn't just leave them all in there. So, I'm digging graves for them." Turning back the stallion pulls himself out of the hole, moves three feet to the side of the newest shallow grave.

The small bank of fog flowing around him curls tightly to his wings as the pegasus shifts position, Martini hisses with effort as he drives spade and weather magic alike against the ground.

Once...

Twice...

Thrice...

He hardly even noticed Rum Rush slip away.

Not that it was that big of a deal, he had a duty to handle... Sunrise and her crew hadn't been willing to stay and help bury the bodies, it wasn't worth her valuable time after all. But ensuring his comrades in arms found some peace, even over a century late. That would at least ease some part of the failing this place represented. Another hour, and five more graves would pass as Martini worked, before Rum Rush would return... with company.

So caught up the act of digging, the stallion almost missed the slow approach of pneumatic limbs, the rough 'Clomp' 'Clomp' of motorized hoof servos, and the creak of long-since expired rubber insulation, until it was nearly on top of him. Snapping his head in the direction of the sound, the stallion expected to find himself facing a combat robot, maybe a Guardian Ponytron unit that had been missed?

Instead, he found the beaming grin of a familiar pegasus mare holding a full-sized shovel while a set of holotags glittered from her neckline. Behind her marched a full six Ponytron's in the faded yellow of construction or engineering models. Complete with the faux hard-hat addition to their sensor casing.

One of the units, marked with a white addition to its 'hard hat' hissed harshly as its vocalizer malfunctioned, clicked, then reset, a synthetic monotone echoing from its scratchy speakers as it steps forward.

"Audio Systems Restored. Work Detail. Reporting. For. Duty. Second. Lieutenant. Markerlight.

For a moment the stallion just... stares, stunned for just a few seconds, but stunned non-the-less. Turning to Rum Rush Martini tries to find the words to reply, only to receive a sly smile in return. Shaking off the shock, he nods.

"Ponytrons. Burial Detail, I need three hundred and nine graves in this area... make your parameters uh, three feet deep, two and a half feet wide, and six feet long. Model pattern off of Wartime Inspection Formation for this post."

The Ponytron Foreman stands still, the red lights beneath the decorative hard-hat covering glittering dimly as it processes the orders, the body of the machine leaning forward as if contemplating how to accomplish the goal. After a minute of silent contemplation, the unit straightens up.

"Parameters Understood. All. Right. Boys. Let's. Get. Digging. Raising its left mechanized leg, the hoof separates to reveal a reinforced trowel.

"Please. Stand. Clear... Ponytron. On. Duty... This. Is. An. Active. Construction site."

Trundling forward slowly, the Foreman unit approaches Martini, who smoothly steps clear as it buries its trowel into the dirt he had previously been digging with industrial efficiency. The rest of its detail slowly advance on the field, deploying tools from armored ports as they waddle.

Turning to Rum Rush, the stallion can only bauk at the impishly large grin on the mare's face as she snickers. Holding a hoof out to Martini, she gently... very gently, lifts his jaw back into line with the rest of his mouth. Much to the grumbling annoyance of the stallion.

'How long was I just standing there like that... and, How?' That second question he verbalizes.

"How? I thought Sunrise and her crew destroyed all the bots when we came through?"

Tilting her head, the crimson mare presented her right foreleg. More importantly though, she presented what was on it. A simple steel contraption made up of a screen, a dozen buttons, and a small stylus. Not too different from a PipPad, aside from the great big insignia at the top of it.

Robronco

"Is that a control unit for them?" The mare nods.

"How did you find it?" Tilting her head slightly, the red pegamare simply shrugs with a smile. Waving a hoof dismissively she simply adjusts another set of settings as she takes the stylus in her lips, carefully typing out something.

Before I can ask just what she's doing, the Foreman's speakers crackle to life again. "Addition. Support. Units. Allocated. Parameters. Uploaded. With that last vocalization a glint of movement catches the stallion's eye.

Emerging from the doors of the now open Motor Pool marched a full twelve additional Ponytron's. Each clad in the same hazard yellow coloration, each baring a deployable shovel... and each advancing towards the field across the open parking lot.

Leaning against the Entrenching Tool in his hooves, Martini watches the wave of lumbering automata, a grateful smile gracing his lips as he looks to Rum Rush.

"Thank you... Rum, I... I don't know how long it would have taken without these guys. Thank you."

With a wave of her hoof to stave off his thanks, the mare presented the stallion with the longer handled shovel. A gift he shied away from as he tapped the entrenching tool beneath his hoof with a clank of metallic hoof on military-grade steel.

"I'll keep using this. It's what I'm used to~" Trailing off the stallion straightens up as he looks to the dark-grey clouds above.

Even as the late morning approached, the darkness covering the wasteland remained a constant. Coating everything in an inky grey-black of depressive shadow, only occasionally broken by blinding cracks in the Cloud Layer.

Turning to start on yet another grave, the stallion let one darkly thankful thought pass his mind as his E-Tool slammed home in the soil.

'At least I don't have to worry about the sun's oppressive heat in this new hell.'

Beneath the engorgued Cloud Layer near Cloudsdale the concept of day and night is easily determined in the soul-sapping greyish darkness of the wastes. When you can see, its daytime. When the land is engulfed in the deathly blanket of blackened shadow, its nighttime.

This sadly makes the concept of using the Sun as a guide for the passage of time all but impossible for those who call this section of the wasteland home. Fortunately, Rum Rush's newly acquired Robronco Workhorse came with a programed clock in its software for work assignment timing.

For five long hours of toil in the dusty soil, five long hours of ripping into the ground with shovel, wing-guided magic, and the strength of trained flesh. Until finally, thanks to the ceaseless efforts of the mechanized engineering unit, where once there stood an empty plain of flat ground.

There now stood three hundred and nineteen shallow graves, each headed by a single railroad spike provided from the internal production banks of the venerable, cumbersome machines.

The design of the gravesite matched the exact parameters put forth by the crimson stallion. Broken up by platoon, three sets of one-hundred graves stood waiting. Each baring two graves out of line and slightly ahead of each 'troops' soon-to-be resting place.

A space for the Lieutenant and his second in command, with only a single grave resting just before the concrete divider of the new grave site and the parking lot breaking the mold. This grave was special in its purpose, for it would hold the commander of all those who had fallen within the base. The Captain of the three-hundred strong force.

Nestled off to the side of the macabre formation stood the last nineteen graves, each separated by at least five feet. These graves would hold the hoof-ful of non-military workers who had died with the soldiers. Looking over the carefully placed rows of shallow graves, Martini let his chin rest upon his dirtied hooves. The easy part was over, now all that remained was to recover the remains and intern them.

Flaring his wings to stand bipedal, the stallion leaves the entrenching tool buried in the soil as he drops back to all four hooves and turns his attention to the two rows of engineering Ponytrons and their delighted work-mistress. "Rum, I'm going to start preparing the bodies for burial... I'm, going to need you to have two Ponytrons to carry each of the bodybags as we go. Can their programming handle that?"

Tilting her head in contemplation, the mare nods after a few seconds. Typing out a series of sequences with quick pecks of the stylus between her fanged teeth. For a moment it looks like she's spacing out and ignoring the question, until at last her left wing rises in the ever-clear 'Feather Up' signal.

A single primary feather jutting up from the wing, while the remainder ball up beneath it in a Paradym of a gryphon's talon. Lowering her stylus for a moment as she examines whatever she'd applied, the mare nods to herself and levels one final tap to the Workhorse pad. Behind her the rows of hazard yellow machines lean forward as the orders transmit to them.

Work. Order. Received... Honor. To. The. Fallen... Gentle Touch Protocol. Enabled.

As one the machines straightened up as the mare made her way back to Martini's side. A hint more confident now that he wouldn't be handling his duties within alone, the stallion strode towards the Motor Pool bay doors.

Behind him the quiet hoofsteps of Rum Rush were lost in the synchronized clatter of more than a dozen Ponytron's moving to follow the pair. Across the cracked asphalt of the lot marched the strange procession as they entered the first bay, passing by the fallen remains of the two Engineering bots that had accosted Martini in his first exploration of the base.

Entering the hall beyond, the stallion motioned for Rum Rush to halt as his eyes fell upon the opened vent. "Wait here... I need to get body bags."

With an understanding wave of her wing, the stallion departed. Sweeping back up the hallway to grab a bundle of ten bags off the cart he'd abandoned. It only took a minute, but as he returned to the vent.

Martini wished that it had taken far longer. Leaving the bundle behind with Rum Rush he entered the tight embrace of the maintenance corridor once more, hooves carrying him back to the isolated resting place of the Gunnery Sergeant.

With great care the stallion swept down the rungs of the ladder to the bottom of the shaft, unrolling the matte black body-bag with a crinkle of old rubber. The zipper groaning loudly in the confined space as it descended the length of the bag... with a small smile, the crimson stallion noted the old Ministry of Image adjustment enchantment runes on the interior seemed to still be intact. So, with a touch easing close to veneration the pegasus gripped the shoulders of the uniformed skeleton.

He hardly had time to recognize the whispers closing in before they engulfed him. A dark shadow clouding his vision as a voice called to him, strong and stern. '~n you hear me?'

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

May 23rd, 1035 ALB
Heartbreak Facility
2LT Markerlight, Ministry of Awesome

"Sorry Gunny, I was setting a memory start point. That... agh I don't think I'm going to get used to that anytime soon." Blinking as his eyes readjusted to the dim environment of a sterile room, the stallion could feel the painfully hard steel table beneath his back. Above him his hooves were resting on the uniformed shoulders of a dark brown earth pony stallion, his greying goatee and auburn mane fixed in a stern but forgiving frown.

"Yeah, yer not the first one tah say that... they say setting y'r first Point is the worst, but yah ain't gone and Chuck'd up on me. So, I'd say yer doing fine so far. Come on then." The strong hooves of the stallion gripped the pegasus, lifting the lighter pony to a sitting position. Blinking away the blurry after image, Martini found himself staring down at the familiar form of Gunnery Sergeant Master Metal as the latter helped him off the table and kept him from swaying on his shaky legs.

"I don't right know how a fell'ah like yerself can do it Leftenant. But good job, you ain't dead... well, the permanent kind anyway. Just remember not tah let no-one hit yah in that box'ah yours with no Plasma, er lasers... 'n yah should outlast us all." The older stallion chuckled, his thickly muscled foreleg tapping the pegasi's bare chest with what was likely a light tap for an earth pony of his skill, but to the young officer it might as well have been a punch in the lungs.

"N-noted. Gunn-ry Sergeant. Agh."

The laughter paused for a moment as the older pony looked the Shadowbolt over. "Son~" Even with the thick southern drawl, there was no hiding the fatherly tone the aged Non-Com used as he regarded the junior officer. "You can call me Gunny, Gunny Master, Sergeant Metal, or Sir~... I know you outrank me, but you gave up on the comforts of a proper chain of command the moment you stepped your hooves in the Project." The stern tone wasn't harsh, or unforgiving. Merely informative, comforting... in an odd way.

"Of course, Gunny... so, who am I being assigned to this time? 15, 10?" For a moment a small flicker of concern passed through the stallion's teeth at the mention of the even number, before fading away under the hard back-thumping pat provided by the older earth pony.

"Son, ah couldn't tell yah. But I know it's an Agent... and they're down a Dirk. So, until yah get replaced on 'ere team. Just remember yer train'n... and for Goddesses sake, remember: Your weapon is your life, don't lose it." But rather than offer some form of weapon, the stallion simply tapped the pegasus on the side of the head.

"This, this right'er. Is the greatest weapon yah got, never fer'get that."

Nodding in understanding, the pegasus waits for the old stallion to continue... only to stumble as the supporting weight pulled away. Stumbling for a moment Martini barely managed to keep from planting his crimson snoot into the floor as he regained his footing.

"Well, come ah'n now young'n. Ah'll get yah kitted back up... we gotta be quick'bout it though. Word is the Stripes are plann'n something big... big enough tah have miss Blue an' Rainbows herself runn'n around in'ah tizzy. You'll be the last soul outta the base until we figure it out."

"Uniforms on the floor, ah'll be wait'n by the elevator on yah."

With that the older stallion made his way out the door, leaving Martini alone to examine the steel examination table behind him, the wall of stasis-crypts for holding the bodies of the fallen... and lastly his replacement uniform.

The familiar royal purple and pastel yellow of the Shadowbolts battledress drawing him in with ease. Unfolding the uniform, he grasped the zipper with a wing and pulled~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Blinking as the sound of the zipper carried over Martini's ears, the stallion found himself once more in the dimly lit maintenance corridor. The empty eye sockets of Master Metal staring up at him sagely.

As if even in death, the old stallion was waiting to provide him with insightful wisdom. With a careful shift of his wing, the zipper carried itself over the Gunny's bony face, sealing him away in the embrace of the body bag. The bag itself seemingly deflating as the runes within activated, shifting the air within the bag into a condensed state.

Shriveling as it suddenly compacted into a vacuumed-sealed container, the bag took on a vaguely pony-like shape. As though someone had simply laid two thick black sheets over the body and pressed it perfectly flat against the surface.

Carefully, Martini lifted the body of Masters in his hooves, wings wrapping around the rungs in their stead as he climbed the shaft. Face white, as though he'd just seen a ghost. ...in a sense, he had.

While the memory was short it answered at least one key question: Was he stationed at this base in the past? ...yes. Unfortunately, it just raised more questions. What was a 'Dirk', beyond a simple and reliable close quarters weapon? Perhaps the answer was simple... he was a close-combat specialist after all. Maybe the designation was meant to indicate that? But if so, who was he assigned to?

Back in the hallway Rum Rush was kind enough not to comment on the paleness of Martini's coat, despite how amusingly pink it seemed. Fortunately, as soon as the body of the Gunny was hoofed over to two of the Ponytrons, the odd discoloration began to fade back to the normal crimson red the pegasus was known for. Following the stallion as he retraced his steps.

The pair and their accompanying host of automata made their way to the mess hall, which had finally had its stench degrade from toxic to merely uncomfortable thanks to the ventilation systems. Which also revealed the source of the horrid smell.

At some point in the distant past a meat fridge had been opened by one of the three skeletons lying on the floor within the kitchen proper, from the contraband alcohol bottles and Party Time Mint-Al's, to the desperate choking position of each of the bodies, it was clear that they had asphyxiated while trying to make something out of the meat, likely while drunk... add in the rot and lack of airflow, and it was no wonder that the rest of the Mess Hall became a cloud of unbreathable stench.

Fortunately, the Stasis runes on the remaining fridges were still intact. Meaning whatever was within them was probably still good, as were the cabinets full of preserved rations, canned goods... there was even a pantry stocked full of MRE's.

Enough that two ponies would never dent the available number housed within. Thanking Luna for small miracles, Martini carefully packaged each of the three bodies, and once more they were hooved over to the Ponytrons.

Despite their design, the machines handled the bodies with a shocking amount of care... Gentle Touch Protocol indeed.

From the Mess Hall to the offices the procession marched, bagging a lone officer who must have died napping at his desk. Then the body of the Duty Guard in the main lobby. By the time the Guards body was waddled out, the first Ponytrons had returned.

Moving towards the barracks the stallion felt a deeply seeded root of despair in his chest the moment the group rounded the corner leading past the laundry. He had collected one Holotag from each of the bodies within the three barracks as Sunrise's crew had gone about ransacking the place. Each of which laid in a bag within his saddlebags back in his commandeered room.

Gathering his courage, the stallion refused to break his stride as he hugged the left corner leading into the first barracks... but it still hurt to see the four ranks of beds, each topped with a ponies skeleton, aside from the rare few who managed to struggle from their beds in their last panicked moments. Lowering his head in shame, the stallion got to work.

The act of transferring the fallen to their new rubber-bagged tomb numbing the stallion as the number rose. He almost didn't notice that a Protectron was providing him with replacement Body Bags after a while. Instead focusing wholly on his current purpose, his current duty.

Minutes turned to an hour as the procession proceeded through the first barracks with grim efficiency, ensuring the chain of body-bags moving out the doors remained constant as Martini continued his disheartening work.

A brief flicker of distraction did present itself though as he caught sight of Rum Rush pausing one of the pairs of Ponytrons carrying a body out to open the bag, check something within, then reseal it... as he continued, he saw her do this with each bagged body to pass through the doors of the barracks. Uncertain what she was doing, the stallion opted to simply continue the ghastly task and ask her later.

Eventually, the final body of the first barracks was tucked away. With legs like lead weights the crimson pegasus checked the connected showers and relief area, noting the remains of an improvised alcohol still in one of the shower stalls.

With no further bodies in sight, the stallion moved onto the next barracks with the same dark determination. It took only around forty-five minutes to clear the bodies from the second barracks.

Not that any would view such a thing as 'Good'... some part of Martini's logical mind filed away his improved efficiency in processing casualties, but the conscious part of his mind retreated from the traumatizing work.

Soon, two barracks became three. The clank of machines moving in an unbroken chain to carry the fallen had long since become a simple element of the background to the stallion as he worked, unaware of the faint tremble to his wings with every bag he zipped up.

Every sniffle as he hooved them on to the Ponytrons... and every teary-eyed blur he simply blinked away as dust from the remains. Refusing to consciously acknowledge his emotional weakness. He had to remain strong, at least until the end.

From the barracks to the officers' quarters, bodies were packaged and carefully transferred. Even the second level of the base was cleared, only a hoof-ful of non-military workers in the large workshop space and the bodies of five scientists made up the entire population of that portion of the base.

Moving through the chemical mixing faculties and armor presses for the unnatural, spiritually resistant material still left the stallion a little uncertain. ...he didn't tarry there for too long.

Eventually the stallion ran out of places to look. From the lab facilities, workshops, and test range of the underground level to the more conventional bunker of the upper level of the base.

With great weight in each step, the stallion ensured that none had been missed in his sweeps. Which meant only one thing remained for the stallion to do... the one thing he dreaded but felt needed to be done. If only to offer the fallen some measure of peace.

It was with that in mind that his hooves carried him back to the bay doors of the Motor Pool, eyes blank as he crossed the threshold of the doorway into the chilly air of the Wasteland. Behind him he could still hear the faint clatter of hooves from Rum Rush, the mare having never broken line of sight with him throughout the entire process... Slowing his pace, the stallion let his gaze sharpen as he approached the graves and stopped.

The hooves behind him halted with his...

Stretching out before the stallion was each grave, positioned to his exact request, but with two key differences. Attached to the embedded metal spike at the head of each grave was a simple sheet of steel, a line only a hoof-wide and three hooves long, welded into place vertically. But more important than the metal addition was the characters burned into each sheet, as if by an arch welder.

He didn't need to see them up close, but closer did he draw himself until eventually the characters of the first grave made themselves known to him in painful clarity, even though his blurring eyes. For next to the Captain's grave was a second burial marking.

The name, rank, and serial number of Master Metal imprinted into its surface. Blinking away tears, the stallion shook his head and averted his gaze from the improvised headstone... until his gaze landed upon the entrenching tool standing naught but a few feet away from the pegasus, head buried in the soil as he'd left it.

Reaching out with a wing, the stallion shifted the tool to his left hoof, the cyberlimb shifting to release its mechanized digits and grasp the shovel as Martini adjusted it, resting the blade of the shovel against the bare metal beneath the name and gathered the moisture in the air around his wings.

With each slow whip of his feathers a layer of fog thickened around the stallion's form, directing it, Martini lashed out with the water vapor in the same manner he had to dig. But rather than cutting through soil and crabgrass, the water slammed strongly against the thin metal plate of the improvised grave marker.

Once, twice, thrice he struck until the metal gave, punching a fine line through the metal and leaving a fairly smooth hole.

Mirroring the position on the opposite side of the new hole, the stallion repeated the process, leaving the familiar lines of a single chevron in the steel... then he lowered the blade of the shovel and struck again, adding a second chevron.

Then a Third! Then and only then did he flip the shovel around and press it to the central line of these three chevrons, twice more he struck, leaving the mark of a Gunnery Sergeants rank punched through the plate of metal.

Rising, he moved back from the Gunny and Captain's graves to a position from which he could see the entire front line, and had ponies stood in place of the tombstones the entire front line would have been able to see him. Weary eyes trailing over the rows of marked dead; he straightens up as the warmth of the sun at his back suddenly illuminates the stallion.

His shadow stretched far before him by the dying light of the setting sun. Raising his gaze skyward, he can make out a break in the clouds centered on the gravesite. A coincidence? Some divine act?

He didn't know... but in this moment his voice, quiet but carried across the quiet surroundings rose, filled with sorrow, command, and finality as he turns back to the sun-lit burial site.

"Company!..." He stiffens instinctively at attention, and once more he could almost swear that he could see the outline of everypony he'd buried, their pastel-colored forms shimmering above the turned dirt that marked their final resting places.

"Your duty is complete~" The moisture that had grown at the edge of his eyes began to drip, slowly, steadily as it curves down his cheeks.

"Go now with the blessing of the Moon, may you find peace beyond duty."

"Dismissed."

With that first and final order his right wing snaps up, bringing the tip of his crimson primaries to his temple in salute. Silence reigns over the parking lot for a few seconds as the sunlight fades with a shift in the clouds, then the limb trembles.

The thin stream of tears strengthening as they trail their way down his cheek, collecting under his chin. He remains at attention for thirty seconds before the trembling becomes too much, and he lowers his head. Silently sobbing.

-----------------The Base Exterior----------------

Focus

Two hours.

...

It took two long, painful hours for Martini to recover from the funeral. Two hours of brutally repressed emotions flowing as freely as the tears from his eyes, or wails from his throat. Two hours to release the condensed pain of a months' worth of abuse, blame, and anger... but more than that, two hours to release the grief for the world that Equestria had truly become.

When they had first met, Scopolamina had told Martini that it was the fault of him and those like him that had doomed Equestria to become the Wasteland it is today. At the time he'd denied it, he'd tried to refuse the blame... the very act doing little to lessen the cracks it crafted in his compromised mental state. The mare's words had driven the hardened soldier to near insanity as his mind struggled to find a way to prove them false.

But the drugged-up bitch of a unicorn was both blunt... and honest in her statement. Though perhaps not to the extent she'd meant.

As an officer in service to the Ministry of Awesome, he had been called upon to perform tasks and missions in secrecy. Missions that more often than not crossed the borders of morality, from assassination and sabotage to kidnapping and false flags, the stallion had a plethora of experience in the art of wetwork.

He had eliminated or captured targets among the Legions of Zebrica, Legionaries, Centurions, Praetorians, ... even a Warlock once at the behest of the Ministry of Morale during a joint-Ministry operation. Not an easy feat for even an experienced operative given the near god-like status of Warlock's on the battlefield. Being both a Shaman trained from birth and bound intimately with a fragment of the most ancient and powerful of spirits, even the lowest of Warlock could and has shattered entire armies of their opposition.

But his skill with blade and infiltration alike wasn't purely used against External foes. Spies, political opponents to the War's swift conclusion, foreign officials in neutral territories, collaborators... the families of those collaborators, and more. The blood coating the stallion's hooves was as crimson as the fur coating his body.

One could even say that his color suited his work well... no matter how much blood he waded through, no one would notice the stains on his brilliant red coat. But for all the horror he had inflicted on the enemies of Equestria, for all the suffering and pain he had brought upon them, he suffered as well.

Traumatic as his deeds may have been, Martini had carried them out over his years of service without question. He savored the days he was given operational control, for those were the days that saw the least blood being spilled. Normally it would only be the target, no retribution against loved ones, no accidents removing a generation of their family during a quiet get-together. No untimely creation of orphans...

...But most of the time, his missions were planned by the more merciless members of the Ministry's internal planning team. Say what you will about the Ministry of Awesome's Official Record, but the reports that never saw the public eye were filled with coldly efficient mission logs. Each and every one of them carried out after exhaustive research and review before being passed on, and each one carried out to perfection as often as one would expect.

For a stallion like Martini, every step through hock-high blood was done in the name of Equestria, each a heavy and painful step towards peace. Towards a conclusion that would see the citizens of Equestria safe from the horrors of war, He and those like him had shouldered the unseen burden of doing what needed to be done. So, to awaken in the hellscape of the Wasteland, one-hundred and fifty~odd years after The War had ended, to see the devastation wrought upon the world...

Had he been a lesser stallion, he would have simply taken his own life then and there... instead he forced it down like he was trained to, deep into himself as his mind struggled with the horrifying realization: that everything he had done, that they as a Ministry, had done... had all been for nothing.

With those words, Scopolamina had shattered an agent who had stood eye-to-eye with one of the Caeser's Centurions. She'd created a broken soul who desperately clung to any Cause he could, throwing himself into battle with an unspoken wish to simply die. To Martyr himself for even the smallest chance at redemption. Perhaps that was why he remained with Wandering Sunrise for so long? Fortunately, thanks in no small part to Chifundo... he eventually recovered. But the repressed anguish remained, until the dam finally gave way.

But unlike when Scopolamina had broken his will, Martini was in a far better state... he even had a wing to vent into, as Rum Rush had been quick to layer him in the embrace of her feathers. Despite everything, even her nature as a bounty-hunting mercenary. She had treated him with more care than many of his recent companions, with the notable, pink-striped exception and Quick Stitch the Miracle Doctor as standouts.

So it was; that the stallion and mare would eventually end up back inside the facility's lobby, resting against the unmanned Duty Desk. The team of Ponytron's long since returned to their charging racks and the armored doors of the base resealed against the chaos of the wasteland.

For Rum Rush it had been awkward to comfort the crimson stallion, but as the second hour began to stretch towards a third, the pegasus began to recover. He began to think, he began to remember his training. Among these thoughts, he settled on an old tried and true method to mentally recover.

Something that the red mare had been surprised by when he had extracted himself from her wings with a few muttered words of thanks as they separated. He had hoarsely mentioned getting his hoof blades to practice before wandering off towards the barracks, which was how she came to find herself rooted to the Duty Desk, watching the stallion before her dancing through the air with his hoof blades.

. . .

Coming to rest on the aged tile of lobby in a bipedal stance, Martini brought both of his foreleg's upper halves flush against his body, with his hooves held out ahead of him in preparation for his next kata. To him it was a natural stance, one he found comfort in despite its purpose. Flaring his wings, he pushed himself forward, left hind leg kicking off the ground as he lashed out at an imaginary target below him.

With a sharp twist of his right wing the pegasi's leap transitioned to a quick and precise landing, one which would have put him behind the 'target' he'd struck with his first blow. His trailing left foreleg lashing out in a wide swing on landing that could have struck another individual in close proximity had one been present, before planting in the imaginary spine of his ethereal foe. A quick move meant to dispatch at least one of two attackers in close proximity.

After all, that was the purpose of his art... Stance Five of the Ministry of Awesome Martial Arts Program was almost exclusively used by flyers due to its reliance on maneuverability. Sure, an Earth Pony or Unicorn could learn it, but only those with wings were capable of taking the Feather Trot Stance to its full potential. Forgoing the flashy and extravagant moves of other arts in favor of cold efficiency.

As an art created purely for war against the numerically superior Zebra, every stance of MoAMAP was designed to be used against groups.

Compared to the drug-fueled battle fever that was Doom Bunny-style, the more speed dependent yet similar Gryphonian Robin-style, or the once-common Skydancer school that had served as the basis for nearly every flier within the Ministry of Awesomes Ranks, Markerlight included. It was brutally efficient in its simplistic grace.

Every movement was meant to be carried out without hesitation. Serving as an exceptional counter to the Zebrecian's hard-striking, stealth focused Fallen Caeser-style and the ever-versatile pistol-art of Gun Kata, MoAMAP could have been a true staple of Equestrian Soldiering. Something to rival the nearly universally practiced Fallen Caeser-style of the Zebra Legions... had the war not ended. Of course.

But the stallion didn't think about what 'Could' have happened. He merely focused on the Here and the Now as he repeated the simulated strike. The familiar repetitiveness of the action drawing his mind from the mental anguish he'd nearly drowned in, an old habit he picked up after his first missions with the Ministry.

Back when he questioned himself every night over what he was doing. He'd rested in a horrid spot back then, caught between his own morality and the cruel grind of conflict. Thankfully, he wasn't alone in those thoughts... neither was he the first to question themselves.

...and unlike the Ministry of Morale, who would have done away with the pain through gratuitous drug use, or the Ministry of Image's willingness to merely pluck those troublesome memories from the minds of their agents. Rainbow Dash's Ministry handled things more efficiently, sure the memory-plucking method could be used.

But the MoA was more likely to help improve their agents mental hardening through vigorous, ofttimes brutal training regimes. But for Martini, he had been privileged to receive a trainer who understood the value of his morality and helped console him through even the hardest of times.

It was because of her that he held onto himself and didn't drift into the cold detachment that more than a few of his fellow Agents fell to. All this she did, not just for him, but for any Agent whom she was asked to take on... practically every Shadowbolt had seen her at least once, not only as somepony to talk to, but as one of the Ministry's foremost experts on Zebra Martial Arts.

All because she promised a good friend of hers, that she would happily help in any way she could.

Her name was Zecora, and among the Ministry of Awesomes greatest secrets she was one of the most valued, and most openly known within the Ministry. As the primary trainer for nearly every successful graduate of the Shadowbolts Martial Arts Advanced Course, there was not a Veteran Shadowbolt alive who held her in low regard.

She was calm, confident, always willing to listen and offer advice in her odd rhyming way, even to those students who frustrated her to no end. Sure, there were some who questioned her loyalty in the beginning, given her status as an Equestrian Zebra. But the only ones who truly believed such drivel were those who had never trained under her guiding hoof.

'I wonder what she'd say if she saw the world now?' Martini sighed as his Kata came to an end, after all. When Zecora had died. Nearly every active Shadowbolt had mourned her loss, Rainbow especially had been heartbroken to hear of her old friend's death. The only one who likely had it worse was her killer, a stallion named Applesnack.

The stallion's eyes narrowed as his imaginary target took on a larger frame, a sickening lime-green coat and golden mane spreading across the imagined killers combat armor-garbed form. ruby-red eyes glaring out with utter disinterest from beneath a helmet, marred by the words 'Better wiped than striped' as he leveled the familiar form of a Combat Rifle.

'Sure, the green bastard couldn't have known that the zebra mare he murdered was serving the Ministry of Awesome, or that she was being positioned to become a double agent... and he had reasonable cause. But every Veteran Shadowbolt in service had seen the recovered memories from his point of view, thanks to an 'unknown associate' within the Ministry of Morale providing the 'unofficial copies' of Applesnack's voluntarily provided memory, these had wormed their way through the ranks as word of her death spread. Had it been a Zebra that had killed her, our rage would have been targeted into our future operations. Against our enemies...'

Adjusting his forelegs position and widening his hindlegs placement, the stallion slipped into the comforting embrace of the Counter Kata Stance as he leapt forward. The imagined Applesnack before him leveling an M8 Grand at the pegasus, the familiar, deep bark of the rifle echoing in the stallion's ear from memory.

'Instead, that bastard of an earth pony beat her to death when she tried to surrender.' Two shots would have missed, passing over his left shoulder had they been real. 'The damned brute couldn't even follow the established protocol for surrendering spies.'

Reaching his immaterial target, Martini's left hoof-blade struck upwards, connecting with where the wooden body of the rifle would exist in the real world and pushed its muzzle towards the ceiling, the act forcing the imagined green stallions head to snap up as his jaws clamped on the trigger bit with each attempt to bring the gun back down. Four unintended shots would have taken to the ceiling tiles as the massive earth pony tried in vain to avert the quick jab of Martini's right hoof-blade into the space between the combat armors collar, and the unprotected throat of the towering soldier.

A quick twist of the blade would have severed the spine and vulnerable arteries running through the neck of a real pony. But like every other time this particular imagined foe appeared in his training sessions, the stallion merely faded away like smoke in a strong wind. Leaving Martini to set himself up for his next Kata.

A frown of disappointment flickering across his muzzle. After all... that green bastard deserved it, it was just a shame the Zebra outpaced the Shadowbolts in killing him, along with the rest of the world.

'Even if he survived the bombs, he's long dead by now...'

Settling in the Counter Kata Stance once more, Martini's imagination conjured up two replacement foes three ponylengths ahead of him. The familiar form of The Green Bastard and a similar sized yellow stallion faced him, bayonets glinting from their rifles.

With a silent growl the stallion was upon them in his standard bipedal stance, left hoofblade lashing out to redirect the blow of Applesnack's improvised spear. With a mental crack of metal and a twist of his hoof, the illusionary bayonet slid harmlessly past the pegasi's head and over his left wing. His right hoofblade however missed the rifle entirely as Martini's right hindhoof kicked off the tile. Carrying him over the imagined attack before delivering a blow with his right wings leading edge to the yellow stallions unprotected eyes.

A crippling move, given the crimson stallions preference for bearing Wingblades. A quick follow-up slash from his right hoofblade would have opened the neck of the illusionary soldier, leaving only Applesnack to contest him. A feat he would only accomplish for an additional three seconds of backpedaling. With sharp, controlled swings the pegasus cut the imaginary target down to size in satisfying speed. Satisfying, to an extent.

After all, every time he found himself facing down Applesnack, it reminded him of one more thing to mourn... mourning. The word caught the stallion for a moment, interrupting his preparations for yet another Kata as his mind drifted backwards a mere two days, to the hours following Rum Rush and her fellow mercenaries attempt to claim a Bounty on Wandering Sunrise and her crew. 'When I told her how they killed her team's sniper, she seemed so... broken. She must have cared a great deal for that unicorn, she didn't deserve to have those gryphons carve her open like beasts.'

Turning his gaze to the watching form of Rum Rush, the stallion once more became aware of her enamored gaze. Not entirely unsurprising really... after all, he'd all but destroyed her in close combat before they came to an agreement on Chifundo's safety. Something he had done while holding back. So, to see him practicing MoAMAP without reservation must be both a haunting and awe-inspiring sight. Starting as the stallion's amber gaze lands upon her, the mare responds with a nervous smile and the faintest hint of sweat beading on her exposed muzzle.

With a sigh the stallion drops back onto all fours, his hoofblades touching the tile and retracting into their spring-loaded holsters with a slight incline of his hooves. Hidden, unseen, silent, yet capable of appearing in a moment's notice to cut even the toughest of enemies down to size. A good assassin's weapon, or backup melee blade. "Hey, Rum Rush... tomorrow I want to head back to the ambush site and see about giving your friend a proper burial."

The nervous smile on the mare's muzzle fades quickly with the stallion's words. The slump of her shoulders, the slight decline of her head... yeah, that unicorn meant something to her alright. Dipping her head to tap away at her Workhorse unit, the mare quickly turned the screen to face him.

Bury her here?

There was a quiver in the mare's posture as Martini shook his head in confirmation. Once more she flipped the tablet around and typed on it before presenting the screen. She clearly typed out something lengthy before shortening it to a simple question.

When?

Giving Rum Rush a sad smile, Martini let his words ring with certainty. "Tomorrow, first thing in the morning... its better that we handle it soon~" He left the darker side of his statement in the depths of his mind, after all. There wasn't any need to worry the ruby pegamare about the possibility of wildlife digging up the graves, not yet at least.

The statement, the decision, seemed to breath some saddened life back into the mare. Her shoulders straightened as she rose stiffly to her hooves. With a nod she rounded to start towards the barracks when an echoing roar filled the lobby... not the cry of some great beast, or an abomination. But the grumble of a modestly ignored stomach. With a blush that could light up the room, the red mare pointedly avoided the amused expression of her companion... until a second, greater groan of hunger echoed out from the pegasus stallion's own belly.

"...ah." The stallions mirthful snickering grew as a mix of embarrassment and amusement simply left him giggling. A sound that the pegamare simply couldn't ignore as her own amused snort followed the stallion's laughter. "You know, let's get something to eat first... I can cook now that the kitchen's cleared up." The quirked eyebrow from the mare left the stallion 'hmm'ing in indignation. "What, I can cook!" Even for a mute, the silent laughter almost seemed to carry in the quiet halls.

...

As it turns out, Martini was not joking when he said he could cook, and more importantly he was an excellent judge of calorie needs. As the meal he crafted from the vast array of stasis-bound meats, canned goods, and preserved plants had not only come out tasting delectable but was just filling enough to leave the pegamare feeling content. Not full, not stuffed. But content.

His own meal consisted of a grilled steak of salmon, actual, real, saltwater salmon... on a bed of rice. Simple in concept, but seemingly enough for him. With a seemingly endless supply of purified water to slake their thirst, and a good number of wartime drinks to choose from. Dinner was shockingly good, good enough that the feminine pegasus had started licking her plate clean before she could stop herself.

Something that Martini couldn't blame her for in the slightest, after all... it was easy for him to make a Salsbury steak taste delectable when it wasn't almost a century and a half out of date. So, any meal he made from practically fresh ingredients must seem like ambrosia to a wastelander. The rest of the night passed swiftly as the pair settled in for the night, neither of them resting easily. For Rum Rush, the thought of what the pair would find at the former battleground left her mind ablur until sleep claimed her.

As for Martini, the nightmares never let him rest easily.

When morning came the pair were prepared.

Showered, well fed, in clothing that was not just clean, but warded with alchemical resistances thanks to the LADS unit that both pegasi had used for their laundry... and after a visit to the armory that left Rum Rush squealing loud enough for an actual noise to echo from the mute, well-armed and armored. The pair set out into the dim wasteland air, leaving the base sealed behind them.

Sporting an olive-colored flak jacket and two bandoliers of 37mm Grenade rounds over her Shadowbolts costume and a brand new five-shot TGL-37 Rotary Grenade Launcher, Rum Rush easily kept pace with the crimson stallion. The dark brown armored vest meshing in well with her dull green and gunmetal grey super-heavy battle saddle.

While Martini, poor, poor Martini once more cursed Wandering Sunrise for her choice in camouflage design. It was clear she must have learned it in some horridly out of date manual rather than in the field. Still, his reinforced combat armor was hardly made of cardboard.

Especially since Sunrise has extensively modified it.

In his hooves he carried his usual PPG-43 Plasma Rifle, a hoof blade on each leg, and his wingblades. Which should be more than enough to incapacitate any wastelander or experienced fighter with ease. Assuming they don't spot him first, that is.

After all, tinfoil-silver and white with a matte-grey belly really doesn't help anyone below the cloud-layer. Perhaps if he was bucking with the Enclave, it might do in a pinch... but the moment he had some free time, he was going to repaint his armor to something more respectable. Forgoing his goddess-forsaken helmet in favor of his preferred royal purple beret, the stallion powered through the air with a determined purpose in his wings, Rum Rush following alongside.

"At least we aren't flying through another storm this time." He chuckles, earning a jab in his armored shoulder from the mare as she shifted closer to him. A pointed look on her face... as the stallions smile fades with embarrassment. "...right, jinxed it. Buck." Rubbing his armored shoulder, the stallion lets his instincts guide him back along the same flight path the pair had taken amidst the storm.

Though unlike before, they flew at great height to get a bird's eye view of the ground... something that turned out to be a wise choice as a familiar set of silhouettes passed a few hundred meters below the pair. One exceedingly large framed avian and two more normal sized compatriots, gryphons... and uncomfortably familiar ones at that.

'Well, looks like the Caravan is still in the area.' The stallion laments, watching the patrol pass beneath them and continue on to the south.

Meeting Rum Rush's concerned gaze, the pair raise their altitude until they're all but skimming the cloud-layer. From such a height the sight of the lone trailer of the caravan and the small crowd of ponies and gryphons that make up its number, slowly making their way down a mostly intact highway below. A pity... they'll probably have to cross at the sole standing bridge across the Brooke Gorge without the strength of Scopolamina's magical might to lift the trailer. Assuming they can pay the brigands occupying it to cross.

Even from their considerable height, it was easy to tell that not a member of Sunrise's crew walked among the crowd. For Martini, that was both a blessing, and a curse. If he ran into them, it wouldn't end in a fight with the entire caravan aiming to gut him AND Sunrise's crew trying to turn him into paste... it would be an even fight. One way or another.

Of course, if luck was on their side this time. There wouldn't be a fight.

The Caravan soon faded into the landscape behind the pair as they grew closer to the site of the ambush. It might have once been a large roadstop, the sort of place a pony would stop to stretch their legs after a long motorcarriage ride or flight. Almost a little town even, a few dozen ruined houses situated around a motel. Though judging by the cracked sign standing beside the pile of debris covering the large lot beside the motel, there was once an arcane matrix-charging station for motorwagons and a clinic.

'A shame, even a degraded charging station would have been a welcome salvaging spot.'

Dipping his right wing in a slow turn to circle the small town, Martini picked out the signs of battle. The charred husks of combat robots from the mercenaries. The burnt out remains of a two-story structure across from the motel, where his former leader had detonated vast quantities of explosives.

The three graves he'd dug in front of the~

The stallion blinked, a rush of confusion flowing over him. He'd dug four graves and buried four bodies; two ex-raiders who'd turned on the caravaneers during the ambush. A single mare who'd died during the fighting, killed by those same raiders, and the unicorn sniper from Rum Rushes team... but even from their considerable altitude the red pegasus could tell that something had changed about the last grave in particular.

"Come on, lets get down there."

Folding his right wing in, the Shadowbolt seamlessly slipped into a steep dive and cut through the air as he approached the old motel. As the distance between ground and grunt dipped into the double-digit meters he flared his wings, the vast crimson-feathered limbs catching the air like drag chutes. A simple maneuver, one he must have done thousands of times both in and out of combat.

"Thirty..."

"Twenty..."

"Ten~"

Bracing his legs for landing Martini's wings flapped down once, the powerful limbs bringing his slowed decent to a controllable hover. With a quiet clip clop of booted hooves on gravel drive, the stallion landed in a trot. Coming to a stop just short of the broken roadway, he quickly found himself joined by the presence of Rum Rush as her slightly slower decent finally caught up.

The building was in just as poor a shape as it had been days earlier. Dilapidated brickwork, rotting wood paneling along the windows, even old boards that had seemingly been fashioned as makeshift protection and barricades. Those actually looked new, perhaps from the caravan?

Regardless, the pair moved towards the front of the building where the three distinct mounds of dirt laid... three graves, and a hole. A hole that should have held a corpse. Yet much to the confusion of the two, it did not.

A casual glance confirmed that the dirt that should have occupied the grave was also absent, in fact... the entire hole looked off. As if someone had taken a massive scoop and simply cut out a sphere in the center of it, impressive given it was just under six feet deep and about five feet across. Stranger still, the edges of the hole were smooth, with only the topmost layer of soil near the edge showing any odd deformations.

It almost seemed... familiar.

Scratching his head, Martini's amber eyes dipped to the dirt surrounding the hole. It was a mess of prints, hooves mostly... except for one. Carefully shifting his boots to the side, the pegasus eyed that particular print.

"I've got something here."

A large paw pad partially disturbed by the familiar hoof-shape of Nyota, and five distinct toes. Following the direction of that single print the stallion discovered a second more widely spaced print, then a third, his gaze rising until it laid upon the hardy forest of rough gorse and stubborn pines at the edge of the township. There was a break in the underbrush, a large break in fact.

It earned a groan from the stallion. "...oh you've got to be flocking with me..."

Given the tracks and the size of the break, it was probably a fairly big bear. Which was a problem considering the source of those pawprints seemed to indicate it came from the hole in the ground. A quick double check confirmed the absence of any tracks leading to the sizable hole, meaning it didn't walk over and dig up the grave. Even if it had, the hole was too perfectly rounded, so it must have crawled out of this hole, and took off in a panic.

'So how the hell did a bear body-swap with a corpse?' He wondered, looking down at the print in contemplation.

But as the seconds ticked by, his gaze slowly drifted lower. From the paw-print below him to the armor coating his chest. Deep in his chest a flicker of hope grew alight, because he knew of one way for a bear to accomplish what he assumed this one had.

After all, it was the same reason he was alive.

Raising his cyberlimb to his armored chest, Martini let his steel hoof rest against the sturdy plate of his combat armor. Knowing that deep within his chest stood the very piece of tech that could accomplish such a thing.

A Recombulator.

...or just 'A Box' if you preferred Sunrise's description.

A device of unknown power and capability, holding both his soul and that of a gryphon that Sunrise had taken a fancy too... a Regulator at that. A one-eye'd sharpshooter by the name of Alguacil, or 'The long eye of the Law' as was known. A gryphon who had died violently fighting against the Enclave, at that.

His death had led to the Recombulator activating... which had left Martini in the unenviable spot of waking up in the middle of a funeral of sorts. Even through the haze of that day, he still remembered the smoothness of the area around him when he'd awoken. It was a crying shame that the first face he found was the lime green and peppermint mane of 'The Angel with a Shotgun'.

Still, if this was the result of a recombulator activating. Then that means that the mare within could be brought back out potentially, but first things first.

Turning his gaze on the mildly amused form of Rum Rush, the stallion's words quickly wiped any sense of laughter from her muzzle. In its place he found a brief moment of fear, then a burning resolve, and all it took was eleven words.

"I don't think your friend is as dead as I thought..."

Narrowing her eyes at the stallion the mare held out her hoof, motioning for him to continue.

"...its hard to explain. But based on the tracks I'm seeing here there was a bear that crawled its way out of her grave, and I've seen an implant that takes one or several creature's souls an’ places them in a gem of sorts. When they die it uses local materials to transmute into a replacement body and revives them." He motions to the unnaturally smooth hole. "The results of it look very similar to this. If I'm right, your friend had one of these implants... and it must have sucked up a bear at some point. Which would explain the size of this perfectly rounded hole. Her implant was probably set to randomly select who or what came out from an internal list of souls."

Eyebrows raised and eyes glaring with suspicion, the mare frowns. But as she turned her gaze onto the tracks the stallion had pointed out, he could easily make out the cogs turning in her head as she ran the scene through her own mind.

After a minute of thought, Rum Rush reluctantly nodded her head. Either unable to think of another reason for this unusual situation, or unwilling. From the glimmer of hope in her hazel eyes, it was likely the latter of the two.

...Martini could understand that.

"We should follow its track, if we find the bear... we find your marefriend."

The sputtered croak from the mare certainly meant that the stallion's words had struck Rum Rush, he could see the glare she tried to level at him... only for it to fade to a simple nod of agreement. Hefting her rotary grenade launcher, the crimson mare adjusted her flight goggles. Sliding them down over her expressive eyes.

With a toothy grin, the Shadowbolt primed the charge switch on his plasma rifle. The amber and bronze colored magical energy weapon thrumming with power as harsh green glow filled the visible pipework's of the machine. Holding it aloft in his cyberhoof, the stallion shouldered the weapon.

"Alright, let's hope it didn't get very far."

The forest was quiet.

For a soldier like Martini the quiet was both a welcomingly unsettling and familiar... it meant that the creatures that dwelt within knew they were in the presence of a predator. Whether that was himself, Rum Rush, or something else? That was still to be determined. But for Rum Rush the silence left her uneasy.

Following in the wake of the stallion, the feminine pegasus gently tongued the trigger-bit of the grenade launcher between her teeth. Ears pricked for any sound beyond the gentle rhythm and subtle crunch of the pairs hoofsteps on the forest floor. Beyond the wind rustling the pines and the occasional creak of wood in oppressive day-time darkness, nothing seemed to be stirring. Not a bird in its nest or a rodent in the mess of leaves...

Slowly swiveling her grenade launcher as she scanned the amber-tinted undergrowth through her goggles, the pegasus once again felt a curious sense of relief as her gaze briefly trailed over the unusual stallion ahead of her. Twice she'd given him ample reason to kill her, twice he'd completely and utterly dismantled her attempts with ease... and yet both times he had spared her life.

The first time she'd struck at him without warning, he had his back to her and she had the advantage! Only for him to dodge her blow with a simple shift of his head and taken her to the ground with two simple moves. Moves that in hindsight, could have simultaneously snapped her lower spine and neck had he chosen too. Instead, he'd questioned her... he'd given her the chance to explain her actions, he'd opened himself up to another strike... and the result had been the exact same.

He was merciful, generous even... had she done that to any other wastelander, there was no doubt in her mind that she would be dead or much, much worse.

But he was also oddly fragile in certain ways, she'd all but forced him into a position where he had to choose between a bad situation and a worse situation... and the thing that convinced him to side with her was a Pinkie Promise that she would not to harm the caravaneers, or his zonyfriend. A promise she had been willing to uphold, and one she still felt guilty about. The zony getting shot wasn't supposed to happen, in fact the ambush itself wasn't supposed to go down the way it had in the slightest! From the random storm closing in, to the mistakes in execution. Everything just seemed to go lopsided from the start.

Pink Whiskey and Peppermint were supposed to focus their fire on Wandering Sunrise, but something clearly went wrong in their planning. Since only one of them actually shot the mare with their Anti-Machine Rifle, and despite being shot in the head with a Power Armor killing round she just got back up! Then the two trailer drivers decided to go berserk and kill one of the caravaneers... damned Raiders, the pair of them. Even her quick strike to drop a half-dozen mines and a bag of flower to keep the 'Angel with a Shotgun's zebra boy-toy from sneaking around missed.

Then Tierce, the wannabe ninja of her little group of Hunters, decided to get close so he could take pot shots at the little green devil's Zebra with his Junk-Jet launcher. All while the hoof-ful of combat robots they had started targeting not just Sunrise and her crew, but the caravaneers too. Which brought them into the fight on top of everything else.

It was bad, but not unsalvageable. Even when the gryphons that had been following along as guards for the rest of the caravan decided to pick her out as a target. She underestimated them, and nearly paid the price for that mistake... then someone shot the zony, and all Tartarus broke loose. She'd only caught a glimpse of it, but Martini quickly and decisively went from a purely defensive, non-combat stance to a driven combatant. Sure, he kept it non-lethal, but he dropped and tied up their best stealth and melee specialist without breaking a sweat.

Then he came for her, right as the storm started to break. Every maneuver she made, every juke, jink, and dive she used to get away from him proved woefully insufficient in her weakened state. He was always right behind her... then he made her an offer she couldn't refuse. He asked her to disengage, that the fight was lost. That throwing her life away for some caps against impossible odds wasn't worth it.

'...and yeah, he might've been right. But a hundred-thousand caps per target, thats the kindof money someone's willing to die for.' But at the time, his words had struck a chord. So, with the crackle of magically active lightning closing in around them, she'd agreed. He escorted her through the storm to an old trailer park where they took shelter with an unusual stallion in the dilapidated admin office of the place.

Which was where Martini had learned something important about her, something that endeared him just a bit. All because he refused to let her wounds go untreated.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Three days earlier
Happy Trails Residential Park, Administration Building
Rum Rush, Merchants of Death

"We're almost there, the trailers are just a little further east of here."

For all her pride Rum Rush couldn't help but let a whimper of relief slip from her lips as a flash of mundane lightning lit up the landscape around the pair. Highlighting the ragged tears running along the left side of her barrel, and the dark glisten of blood coating both her suit and battered left wing. Supporting her in his full set of bloodstained combat armor, Martini kept his visor-obscured gaze on the distant shadow of structures ahead of them. His right wing helping shield the feminine pegasus from the thundering rain with his thick, armored, leather cloak.

It was agonizing, each and every step. Fragments of flak had riddled her side during a close pass during the ambush, and the gryphons had gotten far too close when she led them into the clouds above. Taking advantage of her poor skill in close combat with those claws of theirs and ballistic weapons, the fact she was still walking was a miracle.

Pushing through the sheets of harsh rain and wind the pair passed through a shattered wooden gate, reduced to little more than a hole in ragged brick wall after decades of neglect. The ruined forms of personal trailers and rusted out motorwagons stretched on beyond in oddly orderly lines, many of them little more than frames of scrap and tin. Gritting her teeth as she stumbled, Rum found the expected pain of a fall absent as Martini settled against her more directly. She even felt his right foreleg rise up beneath her barrel, supporting her weight with his armored shoulder.

"...there, the admin building~" The roar of thunder nearly drowned out the stallion's words as he all but carried her wounded form forward, the distinct form of an actual building appearing ahead in another flash of light. Two stories, with functional internal lights and a fireplace in use going by the smoke rising from the buildings chimney as the two grew closer. "Looks like someones living here... Probably not Raiders, but be ready if they turn out to be hostile."

'Right... in this state, yeah i'll get ready to bleed on them.'

Unaware of his companion's internal displeasure, Martini approached the door and angled his left side to it. Something that Rum Rush recognized as an attempt to shield her should the pony to open that door introduces themselves with a shotgun. Raising his free left wing the stallion knocks on the door firmly, calling out. "Is anyone here?" Almost immediately there was the clatter of something from inside, followed by a 'Hihihihi' from the other side of the door as whomever called this place home rushed to the door.

As it opened the ruby red pegasus could only cringe as a strong scent wafted out of the building, curtesy of the stallion who opened the door. Wild eyed and wily, the earth pony's hoof had already extended out before either the Shadowbolt or bounty hunter could react, curling around the soldier's wing in a strong grip. Shaking it strongly. "Well Hi-hiddly-doo, what brings ya to these parts? Come in, in in.. it's not right outside in these conditions~" The earth ponies distinctly happy appleoosan twang and yellowed teeth yapped. "~Yer gonna catch Windego fever." Stepping aside, the stallion admitted the two without hesitation.

Something that left Rum Rush extremely wary, and from the way Martini shifted his weight subtly to free up his left hoof and its hidden blade. Even he was somewhat put off by this unusual earth pony's attitude. "Eh bit of trouble on the road. My friend here took a few shots during an ambush. We were looking for somewhere to weather the storm while I patched her up." As she watched him take a glance around the room, Rum wanted to argue, but given the amount of pain she was in... she'd relent to it. As long as that Earth Pony wasn't involved.

As if her thoughts had been overheard, the wild-eyed stallions gaze fell on her. An uncomfortably wide smile growing on his muzzle. "I see, I see. A young couple like you out in this weather. Bad luck. I'll fix ya up right, hihihi. Ya hungry? Thirsty?" The question sent the hairs on the back of her neck shooting. She'd been drugged enough in the past to avoid food from questionable creatures, and this guy had enough red flags already.

Especially since he was still shaking Martini's wing... "Not exactly a couple but.. Yeah, out in a bad bit of weather. Honestly though, I ate and drank about an hour ago.. Thanks for offering though." He replied smoothly, for a moment the earth pony's smile seems to falter, flicker even. But as brief as it was there, it was gone. "Ah well, please have a seat! I'll be back in a few." Closing the door behind the pair, the stallion trots off. Leaving them alone in a living room of sorts.

The old administrative building had been converted into a home, though it was clearly a little bit homey to begin with. The fireplace in the room burned with freshly chopped wood, and Rum could see the old break room had been the earth pony had vanished into was turned into a kitchen. One with the stallions same strange smell coming from it, strongly. There were a set of stairs that lead to a second floor, and most likely a door to the bathroom beneath the staircase. There was also a nice couch and a couple of chairs spread around the fireplace... all of them curiously unused.

Carrying her over to the couch, the crimson stallion removed his cloak and laid it down over the cushions. Clearly intent on laying her down on it.

'Oh buck no, i'm not letting him treat me with that... freak, watching!' Pulling away from the stallion proved to be a poor idea as pain lashed up from her wounded side like a new set of claws raking her skin. But it got the stallions attention as his amber eyes fell on her goggled gaze. Drawing a piece of chalk from her bandolier, she carefully dried off the little chalkboard secured to her ammo-rigging and began writing. Taking great care not to move very much, or risk causing herself further pain.

She nearly finished when his voice brought her writing to a pause. "..I know your not going to like it, but we're going to need to get that uniform off you so I can clean and bandage the wounds.. and possibly clean the suit." Casting a glare at the Shadowbolt, she rapidly scratched out corrections to her writing. Simply crossing out a few words and underlining it to get her point across.

Not here, you can treat the wing but leave the suit on. I don't trust him.

Reading it, Martini frowned. "It's either that, or you keep wearing it and trap all that blood inside the suits lining... I can smell it from here, so any predator out there can and will smell it too." His words were sensible but damn this stallion! Wiping off the chalk on her wet sleeve, she wrote a new line.

Well I won't take it off unless I know he can't see me.

Glaring up at the armored pegasus, she nearly tried to scream as he set her down on the cloak. The pain was almost unbearable! But she still managed to hear his whisper as the stallion began to carefully pick through her wing with his cyberlimb, a healing potion-soaked bandage held in his free hoof. "I'll figure something out."

...

It took a few minutes of careful preening and painful digging before Martini bound her wing in the bandage, but by that point the searing pain had dulled to a stabbing ache. One only made worse by the earth ponies returns, his smile unchanged as the soldier buttered him up with polite words and humble thanks. Then he asked the earth pony about a room for the night. "Aw yeah, there's space upstairs. It was a couple of offices but they got made into... crashpads, I think is the term. But you can stay there. Coin isn't needed, but I might take it out in trade if you insist."

His yellowed teeth glinted in the firelight as they took on a crooked grin, his gaze running over her bloodied form appraisingly. Without the rain to obscure him and the firelight at his back, the pony seemed far more imposing. Very muscular in a way that was hidden well by the coveralls he wore. Even without any visible armor, something told Rum Rush that fighting him in her current state would be a long-shot... It made her glad that she'd listened to the Shadowbolt standing between them.

"I'll keep that in mind." Said stallion simply gave the unusual pony a thankful nod as he urged her back to her hooves, his left wing collecting the cloak he'd laid out as he guided her towards the stairs. Directed to a room off the main landing by the earth ponies voice. It was clearly an office of sorts, but it'd been made cozy enough. The mostly boarded window surprisingly helped with the smell. Though the muffled roar of the storm was certainly present, along with sporadic cracks of thunder. The bed was a double and there was even a busted home crystal vision set off in the corner. Next to it was a desk with all sorts of junk piled on, under, and inside.

Looking over the room, she noticed a small smile slip onto Martini's face for a moment, as he helped her over to the bed, laying out his cloak again as he settled her down atop it. Without a word he then trotted back to the door, closed it, and placed his saddlebags in front of it with a hefty thump. Followed by his heavily modified combat helmet.

“Private enough for your liking?”

Nodding her head, Rum Rush struggled with indecision. She needed to take off her jumpsuit so Martini could help heal her... but how would he react to, well. Her? A crack of thunder echoed as she finally came to a decision and gripped the zipper of the jumpsuit in her teeth. He hadn't killed her yet, he hadn't given her any reason to suspect he would despite everything she'd done to him. So this... this probably wouldn't be the thing that set him off.

'Hopefully...'

As the jumpsuit slid down her side Rush silently groaned, blood and metallic fragments visibly poking through her flesh. Carefully she maneuvered her wing free of the fabric, and allowed the suit to continue its way down her shapely flanks. Then it past her legs to reveal a distinctly non-marish sight between her hind legs to the shadowbolt, dropping the bloodied suit to the floor beside the bed, her unbandaged wing flaring out to hide her masculine nature as much as she could. While her lips cradle the chalk between them as she scratches out a few words. Unwilling to meet the pegasi's gaze.

I prefer when people see me as a mare, it makes me feel good. Don't judge me.

Martini though didn’t seem all that bothered by the stallion's choice of apparel. “Don’t worry, the only time I’ll give anypony grief for that is if they’re a walking disaste-” His statement is cut by a low hiss as he started removing his armor, his left hind-leg twitching painfully. Eyes widening, the revealed stallion tensed in anticipation... only to relax as the source of the shadowbolts hiss came into view. A single, hoof-long spike of jagged metal embedded into his left thigh.

'...he was helping carry me, with that jammed into his leg!?'

Despite the momentary cry of pain, the crimson pegasus didn't seem too bothered by it. In fact he seemed more interested in the injuries of the stallion laying before him. Crossing the room to the bed, he removed a small syringe from an armored pouch at his barrel. "Alright..." Before she could intersect, he pricked her with the needle and pressed the plunger. The familiar dulling sensation of Med-X quickly spreading across Rum Rush. Looking up at him, she wanted to insult him for not warning her... but the relief the drug brought, it was too much.

Staring up at the stallion as he got to work treating her, Rum let her eyes drift shut. Exhausted mind already starteing to drift off as the adrenaline of battle left her at the mercy of her own biology. She didn't even know if she'd wake up again, but she was certain that if anything was going to harm her. It probably wouldn't be him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

'But in the end, I woke up... and he looked as grim as a prisoner under the noose.'

...and for good reason. That morning he'd told her that the zony, Chifundo. Had found them during the night using some sort of shamanistic ghost-walking ability he had. Sunrise and her crew knew knew Markerlight had betrayed them, not because the zony had deduced it or assumed anything. But because Martini had come clean and told him everything, he even wanted to go back and try to talk down Sunrise. She'd told him he was crazy to try, but he was insistent.

He was willing to put his life on the line for the rest of her team. Despite everything, so she followed him. Watching and listening to his live radio from a safe distance up in the stormy skies as he was accused by his old group. How he pleaded and tried, honestly tried to negotiate for them to simply release the rest of her team without any of their gear.

'The Blood Price has already been paid, there doesn't need to be anymore shed today.'

He knew how to speak to the hearts of others, thats for certain. But so did Sunrise. She had rebuffed his explanations with perhaps the stupidest line of thinking Rum had ever heard... the 'Angel with a Shotgun' claimed that Martini could have broken the Pinkie Promise he'd made without any risk to himself. Something even a bounty hunter like herself wouldn't do, after all. She'd heard the stories of Pinkie Promises being broken, they always cost the breaker dearly.

Then she turned his speech into a way to work the caravaneers into a blood frenzy, and gave them the final call on how to deal with her team. While Martini was taken out front and forced to bury the two dead raiders, and the mare they'd killed during the ambush under the harsh watch of that green bitches stripe.

The Starkatarii didn't hold back in criticizing the pegasi's actions. In fact, he directly blamed the Shadowbolt for each misdeed that occurred during the ambush. Even when Martini tried to throw some of those statements back at the zebra, by pointing out how much of his own personal medical supply he'd used to help stabilize the wounded... well. Nyota struck him for talking back, even when he'd finished burying the bodies that damned stripe couldn't help but force the pegasus to apologize to the corpses.

Not just the mare who'd died. But the two Raiders as well, something that Martini took exception to... the mare he clearly felt sorrow for. But the Raiders? He kicked a little more dirt onto their grave, as is only right. So, the Zebra struck him again and told him to start on another grave.

...

"Hold~"

Rum Rush's mind snapped back to the present at the crimson stallions whisper, his right wing raised with all of its feathers balled up like a gryphons claw. Immediately she stopped on the spot, leveling her grenade launcher at the underbrush ahead. Distracted by the memory, she hadn't noticed the crunch of bone and the tearing meat break the silence.

Slowly the pair of pegasi crept forward through the underbrush, eventually emerging on the edge of a forest clearing. At its center stood a towering beast of dark fur and rippling muscle, nothing like the usual bears of the wasteland in the slightest. Of that she was certain. Beneath the beast laid the corpse of a half-eaten pack brahmin. The area was littered with bones and bits of previous kills, as if the beast of a bear was marking this place as its clearing. Other than that was a large amount of accumulated junk, this was probably the cheap alternative the denizens of the roadstop used before the war ended. Dumping their trash in the forest. Everything from trash barrels to a few tons of degraded cinder-blocks lay scattered across the area. Even an old wagon was visible, more wood rot than wagon as it may be.

Turning her gaze on Martini, the crossdressing pegasus shifted her rotary grenade launcher questioningly. Something that he responded to with a simple nod of his head as he took aim with his plasma rifle. "Don't worry, they built those implants as tough as Pipbuck's. Don't hold back, unless you want that thing to run off with your girl." The quiet reply was more than enough for Rum as she clicked off the safety on her launcher. The noise earning a curious snort from the bear as it lifted its head from the feast.

"Three..."

The pair of pegasi sighted in their weapons on the confused bear as it rose onto its tree truck-sized hind legs, straightening up to scan the clearing like a monolithic statue of hunger.

"Two..."

Rum ran her tongue across the trigger-bit eagerly, doing her best not to fire off her grenades early as she adjusted the sights. They'd only get one shot here.

"One... Fire!"

...and with twin clicks of triggers. The Forest roared with the cry of plasma, the blast of explosives, and the rage of a Legendary beast.

---------------The Ambush Point----------------

---------------The Forest Clearing---------------

--------------------The Problem-------------------

Loaded for Bear

"FIRE!"

In just a moment the relative silence of the forest was broken by the twin 'thunk's of Rum Rush's rotary grenade launcher and the crackling shriek of plasma-fire as the pair of pegasi unleashed their combined firepower upon the massive Yao Guai. The first grenade caught the beast in the shoulder, throwing it off balance as two bolts of plasma washed over its thick hide. The second grenade though landed short, doing little more than showering the mass of muscle and fur in dirt and debris.

"Dammit!"

Snapping her head in the direction of the crimson stallion, Rum Rush catches sight of him discarding his weapons Magical Fusion Cell. The black-topped, orange battery popping and crackling as the stallion tosses it away and swiftly slots a new MFC into the port at the underside of his rifle, unconcerned as the discarded cell suddenly detonates and melts a piece of shrubbery into a green glowing goop!

Shifting her gaze back to the titanic bear, the feminine pegasus flares her wings and takes flight. Her head steadily tracking the bear below as she sends another pair of explosive rounds down upon it, with two more thunderous 'Bang's the grenades detonate at the creatures' paws, covering the beast in an obscuring cloud of dust and shrapnel.

Joining her in the air, Martini follows up the explosions with a four-round volley from his plasma rifle, the balls of volatile green energy punching holes in the cloud of dust as they splash across the Yao Guai's frame. Yet for all the devastating effect the burning plasma and shrapnel-causing frag grenades cause, the bear seems to be weathering the barrage as it hunkers down in the cloud of dust. Shifting her position to line up another shot from her launcher, the mare prepares to send a fifth round into the cloud when a mass of large grey blurs burst out of the dust!

Pain explodes in her side as the blunt form of a cinderblock connects with her flak jacket, sending her spiraling with a pained gasp as all the air in her lungs is forced from her body. With a shuddering wheeze Rum risks a glance over her shoulder to see four other cinderblocks soar off into the far distance... snapping her attention back to the bear as the dust cloud begins to subside, Rum Rush can only watch in pained frustration as another volley of plasma-fire from her companion washes over the creature's form. Each shot burning away shaggy fur and scorching skin undoubtly, but it still seems as if the bear is merely shrugging the barrage off like one would a mildly inconvenient acidic rain squall.

'Alright, how about you shrug this off!'

Adjusting her aim, the grenade launcher barks twice with finality as its last two grenades scream straight and true onto target. The first catching the Yao Guai in the side of the head, pulping its left eye in a shower of gore. While the second sent it stumbling as fragments riddle its legs with metal, bringing a mournful whine of pain from its jowls.

'Ha! Thats right, chew on that you big burly lug!'

Pumping her right hoof victoriously, Rum raises the launcher vertically and flicks a small lever along the trigger-bit. With a sharp twist of her supporting hoof, the front half of the launcher swings open and allows the spent rounds to fall free from its six tubes. Lowering it to a level position, she repeats the practiced motion of pulling a replacement round from her vest and slotting it in. A drill that Martini had run her through nearly a dozen times before they'd left the base.

'Sure am glad he ran me through it though~ Woah!'

Rolling to her left in the air, the mare narrowly dodges another cluster of bricks as the bear thunders across the clearing towards a large mass of scrap metal and discarded brickwork. Whether it's looking for cover from the barrage raining down upon it or trying to find something better to throw her way is hard to tell, but the red mare is far from willing to let it get there unmolested. Flaring her wings to steady herself and maintain altitude, she snaps the launcher shut and takes aim as another wave of vibrant green plasma descends on the bear.

Two more rounds crash down on the bear's blackened flesh and fur, leaving it a snarling, burnt mess more reminiscent of the common Yao Guai seen in the wasteland. With a strong flap of her wings, Rum closes in on Martini as the stallion all but hovers in place. Using the pile of scrap below as an anchor point of sorts while he sends burst after burst of emerald fire into the bear below.

Its only when it reaches the pile of scrap that the bear strikes back, tearing a mass of bricks and metal scraps free and throwing it up at the stallion. With an almost casual ease the stallion's wings propel him upward for a moment and fold as he allows the debris to pass around him, his wingtips adjusting his position to let the majority of the junk pass by him. Almost all of the larger stuff passes harmlessly by the stallion, but one piece doesn't.

It was nothing abnormal, just a normal crumbling cinderblock. Not even a piece of scrap metal or a can of old fuel, and yet when that cinderblock connected with the plating on Martini's flank. Everything went to hell.

BANG!

Like a snipers bullet the explosion came out of no-where, the blast obliterating the cinderblock in an instant and shredding the stallions wing with shrapnel. Stunned and in pain he dropped like a rock, losing hold of the plasma rifle in his hoof as the armored form of Martini clattered off the scrap pile below like a discarded action figure. Looking down in horror, Rum Rush could see a blackened crater centered on the stallions armored flank plate, entire layers of ablative plate and reinforcement gone in an instant from the blast.

But she didn't have time to waste figuring out what happened, not with the Yao Guai so close to the now grounded pegasus.

'I need to keep that things attention!' She thought with a silent hiss, firing two more grenades in rapid succession. Twin blasts stumble the massive bear once more, but it's one good eye snaps to the scrap pile beside it with a malicious, wrathful glint. Raising its massive right claw, the bear lashes out at the spire of steel and refuse, knocking it aside in an intimidating show of strength to reveal the bloodied stallion behind it.

With a victorious roar the beast bounds forward, jaws parted in a bloodthirsty snarl as it buries its knife-like teeth into the stallions armored form and shakes him from side to side. Like a wild dog on a grounded prey-bird.

The sudden bite and motion seemed to bring the pegasus around as his limbs flailed in an attempt to kick out at the bear, but instead of releasing him or biting down to finish him off, the bear lifts its jaws skyward. Horrified, Rum throws herself forward to close the distance with the Giant Yao Guai. To try and strike it in the jaw, the eye, something to get it to release the stallion. But all she manages to do is get close enough to hear a panicked "NonononoNO!" as the bear parts its jaws and lets gravity carry the Shadowbolt into its gullet!

Even mute as she is, the mare can only silently cry out his name as her hind hooves connect harmlessly with the bears face. Her eyes wide as the bears lone undamaged orb narrows at her mockingly. With a silent growl, the feminine pegasus backs off from the monstrous beast. Uncertain how to strike at it without potentially harming the stallion wiggling in its throat.

'Well, this isn't the worst situation I've ever fallen into' Morosely Martini struggled in the tight confines of the bears gullet, despite the searing pain in his flank and shredded wing. His orange visor fogging from the humidity and his body all but pinned in place as the bear tried to force him down its throat. It was something that would have terrified any other creature had they been in the same position, instead brought a wicked smirk to the stallion's spit and blood-spattered face, after all. Every tug down the things throat was just another bloody tear in its gullet, curtesy of his single remaining Wingblade.

That aside, it was hardly his first time ending up in the gullet of some creature. Granted this was the first time he'd ended up inside a Hostile creature... but having dated a particularly kinky dragoness during the war, he was at the very least able to control the usual feral-panic that most ponies would experience in this kind of situation.

'Huh, when I get out of this, I'll need to remember to check in on Nyphi's old den... it should be somewhere along the Canterine.' Squaring his shoulders and extending the hoofblades of his forehooves into the bears unprotected inner flesh to slow his decent, Martini adjusts himself in preparation to brace his forelegs and keep from landing face-first into the bears' stomach. 'Assuming she hasn't packed up and left in the last century and a half, I think she might enjoy a visit from an old Fuck-Buddy.'

Another shudder and the muffled crack of an explosion vibrates through the bears flesh and dislodges the stallion's blades in a bloody tear, dragging him down amid a hock-deep pool of blood. Made worse by the liquid-life trapped behind him. '...dammit, I'm gunna stink of blood all the way back to base.' He silently grumbles as the flesh ahead of him finally gives way to the giant bears stomach and the overpoweringly sharp scent of bile. 'Ugh, great... it's already digesting the brahmin. I'm going to need to be quick about this.' Martini wrinkles his nose as the uncomfortably familiar scent of stomach acids assault his senses, leaving him wishing he had a box of antiacids.

Fortunately, though the bears interior wasn't as dark as he'd expected it to be... nor as lifeless as it should be!

Resting in the center of the accumulated meat, bloodied bone, and other unmentionable things the bear had devoured was a short white unicorn mare lying in a glowing blue bubble of arcane energy, the acid sizzling harshly against her glowing bulwark. But before he could take a closer look, the pegasus was forced to throw his forehooves forward as he finally slipped fully into the beast's stomach, his boots splashing down in the hissing acid with enough force to send a bit of back-splash across his muzzle, earning a wince as the acid burned the fur and skin below. His hind legs soon followed, and it took a great deal of pained effort to keep from collapsing as his battered flank came to a sudden stop. The blood he'd kept backed up in the creature's throat quickly staining the lime-colored liquid around him with a thick dilution of red as it poured in around him.

But worst was yet to come as some of the splashed-up acids flowed over his form and burned away at not just his armor's paint, but his crimson coat and skin! Leaving him hissing in intense pain as he forced his hooves through the thick liquid towards the nearest form of shelter from the pools of vicious green, a large chunk of accumulated brahmin carcass. Sure, his uniform and boots could handle the acid for a time thanks to the coating he and Rum had applied before they left. But with his wounds exposed, his wing torn to shreds? No. He'd need to get himself and the unicorn out before the stomach acid ate away at his unprotected flesh... because that would go long before the protective layers of his uniform.

If he didn't, then he wouldn't be the only one to fade away in here.

Stumbling for a moment as the mass beneath him rolled, the stallion pulled himself up onto the carcass. Looking over the walls of the stomach he could already tell it was no-where near as sturdy as the thick hide protecting the outside of the beast. His tingling lips rose in a dark grin, his good wing flaring out wide enough to graze the walls of the beast's innards hard enough to tear the lining of its stomach as he prepared to bring its blade to bare against the creature's vulnerable internals.

"Alright, let's give you a bad case of Heartburn~"

Diving to the side as another swarm of brickwork flew past her head, Rum Rush couldn't help but let a silent hiss slip from her lips as she leveled out once more. Beneath her the monster of a bear continued to roar and snarl as it began to gather yet another pile of cinderblocks.

'Feathers, come on! What can I do... what can I do?!'

Narrowing her eyes, the red pegasus could only look over the landscape helplessly. Bricks, metal scraps, a ruined motorwagon, an old normal wagon. Some lockers... a military footlocker? Tucking her wings in for a moment, she dives towards the worn green rectangular crate... an action not missed by the bear. As her hooves touch the ground on the far side of the clearing, the mare is intimately aware that her time is limited.

The roar of the beast on the far side of the clearing and the clatter of falling bricks bidding her speed, her eyes flittering over the footlocker for a moment to note the rusted old lock securing its surface. With a grunt the masked mare hefts her grenade launcher and brings it down butt-first on the lock, with a crack and clank the first blow does little more than hurt her hooves, scratch the lock, and break off the front end of the launcher from the impact.

'...oh buck me with Luna's back hoof.'

As the six grenade shells of her launcher spill from the now-rolling rotary tube the eyes of the mare widen in brief panic. Her jaws grip tightening on the reinforced trigger-bit, the mare lifts her wings to grasp it and strike the lock a second time. The resounding clang only outweighed by the pounding of her heart, and the rumbling tread of the Bear as its claws crunched through scattered brick and crushed rotten wood planks underfoot.

'Break damn you!'

With a final strike the old metal snaps under the force, allowing the container to pop open from the force imparted on it...

Seeing a vaguely gun-shaped object Rum Rush's right wing quickly leapt forward to snatch the weapon. Turning to face the charging bear she brings the oversized pistol to bear, wings shaking with instinctual fear of the massive predator as she pulls the trigger... only for nothing to happen. Looking to the pistol, or rather Revolver, the pegasus is quick to recognize her mistake and cocks the hammer. Bringing the gun up right as the bear is nearly upon her, its head roaring forward with the same hungering intent as it had with its previous meal.

'I will not be your lunch!'

...and with that declaration, she squeezed the trigger bit. With a crack more commonplace on a high-caliber rifle, the .45-70 Ironshod bucked in the pegasi's feathered grip. Everything seemed to slow down for the adrenaline-driven mare as she watched the gun kick back into her chest. The impact seemingly far away as she watched the bullet scream forward, splitting from its hollowed tip into three distinct flaps of steel like some sort of demented three-petal'd flower.

Moving sluggishly through the air in this strange period of hesitating time, she watched as the round continued to slowly spin on its journey. Right until it found its new home, directly in the ruined eye-socket of the massive mountain of muscle and fur intent on devouring her. Then as quickly as it had come, the moment was gone. Hitting the ground, the panicking pegasus pushed herself away from the bear with her hind hooves while turning the revolver back on the stricken beast.

Rising on its hind legs to claw at its face in anguish, the bear manages to turn its one good eye in the direction of the mare. Its pupil shrunk to a pinprick as the veins within burn a brilliant red with rage. Pulling the bloodied claw away from its face, the massive Yau Guai raises its paw to crush the irritating pegasus when a second pained growl erupts from its jowls. Confusion and pain battles in its one remaining eye as it chokes, gagging loudly before it suddenly stiffens.

'Wh-what?'

Before Rush's eyes, the creatures gaze dulls and with the unmistakable shudder of death... it falls, its head cracking on the rocky ground with a wet 'thwump!'. A disgustingly sizzling green and red-tinged liquid dribbling from the bears massive jaws, hissing as it pours out onto the soil.

Rising to her hind hooves slowly the pegasus uses her hooves and wings to keep the massive revolver leveled at the bear as it moves, its chest heaving... no, not its chest. Its Belly! This realization hits the mare right as the glint of a blood-soaked blade pierces the bears thick hide, cutting down with a sickening noise. Like wet carboard tearing before a butterknife the bears insides are exposed. Allowing a flood of acids, blood, meat, and two distinctly equine forms to flow out onto the ground.

The more familiar of the two creatures rolls twice before coming to a stop in the dirt, using his hooves to pull himself away from the pooling acids as he takes in breath after breath of fresh air. The latter rolls within her ball-like shield for a few feet before it dissipates, leaving her to slide to a stop on her side.

"Flocking Tartarus... I hate when creatures swallow me like that."

Rum Rush could only stare blankly at the blood-soaked Shadowbolt as he painfully rolled onto his unshredded wing. A hoof going to the sodden set of saddle-bags resting at his side. She could tell he was hurting and hurting bad at that. Rushing over to his prone form, her wing quickly swept to the interior of her flak jacket, recovering a vial of restoration potion from within.

She'd nearly applied it when of all things, the stallion waved her off.

"No, don't give that to me. She's going to need it more... go!" His commanding tone and pointed hoof gave the crimson mare pause.

With a nod, she made her way over to the unicorn and gave her a once-over. Wincing all the while, she was in better shape than the stallion... but that wasn't saying much. Her burns were fairly minor, but the small cracks in her oversized horn and the smoke trailing off it made it clear she'd suffered a burnout. Looking back at the vivisected bear, Rum could only wonder how long she was trapped in that thing. Before she carefully begins applying the potion, letting her far-steadier wing direct the flow. The pinkish liquid quickly trailed down from the tip of the unicorns horn as she poured, filling the cracks and bubbling as the potion handled the heat transfer and healing process to a degree.

The small cracks steadily began to knit shut along the spire of sensitive bone, but still the pegasus poured. She knew just how dangerous burnout could be for a unicorn, and burning a single healing potion to be certain was worthwhile compared to a fused thaumic pathway... she'd seen more than one unicorn Raider pop her own horn trying to cast while Dash'd out of their mind or tripping on Rage.

'She must have been burning magic for hours...'

Returning the empty vial to her inner pocket, Rum cast a careful eye over the mares smaller form. Picking out the minor burns and teeth marks on her white coat, really there wasn't anything seriously wrong with her. Even her pink and blue-swirled tail had survived mostly intact. She must have been swallowed hours ago, the fact she was still alive in belly of that beast...

Rum shuddered.

'I can't believe I'm saying this. But she's lucky Martini got eaten, I probably would have blown her apart or popped her shield inside that thing with my grenades.'

That thought sent a second uncomfortable shudder through the femme-pegasus, given the caustic scent of the things foul acid.

Turning her gaze back on Martini, she found him struggling to his hooves as he finished running from his water from his canteen over his wounded wing and began the process of binding it to staunch the bleeding... he wouldn't be flying on that for a while, which... could be a problem given the Caravan was on the move. Letting a silent sigh slip from her lips, she carefully lifts the limp form of the unicorn onto her back and shoves the .45-70 into a webbing pocket on her flak jacket. It wasn't a holster, but it would work for now.

As she returned to Martini's side the stallion let a hiss of pain flow from his lips, and Rum could make out a litany of near-silent words just beyond her hearing. Words that stopped right as Martini noticed the mare's return.

"Oh, is she alright?"

His question is quick, clipped as he turns his head back to his wing and begins wrapping it in the familiar white of a gauze bandage. Moving around to keep her form in the stallion's line of sight, she nodded. Much to the apparent relief of the stallion as he lets a pained but thankful smile light his burned lips. Carefully he rises to hooves, his steps unsteady as he starts to pick his way through the puddles of acid towards open gut of the stinking bear.

Concerned, Rum takes a step to follow when his undamaged wing motions her back.

"It's alright, I just need to check something..." He trails off.

A few more careful steps bring him up against the corpse, and the careful application of his wingblade as an anchor lifts a portion of the torn carcass enough for him to bear inside. Eyes watering and nose running from the acidic scent. Uncertain what he's doing, the red mare slowly traces herself along the exterior of the tiny acidic marsh the Yau Guai had left around its split belly.

Reaching a hoof in, the stallion lets out a victorious cry!

. . .

"I've got it!" He calls with a grin, the now-familiar crystalline cube clutched in the mechanized digits of his cyberhoof. There wasn't even a hint of degradation from the acid as he shakes a few clinging droplets off of the piece of arcanotech. Holding it up to the dim light so he can look it over.

He could make out the etchings for a rune of life, and a rune of memories as expected. But like in the past, he couldn't make heads nor tails of the etched lines covering the surface of the otherwise perfectly cubed gemstone. Carefully he secures it in his saddlebags as he returns to Rum Rush through the noxious cloud, pausing only to give the corpse of the bear one last frustrated glare as he settles next to the mare.

"Okay, I found it... I found the implant that brought that thing back in your marefriends place."

Rum's shoulders stiffen as she eyes the stallion with visible relief and a hopeful smile across her lips. One that Martini shares as he looks her over, noticing the oversized revolver poking out of her side like a short carbine. A hint of recognition flickering in his eyes as he turns his gaze back on the pegamare.

"Now where'd you get that?" He asks with a strained chuckle, following her crimson hoof as Rum points to the footlocker by the bears head. With a grunt of effort, the Shadowbolt makes his way over to the aged footlocker, marveling at the near-pristine state of the items within. It was an officer's footlocker, just based on the captain's rank insignia resting atop the worn leather journal inside, a package of sixty-four .45-70 MIN ammunition and a combat knife took up most of the space not occupied by the distinctive brown olive-drab of an Equestrian Army Dress uniform.

The only thing missing was any identification of who the locker belonged to.

More than a little bit curious, he squirreled the contents of the locker away in his saddle-bags, hoofing over the knife and ammunition to Rum Rush. Who was thankful to just have ammo again, though she did avert her gaze when the stallion's cyberhoof raised the remnants of her grenade launcher's stock. "I have no idea how you managed to break one of those things..." Looking to her the stallion shakes his head incredulously. "...but, please try to be more careful in the future."

With a sigh, Rum nods as she hefts the unconscious form of the unicorn over her shoulder. With their reason for being here finished, the pair depart. Leaving the blood-soaked clearing behind them as they slip back into the forest, heading back the same way they'd come.

The trek back through the forest was a painful affair for Martini, every step with his injured hind leg sent spikes of pain screaming across his nerves. While the cold chill of the wasteland sent sickly shivers up his spine as the sensitive burns along his muzzle endured the minor exposure. The stallion all but yelped with relief as the old motel came into view once again, and it didn't take much effort for the pair to make their way inside. Finding the dying embers of the caravan's recent fire still glowing in a fireplace just off from the main lobby in what was once a small lounge.

It had mostly been the efforts of Rum Rush that saw the fire return to a roaring life, and some ancient mattress's be drug in from the nearby rooms to provide bedding close to the warmth. During which Martini had taken the time to remove what shrapnel he could from his wing, it was a long, painful, and intensely stressful task given the nature of the wounds... and try as he might, there were some things he just couldn't do on his own. Prying shrapnel from his sensitive wing, without doing more harm to himself in the process was one of those things.

'Luna give me strength.'

Dropping the bloodied tweezers from his trembling lips, the stallion settled his weary head against the stained bedding with a stuttering sigh. The strength and swiftness of adrenaline had long left his limbs, and the blood-loss was starting to get to him. He could tell from the numbness slowly gripping at his battered hind, the exhaustion. The familiar chill. He knew the sensations well enough to know he still had time to rest, to try again... maybe when Rum Rush was done checking the rest of the building.

As his bloodied wing settles across the soothingly cool wood of the floor, his amber eyes drift to the only other occupant of the room. The unicorn's far more minor wounds had been handled by Rum Rush and she was still unconscious, though her curious lack of dress certainly was eye-catching. She hadn't been wearing anything beyond a bandolier full of pre-war snack-foods, and an empty holster around her barrel... which left her fairly easy for the Shadowbolt to regard as she lay on the ruined form of a couch beside the fireplace.

She was... short.

Not quite filly-sized like Wandering Sunrise, but certainly below average for a full-grown mare... and considering he'd been hobbling alongside Rum Rush the whole way back with nothing to do but focus on things other than being in pain, well. He'd be a liar if he said he hadn't cast a glance at her, especially after catching sight of the generous rack between her legs. Between the white of her coat, the candy cane-colored mane, and her softly-toned physique. She was certainly attractive... and he knew more than a few mares who would have killed for a horn as long as hers.

A couple stallions too, come to think of it.

The thought of a certain blood-haired Princling's immaculate muzzle curled in a frown at his comparatively small horn brought a nostalgic smile to the stallion's face as he laid there, wondering about the mares cutie mark. After all, he hadn't seen anyone with a candy-themed cutie mark since... ... ...actually, he couldn't remember the last time. Still, it seemed simple enough to figure out. It was a little snack-cake box in cherry-red with the word 'Tasty' across its surface in white. Though there wasn't any indication of what kind of snack-cakes her mark might have had, the fact alone left him hoping she was the sweet type.

Though he didn't delude himself into hoping too much for that, this is the wasteland after all.

Letting his gaze drift from the soft mare to the carpet before the fireplace, the stallion huffs at the piece of arcaneotech resting on the worn-out rug. It certainly fit Sunrise's description of a 'Black Box'. Black, cuboid, and completely carved in some sort of intricate matrices of arcane unicorn-styles and what almost looks like the more organic design of zebrican rune-craft. It was as if two master carvers from opposite sides of the war had joined their efforts on one flawless piece of obsidian.

It was beautiful, for a piece of arcane tech.

'Hard to believe that i've got one of those tucked up against my heart.' Moving his non-metal foreleg close to his barrel, he slowly presses his hoof against the smooth material of his jumpsuit, feeling the vibrations of his heart underhoof. 'Chifundo, Quick Stitch, Nyota, Sunrise... and you.' Laying his cheek against the stained mattress, Martini sighs, his thoughts racing at just how important one of these devices could be. The military applications of having the ability to return from the dead equipped and fresh were obvious enough. His existence alone was proof of that.

But the civilian applications... what if the curse of death could no longer touch a great scientist? The illnesses that could be cured by Doctors spending entire lifetime's seeking answers and treatments, even the common pony could cheat death!

Death...

Had something like the recombulators been widespread back before the war, things would have gone very differently... the death toll could have been drastically reduced as soldiers rose from where they'd fallen, civilians caught up in the zebra's terror attacks and bombing raids might not have left loved ones behind.

'Perhaps we could have won?' The question gnaws at him, drawing his gaze to the crackling flames beyond the black cube to the orange and black form of the log within the fireplace. Letting the crackling roar of the flame's sooth the growing chill in his heart. "No..." His sore voice quiet, barely a hint above a whisper in answer to his own question.

'If we had these to such a degree... the Legion would have developed weapons specifically for them, like every other time.' Letting his eyes slip shut the stallion shudders as the familiar ache of the scars along his neck and barrel remind him of that fact, the War was a ruthless affair. Things like compassion and kindness were left at the wayside in favor of devastation, so many times.

'Perhaps its for the best that these Boxes never saw their day view during it.'

. . .

It was a dull thumm that eventually roused the stallion from his thoughts, his lids parting to find the source of the unfamiliar noise. Only to narrow to a pair of amber slits as a golden flare of light assaults his gaze. Raising a foreleg to cover his eyes from the cold brightness, Martini raises his head to try and pinpoint the source... though he already has a suspicion. One that's proven painfully correct as the light fades to reveal a bowl-shaped hole in the floor. Wood, carpet, and concrete having been carved out like a massive scoop had slipped in and pulled it out, leaving a familiar horned form in its wake.

Dirty beige fur stirs as the mare draws a desperate breath and scrambles to her hooves, her chestnut brown eyes scanning the room from beneath her silvery locks. Noting first the unconscious form of the unicorn on the couch, then him.

'Wow... okay, just need to calm down the pretty lady.'

"Easy now, your sa-glck!" The hoof that had been shielding his eyes snaps to his tightening throat as the mares horn lights, smothering the crimson of his neck in the brown of her magic as she lifts him from the mattress. Dragging him over the carpet as his good wing lashes out, trying... and failing, to grab a hold of the thick fabric. With a jolt, he's jerked up before the mare. Gritting his teeth as the very tips of his hooves barely manage to remain in contact with the wood beneath him, there's little he can do but wait as those brown eyes bore into his.

"I recognize you..." Her cold tone sending a shiver of uncertainty up the stallion's back, the fur along his spine bristling as the mare tilts his head. "You were with Her during the fight... what? Did she think one crippled pegasus and a narcoleptic would be enough to take care of me if I woke up?" Lazily her aura wraps around the hoof at his throat, eyes narrowing with dangerous delight as a quick squeeze in the right spot releases the blade hidden in his boot. Leaving it uncomfortably close to one of the bulging arteries of his throat.

"She's must be dumber than I thought..."

Slowly, the mare lets her hooves carry her around Martini's magically bound form. Her eyes drinking in the wounds coating his body with a flicker of confusion, a faint easing of pressure on his throat hinting at her wanning focus. Just enough for a strained word to slip through his clenched windpipe.

"Rum!

The response is immediate as the power holding his neck squeezes hard enough for the stallion's neck to pop painfully, sending dark spots across his vision... right as the cold sensation of his hoofblade presses tight against the unprotected flesh beneath his chin. "You do that again, and i'll make sure you regret it Pegasus!" Her hissed words full of icy venom... at least until the sound of fast approaching hooves echoes from the adjoining room makes themselves known.

Her response is as quick as it is direct, the aura around his neck dragging him into place between her and the door... something that the he begrudgingly approves of in the sanctity of his own mind. 'She certainly knows how to use a hostage right...' Dizzily, the stallion lets his wings fall limp as the hoofsteps grow closer, finally resolving into the hurried form of Rum Rush, her effeminate frame slipping into the room with the bulky form of the .45-70 held in her right wing, while her left clutched something short and pointed at her side.

For a few seconds, the room goes still as the two meet one another's gaze... and then Martini finds himself kissing the wooden floor, his lungs drawing in the sweet nectar of wasteland oxygen. A fit of coughs wracking his forgotten body as the two sweep towards the other, colliding just short of the small crater in the floor, hooves wrapped as the unicorn buries her horned head in Rum's shoulder.

Deeply in pain, lungs greedily taking in the precious taste of oxygen, and with his sore body crying out at the abuse of the last few hours. Martini manages to raise his head just enough to catch sight of the pair, just as Rum Rush wraps her wings around the robed mare. Tear-filled eyes glittering in the firelight as she nuzzles her chin into the unicorn's silvery locks... and for a moment, her heavily-laden eyes meet his.

...and for Martini, the relief in the femme's eyes makes all the pain worth it.

Slowly, he raises his cyberhoof. The dented frame flexing to allow one of the manipulator digits to extend, raising it in a rough equivalent of a gryphons 'Talons Up'. Before letting it come to rest on the wood with a quiet clonk.

The sound as it so happens, draws the unicorn out of her intimate moment. Her cheeks flashing a vibrant pinkish-rose as she recognizes what she's doing, and rounds on the stallion, putting herself right up against the side of Rum Rush in the process as she glares down at the wounded Shadowbolt in confusion. "Rum, why is He with you? ...did you make some deal to keep me safe behind Speakeasy's back?"

...and despite himself, despite the pain and danger, Martini laughs. An action quickly joined by Rum's silent chortling as the mare's words sink in. Looking between the two, her confusion is only natural. '...there's no way she could have known that we 'did' make a deal... for Chifundo.' He smiles internally, but externally: "Not originally, but I'm not with Sunrise or her merry band anymore."

The confusion on the unicorn's pale lips deepens as she looks to the red pegasus leaning against her, who nods in agreement. "...and you believe him Rum?" For a moment, the pairs brown eyes bore into one another, the unicorn's clearly searching for something... only to blink as her partner smiles, a second slow nod following her question. Holstering the oversized sidearm, the feminine stallion-in-disguise removes a stick of chalk from her bandolier and applies it to the little chalkboard at her neck. Leaning over so the mare can see as she writes.

For nearly a minute the pair stand there, the unicorns head tucked into the nook of the pegasi's neck. Her eyes skimming along the written lines of chalk, and occasionally snapping up to eye Martini as he lies on the floor... but as the first minute passes, something in her gaze changes. There's a softness to her hard chocolate eyes, and it rapidly becomes clear to the prone pegasus that Rum is filling her in on what happened while she was. . . . ...indisposed. Until eventually the mare stops her scratchy writing with a tap of finality on the board.

Lowering the board, Rum seems to hesitate as she lifts her other wing to reveal the small form clutched in her feathers. One that stops the mare cold as her eyes come to rest on its off-white shape. Her left hoof rises to her horn, quickly running the length of it to ensure its there... not that either of the pegasi can blame her.

Not with the same piece of her unicorn heritage resting before her, offered in the wing of someone she trusts.

Shakily, she lowers the hoof to pick up the familiar spiral of shattered bone. Holding it gently, as if the slightest ill touch could crack it. Her eyes, horrified. Rise to meet Rum's for a moment before turning on the Shadowbolt with a haunted look to them. "...was I... did you actually see me~?" The question goes unfinished, but there's only one thing she could be asking about.

Clearing his throat as best he can, Martini nods. "...they forced me to bury you after. It, wasn't a clean death... or a short one." Those words shake the unicorn, her body swaying for a moment. Rum's wing is quick to brush along her back, wrapping around her robe-draped barrel in a comforting embrace. "Then, your injuries... the way you got them, was trying to save me?" That earns a quick glance of his amber eyes to the red femme, who nods.

"Yes."

Something in the unicorns softening gaze cracks as she looks over his injured form, a hint of guilt in her gaze. "...why?" That question whispered in disbelief by the mare, brings pause to the soldier. "Why would you risk your life to save mine? To save Rum... you don't even know us, we literally tried to kill you and your friends!" It's a good question, even with his limited understanding of the Wasteland. The things these two and their band had done were certainly more than enough for most in his position to just put a bullet in them and be done with it.

Sunrise had certainly shown how far the Wasteland had dug its talons into her.

But he wasn't Sunrise.

Struggling to a sitting position, the stallion meets the unicorn's gaze. "Because I'm tired of senselessly killing, and the only way things will change is if someone decides to Do Better." Pulling his good wing up against his side, Martini straightens up as best he can. Letting some sense of pride return to his posture. "...and if I'm the only one willing to do what it takes, then at least I can die happy knowing I tried."

The mare blinks, slowly. Seemingly trying to wrap her head around the concept and failing. The soft crackle of the fire popping filling the silence as her gaze trails over the battered form of his bloody wing, her brown knitting in thought. Turning her gaze on the pegasus beside her, the mare asks only one question.

"Do you trust him?"

The smile and nod she gets in return seems to finally batter down the last doubts of the mare, as she steps away from Rum and approaches Martini's battered form. Her horn flaring brightly as a glint of emerald light flows over her eyes. Much to Martini's suprise. 'Huh, she's got Doctors Sight too.' He blinks, glad to see someone other than Quick Stitch using the spell. But this surprise is quickly replaced by a sudden lack of sensation as a second spell flows from the mares horn, conjuring a small ball of arcane energy that washes over the stallion, the pain... and feeling in general rapidly drifting into a dull, throbbing, absence of sensation. A feeling the stallion knew all too well from his time under the knife during the War.

'An Anesthetic spell... Rum didn't tell me she was a medic.' Granted, that little tid-bit of information probably wasn't that important given the circumstances.

Gripping his partially bandaged wing in her magic, the unicorn narrows her eyes and focuses, letting the brown aura completely cover the crimson surface like a blanket. Then after seconds of near motionlessness, she smiles. Even with the anesthetic spell in place, the sound of flesh tearing is still enough to earn a cringe from the veteran stallion. But he can only watch in awe as the shrapnel lacing his wing smoothly erupts from his flesh like a swarm of insects, the skin folding back together in thin lines of scar-tissue as the jagged steel departs.

Like a line of ants following a trail of sugar, the mass of shrapnel flows down to the floor between the two with a light clatter as it piles up. The brown shroud of magic inching its way up Martini's wing and down along his flank to his wounded flank, His leg twitching as strained tendons and burst blood-vessels are repaired. Nerve-endings carefully mended, and the distinct crack of bone signals something important being put back into position, unfelt. Much to the stallion's concern.

Then lastly, her aura expands its reach. Coating the full form of the pegasus in its embrace, even though the anesthetic. There's an itching sensation as the acid burns from his brief dalliance into a bears digestive system scab over and quickly go through the process of forming new skin, though it quickly becomes apparent that it's not just the new scars getting this treatment. With a wince, the stallion closes his right eye as the feeling of something scratching across its cataracted cornea flickers to his attention. The odd itching sensation rocking the area around his eye, as the scars from his radioactive encounter with a caustic pigeon undergo a drastic alteration.

As the seconds carry on, the sensation slowly becomes less pronounced. Gentler, until finally it fades entirely. Blinking his eye again, the colors of the room seem... normal, his eyes focusing properly for the first time in months. Turning his gaze on the fireplace he can make out the fine details of its worn design without even a squint, the joyous realization is such that he hardly even notices the bite-marks the bear had left close to his spine seal up.

Then the brown blanket of magic fades as the unicorns efforts dispel. Allowing sensation to return to the stallion while the mare takes a steadying breath as she steps back beside Rum Rush, Leaning into the crimson mare heavily. Clearly tired from the far-from-insignificant strain those two spells likely put on her. "...that, that should make up for putting your life on the line for mine. Just, don't expect me to make it a habit." She mumbles, burying her muzzle in the pegasi's neck-fur.

Looking down at his dented cyber-hoof, Martini lets an equally tired smile run across his muzzle. In the dirty reflection, the scar around his eye had faded to a lighter patch of healthy-looking skin... though something deep inside him promised that it would never regain the crimson fur that surrounds it. "Thank you... You know, I don't think Rum Rush ever told me your name." He lifts his gaze to smile at the tired unicorn. "...mines Martini Markerlight."

The mare's reply is under a faint chuckle. "...Of course she didn't, my name is Peppermint Synapse."

Carefully flexing his now-uninjured wing, Martini lets a wince slip across his lips as the sensitive connections reassert themselves. Not from pain or discomfort, but from the tell-tale pop and crackle of certain joints. Joints that the stallion knows will be sore later. "Well miss Synapse. I don't know if Rum already told you, but I've got a secure place nearby with food, clean beds, and warm showers... if you want?"

The look he gets in return can't be described by anything but the word Intense. "What's the catch?" She asks warily, seemingly on reflex before she shakes her head. "Actually... forget I asked, you're offering. I'd be foalish to refuse." Beside her Rum breathes a sigh of relief, clearly having expected the mare to say or do something else entirely.

"Uhm, can I come too?"

For a moment all three ponies stop, turning their gaze to the source of the soft tone. Lying where she'd been all but forgotten, the white unicorn with the abnormally large horn and compact body stares back with a gentle, if confused, smile. "I could really use a shower."

Author's Note

Thats Chapter 4 Down, I don't really have anyone to go over these chapters before I drop them aside from myself. So if anyone feels like reading them over before I drop them for everyone to see, and to help me catch any errors or mistakes, let me know.