Fallout Equestria: Fire Ghost

by RedWinter

Rating: mature
Tags: Twilight Sparkle, Gore, Original Character, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Dark, Adventure, Sex, Gilda, Tragedy, Crossover
Length: 132105

Ashes to Ashes is a griffin. A Stable griffin to be exact. This is his story.

Stable 57... Just like any other apocalyptic bomb shelter, harboring the pony survivors of the great war. But griffins too survived the end of the world, some in Stable 57. Ashes to Ashes is one such griffin, living in bondage to the ponies that rule him, like the rest of his kin.

Having fled from his Stable, Ashes sets off to find his mother who escaped years ago, and must uncover the secrets left behind by the war that were buried in the wastes. But some who wander the wasteland become something less than alive, but not wholly dead. They become Ghosts.

Set in Fallout: Equestria

Published 2012-01-21 22:49:48 UTC
Last updated 2012-12-20 03:52:19 UTC

Chapter 1: Birds of a Feather

Chapter 1: Birds of a Feather

“What’s a griffin?”

I hate mornings.

Specifically I hate waking up. I find it annoying and unnecessary; especially when the blankets are particularly warm and comfortable or the perfect mattress spot had been found as it so happened to be this morning. I could just sleep for another hour, or two, or four. Right?

A heavy hammering issued from the bulkhead of my door.

Ah well, I shall miss you lost hours of sleep, till we meet again. I rubbed my eyes groggily and rolled out of bed, fighting free of my blanket’s folds. My lids were heavy and kept refusing the command to stay open. My Leo half especially did not enjoy getting less than my allotted twelve or more hours. Maybe I could just sleep here on this nice comfy steel floor?

Another set of hammering knocks at the door drove spikes of annoyance deep into my brain.

“I’m up!” I shouted through the metalwork and gritted my teeth.

Did I mention that I hate mornings?

Through some monumental force of will I found my way to all four limbs, fatigue still dragging its wretched claws through my everything. I grabbed a discarded blue and yellow Stable-Tec jumpsuit from where I had sluffed it off the night before and walked to my Stable-Tec issue desk and looked into my Stable-Tec issue mirror reflecting my Stable-Tec issue life. Living in an underground bunker had its perks. Surviving the apocalypse probably being number one.

But life in a Stable wasn’t really about living. In a Stable you just existed.

With a yawn and a scratch at where my wing bindings had dug into me during the night, I slipped the wrinkled cloth over my head.

I grabbed a tube of thick mechanical grease from my desk and scooped a generous dollop into my talons and attempted to tame the beast that was my bed-head feathers. After much experimentation, the grease had proven to be the only thing with strong enough hold to tame the mess on my head. After ten seconds I viewed my work, crimson eyes staring from the reflection and decided that today was going to be disheveled look day. Again.

My PipBuck gave a little chirp. The technological marvel that was the microcomputer attached to my left foreleg informed me of my daily work orders. It was just the usual, faulty wiring in a terminal or a leaky sink. As a high level Stable technician’s apprentice I usually got the crap jobs my superiors couldn’t be bothered with, or were too lazy to do themselves when they had underlings to push around. It wasn’t really that hard as everything in the Stable was based on a standard template and had elaborate, detailed schematics on archive.

At least I was lucky to do something I enjoyed if the scattering of random electronic and mechanical scrap around my room was any hint. As a griffin, graced with opposable digits I was naturally more suitable to skilled labor. Many of my fellow feather-heads were not so fortunate.

Griffins did not magically manifest an unfailing mark upon which to base their talents. If, upon reaching branding age a fledgling had not excelled in any particular area, he or she was simply assigned whatever low key position needed filling. When I was younger I was given colorful toys to play with and was expected to romp with the other little griffins, play games and listen to idyllic children books with comically portrayed talking animals with hidden lessons about friendship.

Instead I disassembled the family toaster.

None of the tasks were tagged urgent so I could at least grab a bite to eat before heading out.

I flicked the stitch of my door which opened with a pneumatic hiss and stuck partway open. With a muttered curse I hit the switch and whacked the door a few times. After a little more persuasion, this time with a heavy wrench, the slab of metal decided to cooperate. I made a mental note to look at it later.

My family occupied a habitation unit identical to hundreds of others in the Stable. It was a simple and economic setup with three bedrooms and a living room that doubled as a kitchenette with a fridge, a little stove, and a table for four. Two seats were occupied.

On cue my father, Soot, stood and walked out to his job tilling soil in the orchard. He was grey like me, grey like the walls, and grey like our lives. It wasn’t quite hate that I felt towards him, but it definitely was not warm and fuzzy either. I didn’t blame him for mother leaving us.

Well, maybe a little.

I had one small consolation, and that was the brief time I got to spend with my little sister Cinder before she headed to school. Griffin school of course, as the ponies in charge didn’t want their foals mixing in with lower class citizens.

She smiled happily up at me, the bright red surrounding her eyes, identical to mine, reminding me of our mother fondly. Soot had never been the same since she had left us. Cinder was the real lucky one of our family and I wouldn’t have it any other way. Painting was her talent, such sights could she produce with colored oils and brushes adorned bulkheads and other halls throughout our Stable.

“Finally up I see, you slouch.” She said from her seat. I tousled her head-feathers as I took my own seat.

“Oh hush small fry, before I get hungry and decide to eat you instead.” Cinder giggled and went back to the paper she had laid across the table to sketch out her next work. It was a testament to her skill that such a precious commodity was allotted to a lowly griffin. As she hummed to herself, I scarfed down some applejam toast.

Somehow Cinder stayed positive, how, I will never know. She was branded on each flank like I was, the red streaked fur unable to regrow. Every griffin in Stable 57 was branded once they reached working age to signify their devotion to our pony overseers. Branding was a quiet affair, done in medical. It was always galling to go to the same ponies for cuts or broken bones that had strapped you down to a cold metal table and pressed a red hot piece of steel to your flank.

Thinking about it set my teeth on edge and I had to take a deep breath to release the tension in my shoulders. It was easier to not think about it. To live day to day, work from hour to hour, eat, sleep, and repeat the next day. You had to live for the little things, the little perks that made life worth living, instead of just existing.

I gave Cinder another head tousle and began my own trek. I was in for a pleasant surprise however when I nearly ran headlong into Honey Cup. She was a warm yellow unicorn mare of the Kettle family. Her big blue eyes widened for a moment then narrowed coquettishly.

“Why, hello there.” Her voice dripped with a lusty sweetness. I smiled and bowed lavishly.

“Dear lady, what has this lowly griffin done to deserve such a… personal visit from such an esteemed and noble mare?” She walked towards me, giving a sultry toss of her perfectly styled mane. It was deeply gratifying to imagine the physical exertions that would be required to mess up such a styling.

“I merely came to offer my gratitude to an artist such as you. Your work is… exemplary. Dare I say, masterful?” I paced slowly with her so we were circling each other. A delicate matter, that of high society politics. Despite the wishes of every living father to the contrary, young mares have needs and urges just like stallions. Being cooped up in a Stable definitely accentuated the problem.

Ever been the only guy in a very small room with five very hormonal females? They feed and build off one another, achieving heights of depravity that would have been impossible individually. It is a palpable sensation when all their eyes are on you and all their minds are on what they would like to do with or to you.

Good times.

“Surely you mistake me for another? I am but a lowly mechanic, simply servicing any and all needs of my lady Cup.” Honey rubbed her flank against me in a very unladylike manner.

“Was it another that was kind enough to customize my Mr. Handy? He is now quite handy indeed.” It was such a simple modification to replace the buzz saw attachment with a vibrating rod and to program a personal massage function. That it could have other uses had of course never crossed my mind. Self-service for unicorns wasn’t too bad, but how those poor earth ponies do it I cannot imagine.

“I am pleased that you are pleased. It is my sole duty to bring such joy into the lives of others.” Never taking her eyes off me, the yellow mare closed the distance and pressed her chest to mine. Our breath intermingled very intimately. She licked her lips.

Obviously, being of different species made all of this quite taboo, which of course made virile young griffins such as me targets for ponies like Honey Cup. Fillies of station were raised to be proper, and never engage in any shameful activity and politely wait to be courted by a proper pedigreed pony. It was a recipe to incite debauchery more consistently than almost any other.

“Tell me, would you be available to make another house call Mr. Ashes?”

“I think that might be a possibility. I’m sure your Mr. Handy could use a follow up check to make sure everything is working well. And I would of course be obliged to offer any other service the lady might require. I would be remise in my duties if I left you wanting in any respect.”

“Any service?” Her smile curled at the edges in conspiracy

“Of course.”

“It wouldn’t be any trouble for you would it, if it was me who needed the servicing?” Baby, you could spin my gears all night long.

“Perish the thought.”

“Then please, take this token on my behalf for services both done and soon to be.” Her horn glowed and a thin something floated towards me. It was a playing card, a king of spades to be exact. I couldn’t stop the wide grin that split my beak. She laughed at my expression as I grabbed the worn card. With one more playful toss of her mane Honey Cup sauntered off.

I watched her go and then examined the exquisite face of the spade. The smile on the opulently dressed pony spoke deeply to me.

It was good to be the king

***

There are three things that I love in this Stable. Always first is Cinder, who brings much needed color other than blue jumpsuits. The next is fire. All kinds of fire. The fire that burned in the Stable’s furnace, the occasional bonfire held in the Stable’s hydroponics section whenever an apple tree passed away. And most of all the little silver lighter I carried with me, hidden in a pocket of my Stable 57 issue jumpsuit. I could lie in bed for hours just clicking the little flame on and off. A tiny fire crystal was nestled in the heart of the pocket sized delight, ensuring a guaranteed thousand years of continuous flame. It was a personal vice of mine to set things on fire and watch them burn, seeing fire always calmed me, soothed me. Sadly, combustible materials that would not be missed were hard to come by and even harder to enjoy in privacy.

Fire was even part of my namesake. Ashes to Ashes. My mom, Blazing Glory had picked it so I am told.

The third thing was going after hours to play cards in a secret hollow above the Stable’s generator with my three closest friends. I peeked around a corner and made sure the coast was clear before moving quickly down the final stretch to the generator room. Security had been pretty lenient lately but I knew that I would have the ever living tar beaten out of me if I were caught gambling. Being a cog brain helped add legitimacy to my presence.

Grey pressed in all around me. Everything in the Stable was grey; the walls, the floor, the ceiling. Even the pastel ponies all faded away against that endless backdrop of grey. Hell, even I was grey. From beak to tail I was slate, black, and every boring shade between, except for the ugly black horseshoe shaped perversion of a cutie mark and my red colored, and red underlined eyes.

Growing up in Stable 57 had taught me to move quietly, avoid attention, and act as if you’re moving with a purpose. I was tall and slim, so wearing a Stable suit a size too big and slouching worked wonders.

My talon hit an empty bottle and sent it tinkling musically across the metal grating of the generator room. I winced at the noise and stopped, poised, listening for the angry sound of somepony demanding why I was down there. When none came I let out the breath I had been holding and turned to the far wall.

I scaled a set of secret handholds set into the rough hewn rock wall and climbed the vertical incline up to a narrow hole in the wall that was an abandoned branch of the ventilation system. It had used to be a hub, containing a large air circulator until it had broken down and been disassembled for parts, leaving the perfect space for three delinquent young griffins to set up a table and comfortably sit. I felt a large grin come involuntarily as I spotted my two childhood friends already set up for our night games. The hum of the generator and rock masked our sound fairly well.

“Ashes! What took you so long? Or did a pretty pony plot distract you again?” Ruby, the griffiness of our trio poked fun at me as I heaved myself up and over the ledge into the room.

“Oh Ruby my love, you wound me so.” I clutched my chest and filled my eyes with exaggerated hurt. I used my best buttery smooth voice. Blunt made a retching sound and pretended to be sick under the table.

“Any sappier and I think I’m gonna get tooth decay.” I scoffed at the large brown and white griffin and we all shared a laugh.

“Only the ladies can truly appreciate it. Right, Ruby?” The largely blue highlighted she-griffin just rolled her eyes, well used to my charms and immune after growing up with them.

“You joining in or are you gonna jaw all day?” asked Blunt. I pulled a wooden crate up sat, and leaned towards the salvaged table, supported by cinder blocks. I fished my prize out of a pocket and tossed it between the two seated across from me. Ruby gasped and snatched it up carefully.

“No way! No fucking way! A king of spades! Ministry of Morale edition! Where the hell did you get this dude?” She stared at me agape. Blunt leaned over, his brow rose in surprise and respect to look at the faded card. A large stallion stood with a cape draped over a shoulder, holding a scepter topped with a spade. I just leaned back and smiled mischievously.

“What can I say? It’s good to be the king. Courtesy of one Honey Cup as compensation for adding a let’s say ‘new feature’ to her personal Mr. Handy.” Blunt’s brow rose even further as he spoke with incredulity.

“The Honey Cup? As in daughter of Sugar Kettle? As in head of the Kettle family?” My smile was the answer.

“Come on, what’ve you got today? Better be something good for the pot. I’m not just gonna toss the king in for coins and wrenches.” Ruby smiled at my daring. Boning a low level mare curious about the feathery side was one thing but trading sexual favors for things at the head of family level was a was another talonfull entirely.

“All right stud, I’ve got just the thing.” She pulled out three plastic cards. “Feast your eyes on three apple redemption chits.” In the stable, only the best food was reserved for the ponies, a griffin maybe being lucky to get a fresh apple for their birthday. In the redeemable plastic cards was the promise of three, ripe, red, juicy apples. Both Blunt and I were practically drooling. Blunt shook his head I’m sure trying not to imagine the taste of fresh fruit and slid several sheets of paper onto the table.

“Four hours of free flight time in the Aerie.” I was suddenly much more aware of the harness under my clothing, binding my wings to my sides, making me itch and fidget uncomfortably. Griffins were not permitted to fly except during specially allotted time in the massive, twenty story cavern called the Aerie.

The three of us stared down at the small fortune of goods on the table and looked at each other in challenge. Because of the scarcity of playing cards, we had been forced to improvise a game between several partial decks. Caravan was the name of the game, and we had each gotten very good at it.

I had a particular fondness for the kings of every deck I came across and made an effort to collect every one. I employed an unconventional strategy, having a core of numbered cards all clubs and spades supplemented by several jacks and of course the kings. Ruby and Blunt both knew each others decks and it always made for an interesting struggle in the three way game. I smiled confidently at my opening hand and after a quite an impressive match I was raking in the pot. The others had played fiercely just to keep me from adding another king to his already formidable deck. More than once I had lost a king through wagering, but not this time.

Over the next few games, goods’ varying from food credit to handwritten notes promising owed favors or services my fellow delinquents and I talked and traded gossip from our respective areas in the stable. Ruby was a mid-level janitor and kept abreast of the everyday social gatherings. Blunt was a low-level general keeper, meaning he unclogged toilets and thumped air units until they worked or broke.

We talked, laughed and tried not to think about the brands, permanently seared into our skin. We tried not to think about the rough, chaffing harnesses holding our wings too tightly to our bodies. We tried not to think about how we all looked up at the ceiling and hated it, hated the prison we lived in, hated the ponies that held them us in indentured servitude, and most of all hated that there was no better way to live than the snatches between mind numbing work.

I knew a secret though.

When I wasn’t working, reading, or playing cards I was learning the ways of the Iron Talon. It was an ancient martial art created by griffins for griffins.

It had been passed down through generations, along with it came the ideals of my people. Of their pride, the honor, and dignity that came with being a griffin. Being caught teaching or being taught Iron Talon was punishable by death at the Overmare’s discretion. It was because the ponies of stable 57 feared another rebellion. Some years ago, a group of griffins had raided the armory, held the Overmare at the time hostage and then escaped from the Stable.

My mother had been one of them.

The tenth game was about to start when my PipBuck beeped angrily. The red glowing face shined as I tabbed over to my objectives with a sigh. Being a griffin of mechanical inclination meant I was graced with the privilege of wearing a special issue griffin configured PipBuck, functions limited of course and linked to the Stable network meaning that tasks could be remotely uploaded while I had no access to Eyes Forward Sparkle or S.A.T.S. At least objective markers and the map were not restricted. I knew all this because if something was going to be attached to me like an extra limb I damn well wanted to know the ins and outs of it.

“Shit, the Overmare’s terminal is down again.” I looked back up at my friends, agitated that the Overmare needed something that could easily wait until tomorrow done now. “Sorry to cut it short. Thanks for the apple chits.”

“Yeah, let’s see how long you keep ‘em, later stud,” Said Ruby.

“See ya, Ashes,” Called Blunt as I heaved myself back over for the arduous climb down and the hike all the way to the opposite end of the stable. I cursed my luck again as I moved through the halls with a moderate gait, exchanging quiet nods with the few fellow griffins that looked my way and turning my eyes down whenever a pony walked by, but they paid me no heed. I was just another Griffin going about his work. It was getting late so I didn’t run into too much hoof traffic on my way to the Overmare’s office.

A very nasty green earth pony stallion by the name of Rigid stood guarding the door and sneered at me with his best ‘I’m above you’ expression. He was known for instantly and cruelly enforcing an infraction no matter how minor. Once, he had given a young griffin a black eye for drawing in chalk on a wall. I kept my face carefully controlled and neutral. I couldn’t help but furtively eye the armored barding and 10mm pistol the brute wore though. The pony stepped aside and put a hoof to an intercom beside the door.

“Mechanic here to see you ma’am.” The answer was quick.

“Send him in.”

Without sparing another glance at Rigid, I walked quickly through the heavily armored hatch. The Overmare, a cream colored unicorn by the name of Heartstrings looked up from behind her desk and marched around it. For an Overmare she was young, her mother having met her end in the last griffin rebellion.

“Good, you’re here. The power supply is fluctuating again. I need to head to hydroponics. Be done by the time I get back. Make sure it works. The password is ‘borrowed.’” I mumbled something that sounded like an affirmative and Heartstrings set off quickly.

Bitch.

I watched her triple heart cutie mark saunter out the door and briefly fantasized about bending her over the large desk and ploughing her backside just to see the look on her face. With a sigh I dropped beneath the huge wood topped desk and opened an access panel, looking with disdain at the hundred places the wiring had already been taped, spliced, patched and held together with what amounted to chewing gum and prayer.

It wasn’t hard to find the offending power wire to the main terminal and give it another couple wrappings of duct tape. My task done, I sat in the Overmare chair and booted up the machine. With an angry whirr the green screen flickered to life and brought up the password prompt. With dexterous hands, I punched in ‘borrowed’ and the screen jumped to the predictable ‘Welcome Overmare.’ But something else in the two hundred year old electronics fizzled and gave out with an energized zap and the screen died.

I growled and lay back down to find another wire, this one with various warning tags attached to it had come broken free of its already loose coupling. Much cursing, more tape, and a few dabs of Wonderglue later the errant piece was back in place. I moved back up and started over. The screen came up with much less complaint this time and brought up the same password prompt. But this time, instead of the welcome message, there were two further options.

Access Overmare mainframe.

Access Overgriffin mainframe.

I stared briefly at the two options and glanced behind me at the closed door and flicked back to the screen. Did I dare? My heart started to beat more quickly as I selected the Overgriffin option.

Warning! User’s pipbuck is under martial law lock-down!

Unlock…?

Could this mean…? I took a moment and realized that this might mean I could access the restricted functions on my PipBuck! My head was filled with leaps and bounds of sizzling logic. I hesitated a little longer this time but nonetheless selected it. The screen on my leg lit up and words scrolled across it informing me that I now had Overgriffin level access to all Stable systems and PipBuck capabilities.

Holy shit.

A thrill ran through me as the implications spiraled through my head. Several new options were now displayed on the desk terminal in standard Stable-Tec green.

Historical Journals.

Your Mission.

Download Stable Door Access Codes.

Security Protocols.

Open Overseers Tunnel.

I could only gape in shock as I stared at what seemed like freedom lay plain before me as if on a silver platter, served to me personally by the Overmare. Maybe I had done too good of a job fixing the terminal. Quickly, I downloaded both the access codes to the stable door and the journal entries, with difficulty I resisted the urge to flip through them now. I could peruse those later. What really caught my eye was the option marked ‘Your Mission.’ Trepidation and fear warred within but my talons clicked the keys anyway. An ancient audio file began to play.

“Ahem. This is Stable-Tec CEO Scootaloo. If you are listening to this it means that the worst has come to pass and you have reported to your Stable. Stable 57 is a state of the art construction equipped with all the amenities Stable-tec has to offer, in addition to housing and equipment necessary to maintain a steady population of griffins.”

There was a long sigh. “Come one, over half way done with these fucking things.”

“Stable 57 will have an Overmare for the ponies and an Overgriffin for the griffins. Decision making will be split between the two. We must do better. We must be better. Only together will we have… Oh Celestia this can’t… I can’t… Fuck! Only together is there a chance. Only together do we deserve a chance. That is all.”

That meant the ponies and the griffins had started off on equal footing. No other explanation made sense. How did no one know about this? The depravity that had befallen my Stable took my breath away. It was hard to imagine life without ponies, without being beneath them, to live without their mark burned into my hide. I only had the stories my Iron Talon teacher had instilled into me about the old days. Days of life and clear blue skies. What I did know was what it felt like to want to be free, to fly without restraint with every fiber of ones being. The thought of it lit the edges of my mind aflame. I had never experienced it for myself it but damn if I couldn’t yearn for it.

I was so engrossed in thought I didn’t notice the pony behind me until she levitated the pistol to the back of my head. I froze. The cold metal was hard against my scalp.

“Nice and easy now, turn and face me.” Slowly, I complied. The Overmare, Heartstrings had a stern, frowning expression, like I was a misbehaving child. A light yellow glow held the deadly weapon inches from my face. My heart felt like it was going to explode! How could I have been so lax?

Idiot! Novice mistake!

“Stupid boy,” I saw the intent; I knew she would not hesitate and did what I had imagined and practiced doing a thousand times. I jerked my head to the side while bringing up a talon to knock the gun aside with enough force to knock it from her telekinesis. She was standing right in front of me. In two steps up from the chair I closed the distance and for the first time in my life, activated SATS. I had read the passage in the PipBuck manual about the function multiple times, but nothing could have prepared me for the reality.

Time ceased to be an issue. I saw clearly her face, turning from one of derision, to one of shock. In the options I saw I could queue up unarmed strikes.

I aimed three blows in the time altering spell and released it. The sensation of every muscle and fiber thudding into the Overmare’s chest, neck and head flowed up my right arm. Residual drag from the arcane nature of the spell allowed me to feel each strike from beginning to end. I was gifted with very long, bony talons, making my knuckles protrude, strengthened through a hundred thousand repetitions. Ribs cracked, tender neck muscles were torn, and the mare hit the ground hard, stunned from the blow to the head.

Heaving with the thrill, I stood over Heartstrings as she sat reeling.

Then Rigid walked in the door and stared bewildered for a moment at the scene before him. With a shout the stallion drew a baton and charged me. As much as I hated to admit it, I was just a griffin with lots of practice. Rigid was an older, experienced security pony. I got in one solid strike that was absorbed by his armor before the baton was brought down against my chest, knocking the wind from me.

Blows rained down on me unmercifully. I refused to cower.

Drawing back, I bunched up and sprung like coiled steel and used what charge was left in S.A.T.S. to ball up both hands and bring them down with all my might down atop my opponents’ head like a mace. The force knocked the baton out of his mouth and the helmet off his head. Battered and dazed, he stumbled over himself.

Every cruelty, every beating, every branding flashed through my brain as I looked at the prone pony. Simple psychotic rage flowed through my veins and muscles. Every curse bit back for fear of the lash, every unspoken promise now bubbled up to the fore. My mind was screaming at me, calling for blood.

Rigid spat out a few broken teeth and tried to get back up. That was a mistake. The red clouding, narrowing my vision wouldn’t allow for anything elegant or fancy. I just grabbed the earth pony’s head and slammed it over and over into the metal floor. A sickening crack sounded and the stallion went limp. I gulped down breath quickly, nearly hyperventilating but felt a deathly calm wash over me. I looked down at Rigid’s broken body.

He wasn’t breathing anymore.

But the Overmare still was.

And I was not in a gentle mood.

She struggled and crawled away towards an emergency alarm on the underside of her desk. I walked and knotted a talon into her pink mane and lifted her with a strength I did not know resided within me and slammed her bodily onto her desk. She gasped in pain and tried to curl into herself but I kept a firm grip on her as she thrashed.

I wanted answers.

“Why? How? When did you ponies get the right to make us your slaves?” She spat blood at me.

“Stupid fucking feather head. You just had to poke your beak where it didn’t belong.”

“You gave me your fucking password you dumb bitch!” I liked to consider himself a gentlegriffin and having to stoop to the Overmare’s level just made me angrier. “Why are we slaves? What gives you the right? What gives you the fucking right!?” She actually sputtered out a laugh between coughs.

“Ponies are meant to rule. We’re better. The princesses are proof of that. This Stable that you are fortunate enough to share was made by ponies. It’s only just that we-“ She was cut off when I slapped her across the face.

“Just?” I threw my head back and laughed. The sheer incredulity of her words had simply become funny. It was not a happy laugh; it was something black, oily, and twisted. It went on and on, making my sides hurt. After a little while I managed to regain control and brought my eyes back to hers.

“You want to know what justice is? Justice is the fact that I have you in a closed room all to myself.” I let those last three words slide into the air, filled with promise. She started to shake. “But maybe if you do something for me then I won’t.” The Overmare said nothing.

“I want you to apologize.” My breath fell hotly across her muzzle. “Apologize to every single griffin in this Stable a thousand times and then a thousand times again. Say you’re sorry to everyone for your lies and the lies you made them live. Beg to be forgiven for a hundred years of slavery. Then pray. Pray for your soul and the judgment that our Ladies will pass upon you.”

Her sneer was answer enough.

“Then I guess I’ll make you sorry.” She thrashed and struggled but it was no good. I ponyhandled her so that her horn stuck out beyond the edge of the desk and pushed the side of her face flat against the uncaring wood. She yelled and tried to shout.

I didn’t need S.A.T.S. for this. I was a student of the Iron Talon and brought my elbow up and then squarely back down precisely in the middle of her horn. My technique was perfect and I hardly felt the impact at all. The pretty cream colored bone spun away in a small fount of blood and a faint flutter of escaping magic, the little sparks of light dancing away.

Then she really started to scream.

She thrashed and wailed but the door had closed behind Rigid, sealing away her cries. A hard yank of her mane brought her eyes level with my frigid, burning glare. When I spoke, my voice seethed with deathly promise. She stopped thrashing.

“I said apologize.”

“I’m… Sorry. I’m s-s-sorry. Sorry! Sorry. I’m sorry.” Her voice choked and broke like jagged glass. She could no longer look at me as she curled into herself, rocking gently.

I padded away, feeling vindicated. I picked up the Overmare’s discarded pistol and briefly considered blowing her brains out and concluded that she wasn’t even worth a bullet. Into a pocket it went. I also took Rigid’s pistol, even stripped his security barding, and resolved to take it apart for my own use. Should I have felt guilt over his death? Maybe a little disconcerted as I striped his clothing from his still warm, limp body. Food for thought I suppose.

Then I scored big time in the form of three riot suppression flash bang grenades.

If there was anything comparable to my love of fire, it was my love of explosives. What other joy could a true engineer have than cards and things that went boom? I felt good, amazing even and made ready to leave the Overmare office when I was struck by a thought.

What the hell should I do now? I mean, getting out of the Stable and all that, but still. I would probably have at least a little breathing room before anypony found the Overmare but I couldn’t drag my heels.

Indecision warred within me. I had just killed a pony and assaulted the Overmare! I had the means to escape. Okay, escape was easy. I just needed to go to his quarters and get my father, sister, and scrape together what supplies he could. Yeah, that was a good plan. As much as I hated to admit it, my dad would know what to do from there. On lion paws I padded softly out the office and kicked the controls shut behind me, leaving the broken mare to her mumblings.

Everything had taken on sharpness, clarity. Adrenaline pooled in my blood making my feel euphoric and lighter than air as I moved with purpose. Fuck it was good to be me right then! Even with my insides bubbling I managed to keep a straight face as I walked quickly home. I was in luck! Soot and Cinder sat at the small table in our kitchenette in a strange reflection of this morning. My sister was still working on the final sketch of her next painting. Still bringing color to our grey world.

She took after Blazing Glory with her red wings. Every day those wings, hidden beneath ugly blue reminded me that I was a big brother and had obligations to care for her in our mother’s stead. Across from her, relaxing after another day spent in bondage was Soot.

The black and gunmetal griffin sire stared at me at me for a moment and through some unfathomable parental intuition immediately spoke.

“Ashes to Ashes, what did you do this time.” Ouch, that stung. I deserved it, but it still stung. Under my father’s baleful gaze I spilled everything. Through my story he betrayed nothing, not interrupting me once as I told him about what I had found in the Overmare’s terminal and what had happened afterward. By the end my head was hanging low and Cinder had stopped sketching. I waited for the doom of parental judgment to fall but what I got was not the reaction I had been expecting.

“You truly are your mother’s son.” By Luna’s midnight horn I could have sworn I saw the ghost of a smile pass my elder’s beak. “Get together everything we need and nothing else. You take your sister back to the Overmare’s office and use her tunnel to get out quickly. I will gather the rest of our brother and sister griffins.” My mind nearly stumbled after everything that had happened. I think this was the longest conversation I had had with the old bird in five months. I honestly didn’t know how to react, so I just stood there, silent and stupid. And I had knocked a gun out of my face not a short time ago!

“Focus!” My father shouted. Cinder yelped a little and I flinched. “Go get the Stable’s door open, you have the code. Take your sister, keep her safe. Time is of the essence.” He walked to me and put his eagle claws to my shoulders and I looked up, suddenly unsure, hesitant.

“You can do this son. But you need to do it now. I’ll see you at the door alright?” I could only nod in understanding. The praise filled my gut with a strange warm feeling. My whole world was going upside down. Without another word Soot walked past and out the door. Then my sister was looking up at me with wide eyes.

“Are we really leaving big brother?” I smiled down at her and ruffled the top of her head, the familiar gesture a comfort.

“Yeah, we’re leaving. I need you to go to your room and pack your things okay? In five minutes we need to be out the door. Take only what you need.” Golden eyes bobbed and she ran into her room. My sister was a tough one alright. Then I headed to my own room.

My bed, workbench, lamp, and dresser in a six by twelve foot floor contained all my worldly possessions. Bits of mechanical junk cluttered the table and a few spare jumpsuits stuck out of the dresser. The only thing that really matter was my secret stash, hidden under the bed. A pair of old saddlebags contained three homemade firebombs, my toolkit with all the basics, and some electrical scrap. Into the bag went my newly acquired security barding, the two pistols, and the three grenades. All that was left was my prized lighter and Caravan deck which remained in my pockets.

A strange melancholy filled me as I thought about how I would never fix the sticky door. Not to mention the lost chance to sample some of Honey Cup's... honey.

With one last look around, I turned off the lights and walked back out into the living room/kitchen area to see Cinder already scooping our stored rations into her own bags. A quick glance told me she had already been into the bathroom for the two healing potions and med-x in the battered old medical box. I opened the fridge and grabbed every bottle of water and stuffed them in my bags. I marveled at how little time it took to clean out our whole living quarters.

“All done!” Cinder chirped happily. To her this was probably still almost like an adventure. She was only a few years younger than me but life had always been an exciting thing to Cinder, filled with her imagination. The lighting in the Stable switched over to emergency red and sirens started to wail.

It was now or never.

I made sure her bags were secured and gave her a little tug, “Come on.” He I jogged quickly out and down the halls. All around ponies and griffins were starting to poke out of their homes and go into panic mode. The turmoil allowed both of us to flee down the halls with haste and avoid any awkward questions that may have concerned the packs we were carrying. I traced the quickest path available as the crowds started to thicken. Just as we reached the final bend to the stairs leading to the Overmare’s office I suddenly stopped and grabbed my sister, holding her beak closed to keep her from shouting in surprise. I pressed us up against the wall, hoping that the flashing light and grey surroundings would keep us hidden.

A group of security ponies marched past with batons ready. They didn’t notice two young griffins crouched down a side hall. I let out a silent breath of relief as they disappeared from sight and released Cinder who gave me a dirty look. We hurried up the now abandoned staircase to the office. Rigid’s body had been taken and the Overmare was missing.

With deft talons I logged back in and selected the Overmare tunnel. I sprung back in surprise when the floor beneath him became a staircase leading down. Cinder giggled at my reaction and bounced down fearlessly. The long dark tunnel stretched out into the blackness. I dared to let a little hope swell within me and trotted quickly all the way to the end of the tunnel.

There was a switch and a section of controls. All the while the sirens warbled their cry. I pulled a rusted level and turned a large nob to the ‘open’ position and the switch turned from red to green. A section of false wall slid away to open into the entrance of the Vault.

It was empty except for an old griffin with aging brown feathers waiting patiently on his haunches. He turned to look at us and smiled in a grandfatherly way.

“I always knew you would follow in your mother’s footsteps Ashes. You will be needing these if you want to go out there though.” He held out a pair of old brass knuckles molded for a griffin, the metal coating was burnished to a dull gleam after two hundred years of careful care. I approached my teacher, the oldest living master of the Iron Talon who handed me the weapons.

“Are you sure?” my voice reverent. I turned them over in awe. Each was heavy, promising bone crushing force. They almost felt warm in my talons. The elderly griffin just smiled.

“There is more that I would teach you. But the outside world will see to that. Find your mother, bring her back to us. Bring yourself back to us while you’re at it as well. Live with honor, act with honor. Do that and you will never be steered wrong. You may need this too.” Elder Grimm handed me a large key while his gaze looked at someplace distant that only his eyes could see. I stared wide eyed at the key to the wing restraints binding me to the earth, bowed respectfully and pocketed the key.

“Thank you, sir. Thank you.” I didn’t know what else to say so I went to the Stable door controls and imputed the code from my PipBuck.

“Oh, and say goodbye to your friends Ashes.”

Wait, what?

I turned but Grimm was already gone, vanishing one of his favorite tricks to pull on young griffins. More sirens started going off as the scream of complaining mechanics signaled the opening sequence of the massive steel cog. Then I was knocked down by a flying tacklehug fringed with blue. I heard Cinder giggle next to me.

Ruby held me close a moment, then jumped off. “Trying to leave without saying goodbye huh?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I said as Blunt trotted up and held up a fist. I knocked my own knuckles against his in greeting.

“Out into the wild yonder huh?” he said. The three of us sat in silence for a moment. Ruby was the one that hooked her arms around either of our necks and drew us all into a group hug. I felt my heart lighten and flutter even as a brick of lead dropped into my gut. I didn’t know if I would ever be coming back.

“We’ll always be here for you bud, just in case you need to come back and crash.”

“You could come with, you know?” I offered but she just smiled and shook her head.

“We need to stay and help our folks, besides, you’ve got Cinder.” She crouched down and hugged the younger griffin. “You take care of your feather brained bro okay sweetie? You know the trouble he gets into.” Cinder hugged back.

“I will, I promise.” The little griffin hooted.

“Hey big guy, I expect a rematch when you come back. You still owe me a few big red apples.” Blunt grinned wide.

“Count on it. I’m ready to wipe the floor with your face whenever you are.” I jibbed. Ruby then dug around in her jumpsuit and produced two cards, worn, and faded and held them out to me.

“Just a little something to remember us by,” They were the queen of hearts and jack of clubs from their respective Caravan decks. “You always were the king.” I felt my throat tighten as I took the cards gratefully. The massive Stable door clanged, the ringing chord signaling that its opening cycle had completed. Then I smiled as a something occurred to me.

“Hey, take off your clothes.”

“Whoa lover boy I know you want me bad but your sister is here!” I just rolled his eyes. Ruby laughed and shirked her jumpsuit, Blunt doing the same. I fished out the key given to me by elder Grimm and unlocked both of his friends wing bindings. The ugly leather straps, buckles and vestments of the harnesses fell away with a clatter.

“Woohoo!” Blunt flew up and hovered. “You are the king, man!” All the joy of the moment shattered like a gossamer dream as a gunshot echoed in the small space. The bullet narrowly missed Blunt. The sound of armored hooves soon followed as a line of vault security ponies lined up and up stepped the head of security himself. Stricture. Two words described the unicorn stallion best.

Apathetic bastard.

I spotted Overmare cowering behind him, shaking and muttering to herself. Two other ponies came, dragging a griffin that had been beaten almost to a bloody pulp.

A griffin whose name was Soot.

Shit! The Overmare must have told Stricture that it was me who was trying to escape, or maybe seized my dad while he was trying to organize the griffins. My father coughed up blood. Cinder started crying and tried to run towards him. I grabbed her and slowly started backing towards the open door of the Stable. Blunt and ruby both stood frozen, Blunt having landed beside her. My friends faced the ponies with defiance.

Stricture stepped forward and spoke. “Just give yourselves up and no one else needs to get hurt.” He sounded bored.

“Run!” Soot roared as loud as his prodigious voice allowed. Stricture levitated a pistol to his head and the griffin just grinned with a bloody beak. Cinder cried out for her papa. I managed to keep hold of the young griffiness, covered her eyes and kept backing up as a trigger was pulled. I couldn’t look away and felt what little stability left in my world crumble.

Bound and helpless, Soot, mate to Blazing Glory, sire of Cinder, my father, died smiling. He died knowing that his children lived, and that they were free. What more could a griffin of Vault 57 ask for?

Everything felt like S.A.T.S. as I watched the light go out from the grey griffin's eyes. The great door started to slide closed, now only a few feet away. A security pony had darted forward and slammed the override button on the controls. Weeping sister limp in my grasp, I leaped through the portal and looked back to see my friends, with mighty roars and vengeance in their eyes fly up and charge the dozen Stable ponies.

I hit the ground hard and cradled my sister. My last look before the door slammed shut was that of two young griffins, outnumbered and outgunned, charging the enemy with steely eyes and courageous hearts.

Footnote: Level up.

Perk Gained: Drop Dead Griffin - +10% damage to and unique dialogue options with members of the opposite sex.

Trait Gained: Gifted - You have more innate abilities than most, so you have not spent as much time honing your skills. +1 to all SPECIAL stats, -10 to all starting skills, and -4 skill points on level up.

All credit for the creation of Fallout: Equestria goes to the great and magnificent Kkat!

If you liked the story, comment! Or if you didn't, you know, argumentative is good too.

Chapter 2: Ghoul City

Chapter 2: Ghoul City

“We don’t go to Ravenho-“

The huge, several ton cog-shaped steel door of Stable 57 slid closed with the finality of a funeral dirge. I could only look on as the last sight of my friends was shut away behind that immutable barrier. There was no way of knowing if even at that moment they lived or died for no sound could escape something designed to weather the apocalypse. Cinder shook with gentle sobs in my arms. For a moment all I could do was lay where I had thrown myself in our bid to escape the closing door, and now we were beyond the immediate reach of Stricture and his ponies.

We were free.

So why did I feel so hollow?

My mother was out here somewhere beyond Stable 57, but Soot had been left behind. The cold bastard Stricture had executed my father without a second thought, like he was trash. Tightness constricted my chest and I tried to be strong. I tried to be strong for Cinder, feeling the dam within me crack and strain. Trying to shut out the raging sea within I rested my head back against the ground. It faintly occurred to me how soft dirt was compared to metal, not like the grass back in hydroponics but still soft relatively.

A rotting stench in the air filtered slowly as the last of the Stable air dissipated from the opening of the door. It grew stronger and stronger, soon becoming an overpowering aroma of decaying meat. The tunnel was made of rock and a dull light filtered through a simple slatted wood door at the very far end of the passage. In the dim illumination I looked up and saw bones.

Everywhere were bones, bones, more bones, and more besides, enough to account for hundreds of ponies if not more. They had collected in great drifts of age blackened ivory along the walls of the tunnel. Grim though it may have been this alone would not have unnerved me. But there weren’t just bones.

Some of the bodies were… fresh. Flesh in chunks, scraps, severed limbs, and different viscera lay strewn about in varying stages of decay. I was staring right into the face of a severed pony head as it stared back with bulging eyes and a bloated tongue. Maggots were crawling into and out of the skin, making the surface of the head writhe with sub dermal life. My mind flashed to an image of my father with a bullet hole in his forehead going through the same process of deterioration.

Oh goddess I couldn’t slow my breathing. My mouth filled with saliva and my abdominal muscles seized in rebellion. I tried to shove the feeling back down my throat but it was no use as I felt what was left of my breakfast come burbling up. With enough presence of mind to turn my head to the side I vomited on the ground.

I shuddered as a few more convulsions made me light-headed my insides squirm with a life of their own. After a few deep gulping breaths my stomach was once again under control. Cinder nuzzled me in concern as I had kind of squeezed her during my purge, but did not speak, could not speak just yet.

“H-h-hey little Cinder, could you do… something f… for me?” my voice felt unstable and unreliable and I had to take breaths between words. Fresh tears welled up again in Cinder’s eyes. After a long pause she nodded. It was cruel to ask something of her so soon but we couldn’t stay there, however faint, there was a chance that the Stable door might open and disgorge pony hunters to drag us back.

“It’s nothing hard I promise. I just need you to close your eyes and stay on my back until we’re out of here okay?” I tried to sound confident for my sister. She was young, although clever and had probably already guessed at the putrid odor but was too weak to argue. I wasn’t going to expose her to something like that if I could help it. I waited until she had her eyes firmly shut, tears staining her feathers, to roll to my feet and lifted her carefully onto my back.

Off down the tunnel I marched, step by step, old bones cracking along the way. I kept my gaze focused on the path before me. Onward I went, quashing the lingering queasiness in my gut and persevering toward the wooden portal, not letting my view drift. Cinder just curled up on her big brother’s back, crying out all the hurt. And just like that we were at the exit.

Trying not to breathe too deeply, I pushed the door open with a nudge of my head and we two Stable griffins emerged into hell.

The outside world was a blasted wasteland of broken ground and tortured sky. The stable exit lay on a small mountain overlooking a city on fire. Smoke hung in a thick haze everywhere. Yawning chasms pockmarked the city full of a strange red flame that burned lazily. The sky that was visible roiled and churned with storm clouds and crackles of discharge.

If I hadn’t already emptied everything in my stomach, I definitely would have lost it then as I felt an intense vertigo clench me as the sky opened overhead. I had to sit, close my eyes, and pressed my face into the dirt to avoid falling over as my senses overloaded. It was so much. Cinder just whimpered and clung on harder.

A fine layer of something soft and powdery coated the ground. I had read about snow and winter in some old textbooks in the Stable system but never imagined being able to see it. I peeked. Wasn’t snow supposed to be cold? I stared down at my namesake in horror. Everywhere was ash. It rained from the sky in a never-ending drift of carbon waste. Everything appeared muted and fuzzy through the clouds of precipitating grey. Everything but the fires.

Several dozen pits full of fire were scattered through the broken buildings I could see. The whole scene spoke of a soul-crushing level of annihilation that had visited itself upon the world. Shattered windows, sagging slabs of concrete and piles of rubble spread across broken pavement were everywhere.

My PipBuck blinked softly and I tabbed over to the map function, grateful for the small distraction. It placed my marker just outside Stable 57 and flashed with a new location. Apparently I stood at the Ghoul City Memorial Overlook. How my PipBuck knew these things were beyond me but I wasn’t about to question the small boon of having a name for this place and something solid to sink my talons into.

Feeling slightly less dizzy, I gazed downward at Ghoul City and felt those crumbling steel facades and burning hellfires staring back at me, into me, challenging my resolves and laughing at my pitiful attempts at survival. I shook my head vigorously to clear it of the phantoms and focused on getting a good look at my surroundings. The smog and smoke made the air thick, and blurred things in the distance. Something large and stone was immediate and apparent.

It was a statue standing well over fifteen feet tall. It was simple, a pony and griffin stood side by side gazing off into the distance. The carpet of ash padded my steps as I walked to the raised stone pedestal. A bronze plaque sat slightly skewed but some parts remained legible and I read it aloud.

“For all equestrians, great and small.”

I was impressed that the statue had withstood the test of time relatively intact. Cracks ran up one of the pony statues leg but did not look ready to give way for a long time. It struck me with great irony that through all the achievements the ponies had made, the grand technologies, the industrial revolution, all that remained were statues to stand vigil over a broken world.

A path wound its way down toward the city and that’s where I headed.

The desire to use the key Elder Grimm had given me surged within, yet a primal fear demanded that I find a safer place to strip and be vulnerable to rid myself of the cumbersome harness chafing my feathers under the Stable jumpsuit. So forward I went, down the path to find refuge in Ghoul City. Exhaustion was starting to weigh heavily on my shoulders. I had not slept since before my last work shift, then the fight with the Overmare and on to the escape. The more I thought about it, the more tired I became.

My tail dragged on the ground and my shoulders slumped gradually. Only an innate nimbleness kept my stumbles from turning into faceplants because of rocks hidden in the fallen ash. Cinder just kept holding on, solemnly quiet, enduring the roughness of the ride stoically. Her voice was a hoarse, crackled thing.

“Ashes? Where are we going?” Her tone was low, despairing.

“We’re going to find a safe place to rest and figure out what to do. Then we can get these stupid harnesses off. How’s that sound?” I tried to make my voice positive for her sake.

“Don’t we have to find momma too?”

“Yeah, she must have come through here so we’ll look for clues. Don’t worry, if there’s anything to find, we’ll find it.” I sounded more hopeful, more cheerful than I felt. It had been years. Who knew what we would find? She somehow perked up a little at my words, having more faith than I did. The ground had slowly evened out during the descent and we were now at street level, pre-war buildings rising all around.

“Is that someone over there? Maybe they would know?” A quadruped figure lurched through the drifts of ash down the street. Before I could stop her, Cinder jumped off my back and started walking towards it.

“Hey, mister!” She sounded overjoyed to see something else alive in the outside. The thing stopped and turned towards her. Something was wrong in the way it walked. Cinder halted, uncertain, head low in sudden fear.

“Cinder!” I carefully padded after her, wanting to call her back but kept my eyes locked on the stranger. She stood paralyzed, wavering. The thing drew close enough for me to make it out somewhat and the sight froze me too. It was a pony, but everything about it was wrong. A red line appeared on my almost forgotten E.F.S.

Desiccated flesh hung in tatters from its sides and flank and most of its hair from body, mane, and tail were missing. Muscle and even bone was visible through holes in the hide. It was impossible to guess what color it had been. One eye was missing while the other bulged and lolled blindly in an engorged socket. Cinder screamed and the thing whipped its head up at the sound and with impossible speed, charged towards her.

I was in shock at the sight of the thing while Cinder could only stand and scream. The grotesque pony lunged forward with jagged yellow teeth. I shook myself out of inaction but was too far away to do anything but curse and run. She flinched back so that instead of her throat, the ghastly pony took a chunk out of her shoulder. It ripped through her clothing like it wasn’t even there, taking meat, cloth and even a leather strap from her bindings in one bite.

What the fuck kind of place had the world, our beloved Equestria that we had longed so fiercely to see become?

With all my will I ran but the horror charged the young one, bowling her over. She tried to claw at its eyes but the ghastly pony bit down hard on one of her outstretched eagle claws with a sickening crack. Its front hooves kicked and thrashed, striking her chest and stomach, trying to tear her limb off. I had never moved so quickly in my life. In just a moment I was there, trying to beat the rotting pony off my sibling. My claws left shallow scratches in the leathery hide which oozed a thick black fluid that the ghoul pony simply ignored. I remembered my training and brought down my fists and pummeled away relentlessly.

My knuckles split and bloodied against the things wretched skull but each blow loosened the ghoul’s grip until it finally was knocked loose, stunned senseless and moaning it fell over.

With frantic, shaking talons I pulled one of our two healing potions and nearly fumbled it twice before getting the stopper off. I cradled Cinder’s head and brought her lips to the cool liquid.

“C’mon sis, c’mon, you gotta drink this. You gotta, it’ll take the pain away I promise, I promise.” With my encouragement she sipped, then gulped down the thick solution. The bleeding in her shoulder and foreleg stopped and most of the flesh in her shoulder filled back in but the horrible rending bite to the muscle of her arm required the second potion. I silently wished for some magically enchanted bandages and then wished for more than basic first-aid knowledge to tell if Cinder had any broken bones. This was followed by wishing for a doctor, then wishing that the war had never happened, and finished with me simply wanting our mother, or for our father not to be dead.

The ghoul, still moving, started to shriek. My scrutiny fixed on the thing in shock at the piercing cry but then I looked around in a panic, feeling very exposed in the middle of the street. The impulse to find a wall to press my back against was almost overwhelming. In a rush I drew a pistol, unfamiliar in my claw and pressed it to zombie head. Blind though it may have been it felt the touch and snapped at me, kicking and whinnying. Panicked, I pulled the trigger.

The gunshot was loud, startling. I almost dropped the 10mm as the echo bounced away and blessed silence fell. The ash on the ground muffled the shell, and the macabre precipitation quieted all else. I ran black to Cinder and checked her wounds again. She had curled up, clutching her broken forelimb. As I held her close in relief, a shiver ran down my spine, my hair, and feathers stood on end. I could feel something coming. Paranoia spiked. All the buildings took on a sinister cast; the windows looked down on us, hostile and resentful.

Faintly, I heard a howl. It keened in the distance, making my hide want to crawl off my bones. It went on for a solid minute and petered off. We huddled together in that lonely street as the hush fell again. Then, another howl broke the quiet, and another, and then another, closer, and closer. The volume grew. Fuck, it was all around us!

I saw another zombie pony round a corner further on and raised the gun. My claw was shaking as I fired twice. And missed. Shit, do better! The sound drew the thing’s attention and it charged. In the Stable, I had always enjoyed the recounted war stories from which I had gleaned many different techniques for both warfare and marksmanship. Though I had no formal training in ballistics, I had read plenty about it.

Taking a deep breath I kneeled, braced the gun in both hands and squeezed carefully. Straight down the pistol sights I watched the puff of the bullets impact high on the pony’s chest. It was staggered for a moment by the shot but recovered and continued its charge. Three more shots to center mass dropped the wretched thing. It fell and slid to a stop not four paces from where I held my stance.

Smoke curled lazily from the end of my gun. Another ghoul materialized from down the street. The firearm barked, recoiling in my talons like a thing alive, spitting death and hot lead, ejecting spinning brass. I let it come naturally as I allowed my mind to go blank and focused not on the gun, but on the shot, the trajectory and supersonic path the bullet carved through the air. It became an extension of myself, and imagined it as a reach of my arm, my wrist, my talons fused into the smooth grip of the blocky pistol, guiding me as I killed the unnatural affront to life.

Then two more appeared. I slew one but the other got close enough to get within leaping distance, its jaws open. Fuck they were fast! S.A.T.S. froze time. Yellow teeth, jagged and broken were ready to sink into my neck. Frantically I toggled the remainder of my clip and released the spell along with three mid caliber chunks of metal which sped through the skull of the pony. Gore splattered me as the rotten flesh and bone exploded from the neck up. Warm ichor and what could only be brain matter splashed my hide, feeling sticky and matted in my fur and feathers. I was glad my beak hadn’t been open.

Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit. Sweet ever fucking Celestia’s horn! Okay maybe my mind wasn’t completely blank. With a click the empty clip dropped free and my talons slid a fresh one home.

Maybe that was all… Nope. Five more ran into view and by the sound, more were on the way. I drew my other pistol and fired. Using both hands dropped my accuracy, but increased my rate of fire. Two dozen rounds later the ghouls were down, another pair of spent clips joined the brass in the false snow. As I reloaded I glanced to Cinder and was shocked to see my sibling not just standing on her three still working legs, but looking right at me. The pain was bright in her eyes.

“Cinder…” I was at a loss, stunned by her pain threshold.

“The monsters are gonna get us if we stay here.” Too often I forgot that my little sister wasn’t so little any more. I crouched down on my knees.

“Get on, and hold tight.” The howling had grown to an unceasing encirclement of sound. I looked around fearfully. “Hurry, little spark.” she climbed on my back and held fast to my jumpsuit, which reminded me of the straps beneath.

Aw skull-fuck me with a wrench I am not a clever griffin! If I had just taken the time to get our harnesses off I could have flown us out of there! So stupid! Of course after seeing that these creatures had a taste for flesh I concluded that some probably dragged their kills to the Stable tunnel to feed and so it was a wise decision to leave with the alacrity that we had but that didn’t stop me from mentally tormenting myself with better alternatives.

Red bars started appearing with disturbing density on my E.F.S.

Cinder hugged me tightly around the neck with her good forelimb and dug her paws in as I ran on my back legs to keep my talons and pistols free. I shot at another trio that had appeared behind us but my aim was lousy on the move without S.A.T.S. I turned to go down an alley only to redirect past it as another pair lunged at me out of the dark. Feebly glowing street lamps flickered among the flecks of falling grey flakes, still clinging onto life from either a still live power grid or internal spark batteries.

Up ahead the street ended with a wall of buildings. Ghouls were only a little ways behind us. Terror gripped my heart. I could imagine tumbling, being ripped apart, eaten alive, my guts steaming in the open air, and somehow spurned myself forward as fast as my leggy gait allowed. First instinct guided me right and I was stopped short by a writhing throng of ghouls driving dead-on at us so I reversed course again and went opposite and was met by another group blocking the street there too! The horde began closing in around us. I backed towards the buildings and slammed my shoulder into a closed door at the top of a stoop but it held firm, grinding my teeth in frustration I fired repeatedly into the wave of death crashing in around.

My E.F.S. was practically solid with red bars.

I cast about for anything, any escape route, any unseen alley. Something! Merciful Luna please don’t let me die here! Don’t let my sister die here! Not so soon after escaping, not after gaining our freedom in blood, tears, and precious lives only to be torn apart by this world of death and the dead!

Two more clips of ammo were ejected from my guns, staving off the ghouls but it would only be a moment before they reached my position. The only reason I had not run out bullets being that Rigid had carried an excessive amount with him back in the Stable.

Fuck! It wasn’t fair!

A, hairless fleshy pony snapped at my paws and got a kick to the chin for its trouble while another wrapped around my neck with its hooves. I pistol whipped it in the temple, nearly dragging me with it down the steps as it fell, and reloaded again. Now there was no way to miss, but my paltry fusillade could not hold them back and the tide of raving hunger crashed against me. I punched, kicked, shot, and even pecked, to keep myself between the roaring horde and Cinder.

I was drowning, falling beneath that crush of bodies and something caught my eye.

Maybe…

With the last of my will I reached up and grabbed a drain pipe on the side of the building and hauled with everything I had and lifted free. I managed to scramble up high enough to get beyond the leaping reach of the ghouls bellow. Somehow I had had the presence of mind to holster my pistols. Up, up, up to the third story where a window lay just within reach, the pane long shattered. Cinder had kept hold of me, yeah, definitely not a baby anymore. I swung through the open window into an old apartment.

Dingy, paint peeling, trash scattered all around, it was one of the most beautiful things I had ever seen. I felt the urge to kneel down and kiss the cracked kitchen tile but settled with just catching my breath. At least until the pegasus ghoul flew in through the window.

Can I get one fucking break?

It reached to take off my face with its dental work so I punched it square in the snout. The combined velocity and momentum of its own charge, arrested by my hit caused its neck to snap with an audible crack! Tumbling like a broken doll, it smashed into some cupboards with the sound of splintering wood. I shook my hand in pain as my knuckles throbbed. That was going to hurt like a bitch tomorrow. Bottles fell from the broken cabinets and I walked over in inquisitiveness even with the shit-storm outside.

Vodka! A dozen bottles at least! Somepony had liked their drink a little much. They had good tastes though as I took a second to admire the lewdly posed purple pony with her grape cutie mark on the faded label. Incessant hammering echoed downstairs and the horde of zombie ponies did not sound as though they liked being cheated of a fresh meal and were besieging the door. So, I did what any sensible individual would do.

First I emptied or smashed every bottle of alcohol I could lay my talons on all over the floor and even an old overstuffed chair forgotten in the corner. Oh yeah, I was going to enjoy this. Out in the hall by the stairs I popped open my loving lighter and with a stupid grin touched it to the soaked boards. The flame jumped, spreading in a wonderful pattern of ignition as the high proof of the stashed booze worked as a rapid accelerant. In seconds the interior was fully ablaze and quickly reached where I stood. Maybe a little excessive, but there was no such thing as overkill right?

As it began to lick at my paws there was a resounding crash where the door had no doubt once stood. Time to go. Heat washed over my back and I took the stairs three at a time and careened through the final level to the roof and turned to shout back down, my claw cupped around my beak.

“Choke on that you fuckers!” Cinder gently thumped me on the head.

“Hush, you pyro.” She admonished.

The joy that split my face refused to be denied. I leapt to the next roof over with preposterous ease as the fire began to consume the building behind us. Battered, sore, bitten and bleeding in more than a few places, I was pleased with the thought of the fire burning up a few ghouls and throwing them off the hunt. The pegasus ghoul worried me but no more jumped out as I threaded the many rooftops. Over chimney stacks, up ladders, and past ledges until all sound was lost again. The way was lit by the street lamps down below, casting strange shadows, but the closeness was somehow comforting.

I began to slow, instead of flight, looking for a good place to hole up and rest, the rooftops just a little too exposed for my taste. After growing up in a Stable I’m not sure I would ever get used the hugeness of the outside. Straight across the road stood a solid looking building, four stories tall, and still mostly intact except for its top windows. It looked as good as any and I shimmied down to street level. At the apex of a few concrete steps a set of solid looking doors stood slightly ajar. Bronze lettering hung beside the door proclaimed it to be the Office of Utility Administration.

Caution made my every step light and careful as I glanced down the road in either direction and checked my E.F.S. No red bars were lurking behind the door. I stepped inside and shut the portal after me. The darkness was difficult to penetrate so I flicked on my PipBuck light. Immediately revealed was half of a ghoul pony lying right at my feet. I halted, looking as far as the moderate pool of illumination would allow.

A large blast had occurred where the ghoul’s other half sat shredded. Small red lights sat on the ground all around the lobby. Slowly, I approached one until the pool of light hit the edge of a thick metal disk lying innocuously on the ground. Now where had I seen something like this before? Then it hit me. I recognized the thing from a copy of The Patriot Pony’s Cookbook I had snuck a look at back in Stable 57. Some psycho pony had left half a dozen landmines lying on the ground in front of me!

At least the status of the anti-personal munitions told me that there were no ghouls in the building, otherwise there wouldn’t be any left undetonated.

From the book I knew I had three options. To try and avoid them, disarm them, or set them off remotely. The lobby only had a simple wooden reception desk, a few blocked off doorways, and a staircase leading up. The only clear way was up and two mines sat guarding the base step practically overlapping one another.

I could probably set them off by hurling the ghoul pony remains at them but that might just bring more of the bloodthirsty things. So, down off my back went Cinder, whose eyes were glazed in a catatonic shock, and off came my bags. I went back to the first mine and examined the laughably simple disarming mechanism. The bright red light on top signified the armed nature of the explosive and also doubled as its off button. As quickly as I dared which was hardly a crawl, I crept on the inanimate object like it was a giant snake rearing and ready to strike, which in a way it was.

A loud BEEP! Suddenly sounded, and I threw himself forward and slapped the button. A second BE- sounded before being cut off.

Then a third BEEP broadcasted!

The mines had been placed too close together! I had a disturbing image flash of the ghoul pony blown in half and scrambled forward to slap the next one only to have the proceeding explosive begin to arm itself as well. I could not help but scream a little as this repeated itself twice more, the last one being deactivated midway through its third and final tone. In just a few seconds I had hopped across the whole lobby. Right before me lay the mated pair. I held my breath, not daring to even blink, listening for the telltale sound the fragmentation mines emitted. The staring contest could have gone on forever but eventually I let my lungs relax, blowing dust across the floor, and the thudding of my heart sounded like thunder in my head.

“Holy fuck.” I said lamely as I ran a claw back through my crest. Nervous habit. That simple motion was enough.

BE-BEEP! The two beeps were so close they overlapped.

“Holy fuck!” I lunged again.

BE-BEEP! My claw came down on one and sent the other skittering and bouncing away.

“Holy fucking shit!”

BEEP!

It was too far away for me to reach. Everything slowed down as it rolled. I threw my arms over my head, gritted my teeth, and shut my eyelids in anticipation of the blast, imploring physical law that shrapnel didn’t turn me into griffin paste. A pop and a fizzle sounded and smoke leaked from the mine’s housing and I looked on, disbelieving as the red light died… I laughed then whimpered a little at the closeness of my death. My claws shook as I rolled onto my back and breathed deeply until my hammering heart started to slow and my rushing blood ebbed to a steadier rate.

Gingerly I picked myself up off the floor and examined the dud. Faulty wiring poked out of the casing, frayed and blackened. I quickly gathered up the rest of the disarmed munitions and went back to where Cinder had propped herself up against a wall, cradling her injured limb and looking pale. Despite everything she giggled and looked at me.

“You swore.” I cracked a faint smile.

“You’re one to talk miss ‘The Overmare sucks griffin cock!’” We both smiled fondly at the memory. Being the Stable’s painter had allowed Cinder access to acrylic, watercolor, oil, and most importantly aerosol spray paints. She had supplied the paint, and distracted Stable security while I had gone to one of the main hallways and sprayed the messages in bold white letters so her own distinctive painting style would not be recognized. We had done this numerous times, Cinder always supplying the more vulgar prose. I had a feeling that Soot always suspected us but had never been able to prove it.

“It’s not my fault that it was the truth! I was just helping her get over her denial.” She retorted weakly. I stuffed the mines into my bags and picked her up, being mindful of her injury. Together, we went to the stairs. Little puffs of dust swirled around my feet and I was about to take the last one when my PipBuck light flashed off something shiny. I stopped. Panning the light slowly, I spotted it.

A metal wire ran a few inches high all the way across the top of the staircase. I followed it, seeing it threaded through to the wall and up to the ceiling where a net sack of grenades hung. Holding my PipBuck up I saw the wire looped through the arming pins. If I had tripped the wire, all the pins would have been pulled and the sack dropped on my head full of live little eggs of death. I licked my beak in greed. Out of my bags came a pair of cutters that snipped through the wire. I carefully lowered the sack of grenades and cut the string tying all the pins together and slipped each of the five bombs into my pack.

Sweet, sweet explosives.

At the top of the stairs a hallway ran in either direction. To the left was a door and further on the sign for the male and female bathrooms. To the right the hall went a little way before opening up into an office space full of desks and filing cabinets. First I went left to the door, checking all the while for little red lights and wires but it seemed the trapper had run out of materials after rigging the whole lower level like a hornets nest. I jiggled the door handle and was surprised to find it locked, and on closer examination found a broken bobby pin sticking out.

I harrumphed in aggravation and put my fist through the one of the thin glass panels, and reached down to unlock the door from the other side, carefully avoiding cutting myself. I wondered why the infiltrator had not simply done as I had and chocked it up to pony thinking. With disappointment I looked around the meager janitorial closet. Several empty shelves lined the walls and an industrial vacuum sat broken in the corner. A toolbox yielded a bottle of wonderglue and a roll of duct tape.

With the tape at least I was able to set Cinder down and stretch out her leg for a basic splint of two pieces of wood from a broken shelf and a few careful wrappings of the silver tape. It wasn’t great, but it would help her not injure it further. I was careful not to make it too tight lest the circulation be cut off. At least from the look and feel of her limb it was not too badly broken. No lumps stuck out, just a general swelling of the bruised flesh. There was no way to know for sure though.

Back onto my back she went despite how quickly it was tiring me out. She was getting a little too heavy to be hauled around like a hatchling.

I knew from the Stable that oftentimes bathrooms held medical boxes so that’s where I went next. My claws clacked softly on the checkered tile. Next to a sign that read ‘Employees must wash hooves before returning to work’ sat a square medical box. A trio of chipped butterflies adorned its surface. The latch clicked and the box opened.

Inside was another health potion, a roll of basic gauze and two single use syringes of med-x.

“Praise the goddesses.” I breathed in relief and made Cinder drink the potion while I injected one of the high strength pain killers into the elbow of her crippled limb. After a moment or two she looked less flushed and her breathing was less labored. Giving thanks to whatever good forces remained in such a twisted world I scooped up the other painkiller and bandages for later. We headed over to the other bathroom and I was disappointed to find the aid box only contained a large injection pack with various colored fluid that his inventory labeled as something called Stampede.

The side bore a simple description. ‘Let none stand before our Stampede. Part Rage, part med-x, all Awesome.’ Stampede I had never heard of, but Rage, the combat enhancer and med-x were familiar to me. I could only conclude that it was a potent chemical cocktail meant for battlefield injury. Into my pack it went.

We continued on down the hall and through the office area. I rummaged hopefully through desk drawers and filing cabinets but found nothing but meaningless papers, empty bottles, and coffee mugs. I stepped carefully around piles of crumbled masonry and tumbled metal filing cabinets. At the back was a small kitchenette with an empty fridge and a tall red and black… thing. The front had a small opening at the bottom and odd buttons along the side. Lit from behind in large stylized lettering it proclaimed the glory of something called Sparkle-Cola.

“What’s this?” I vaguely remembered some of the ponies from our Stable having collected old bottles branded Sparkle-Cola, all of it having been drunk by the ponies long ago. Cinder fished something out of her pack and held the gleaming coin out to me.

“It has a slot, see?” She gestured to the side of the machine above the buttons. Sure enough it did. I smiled at my little sister and took the coin. As I fed the denomination into the slot I was almost sure of it being trapped or hostile, ready to kill us as everything else on the surface world so far had been. But it only took the money and gave a mechanical churning sound and a ka-chunk as a bottle dropped into the bottom slot. I reached in and was shocked to find it ice-cold. Already the bottle was collecting a little condensation from the dry air.

With a little effort the cap popped off and I handed it back to my sister. It had been her coin after all. With her uninjured claw she put it to her beak and tipped the bottle back. She gave a little squeal of delight and gulped down half.

“Ahhh! Oh my goddess you have to try this, Ashes!” Her small joy was my light in the wasteland and I beamed. I took it and sipped carefully before chugging the rest of the bottle myself. The flavors were unlike anything I had ever had before. It was fizzy too! It was sweet, oh so Celestia sweet, and tasted of the most luscious carrots any pony or griffin had ever dreamed. Eagerly I fished out my own few bits from old Caravan games and fed them into the slot. Only three more bottles came out before the vending machine would give no more and refused coin.

But that was three more Sparkle-colas than Cinder or I had expected to experience in our lives. I popped another cola open for my sister and tossed the cap casually away, not caring if I added to the mess. I checked my E.F.S. again before continuing past the little kitchen break room to the next flight of stairs.

The third floor had several doors, all leading to individual offices that either held junk or had collapsed. One had a faded poster of a cotton candy colored pony declaring ‘Pinkie Is Watching’ who’s bright glare thoroughly disturbed me and I shut the door quickly. The higher level bathrooms sadly held no first aid boxes and so I progressed on to the fourth floor.

Sometime ago the ceiling had collapsed a good third of the upper floor, leaving it open to the sky.

Did I mention that I was an idiot? I could have avoided the stupid traps downstairs if I had bothered to fly up and check for a fucking roof access! Sure it hadn’t been visible from my angle but still! Ugh, I would learn or I would die, but if I died where would that leave Cinder? So I steeled my resolve to do better.

One door still remained though. Lulled by harmless rooms I pushed heedlessly against the stained wood. Only the faint creek of another tripwire warned me. Fortunately, I was starting to catch on and immediately threw myself backwards. I was just quick enough to get a shoulder grazed by buckshot and not a chest full. Oh yeah, I’m assuredly a featherbrain.

The crack of the twenty gauge shotgun sounded loud in the small space. The Stable jumpsuit proved again to be pathetic protection against the dangers of the wasteland.

Cinder just barely hung on as I reeled back in pain. I hissed and gripped my arm. Damn but did that sting! I hugged the wall and pushed the door the rest of the way open, expecting more traps but it seemed the rigged shotgun had been the last one. But that had seemed the case before so I stepped carefully and entered the executive office. It was easily three times larger than the others and was dominated by a massive, curved desk. On the desk was the shotgun in question.

I examined the pitiful single shot weapon. The final discharge had broken the rusting thing into pieces. On the desk was also a glowing terminal, past it an old mattress that had really seen better days and in the corner sat the bones of a unicorn pony in tattered clothing. Next to him was a handwritten note and a .38 revolver.

I observed the hole in the equine skull below the horn and could easily guess his demise.

I set Cinder down on the mattress, went over to the pony bones, and checked the pistol and saw it had three shots left. Curiosity compelled me to pick up the note.

‘I never thought it would come to this. All my friends are dead or have abandoned me to this forsaken place. I’ve got nothing left. Let the fucking ghouls have the city. They won’t have me. Whoever is reading this, the password is ‘Grenade’ so you won’t make the same mistakes.’

The poor soul hadn’t even left a signature, knowing that it would probably never be read. I looked dejectedly at the bones. Pony or not, no one deserved that. Guiltily I rummaged through the pockets and found some bottle caps and another folded piece of paper. This one turned out to be a schematic for something titled a Bottle cap mine. At least I had a use for few dozen caps from the unicorn. My respect for the dead pony rose dramatically. My shoulder had stopped bleeding but it still hurt, and I suspected that I was looking at the remains of the psycho pony that had rigged the traps. Not entirely comfortable resting in the same room with a corpse I took the bones and laid them outside and closed the door.

Cinder nursed another bottle of Sparkle-cola as she sat on the mattress, keeping her weight off her injured leg. It seemed that we had found a place to rest at last. I insisted she strip off her torn jumpsuit and fished out the key for her harness, with a clack the straps and buckles came loose and she let out a breathy sigh of relief as she unfurled her wings. Even though we were injured and melancholy weighed heavy, we were free and alive.

And nothing felt better.

I checked over her wounds yet again, worried if her bone was straight and checked the bite on her shoulder. I unwrapped the bandages to look at the angry red skin and the gap in her feathers then rewrapped it in the clean bandages we had found. I dared not check her arm and risk hurting her worse, hoping that we could find either more medical supplies or a real doctor, if anyone was still alive beyond this blighted city.

I made sure that she was settled in and comfortable as I could manage before tending to myself. Off came the Stable suit, yellow 57 on the back. I gingerly slid it past my own untreated injury with a wince. Then came the moment, I unlocked my own harness and threw it off with loathing. My grey and black wings unfolded with a slow majesty from my sides. It felt good, liberating. I felt ready to jump for joy as my heart leapt, my soul lifted out of a black pit and felt a smirk creeping on as I massaged where the bindings had rubbed all my days.

After savoring the moment I took stock of our supplies and weapons. Between the two ten millimeter pistols there were seven rounds left total after the flight from the ghouls and just three shots for the unicorn’s revolver. Three flash bang grenades, five fragmentation grenades, three home brewed firebombs and half a dozen frag mines. Well, five working and one dud mine. I beamed at my personal arsenal of explosives and the inner fire lover was just waiting to test out my firebombs, my appetite merely whetted by torching the apartments. Besides a few cans of preserved apples and carrots we also had enough water canteens for at least a few days. I had also brought along my toolkit, tallied up a few hand tools, some duct tape, various scraps of electrical components and two bottles of wonderglue.

I looked down at my Stable jumpsuit with repugnance. Sudden inspiration struck me though as I realized I still had that suit of security barding. While he had no chance of wearing it myself, I could rip off the protective bits and using the discarded wing harnesses to fashion myself an armored Stable suit. Having grown up in a Stable ruled by the pony elite I had learned quickly the necessity of finding ways of converting equine gear to suit griffins better. It was certainly better than walking around the wasteland in nothing but my fur and feathers.

Someone or somepony had changed one end of the desk into a crafting surface with a vice so I got to work.

An hour later, after much cursing, some tape, more cursing, and a bottle of wonderglue I held up my finished work with a feeling not quite like pride, maybe satisfaction, or at least a comfortable amount of irony that an oppressor’s death and my own shackles had gone into making something that would protect me. My foot kicked something under the desk. I laid the armored barding down and squatted low.

There I found a lunchbox of all things! The color was faded but it was solidly built. After a moment of wondering what in Equestria the use of the thing would be I remembered the schematic left by the unicorn.

With the diagram laid out on the desk I went down the list of components. Frowning at the lack of certain constituents I pondered for a moment and came to an elegant solution if it would work. Fishing out the mine which had failed to detonate and a screwdriver, I pried the housing open. Into the lunchbox went some bottle caps, the explosive payload and on the outside I attached the sensor from the mine with a little replacement wiring from my own stock.

Add one Bottle cap mine to our inventory list! I showed it eagerly to Cinder.

“You get excited over the weirdest stuff, you know that?” She tittered. “Just let me know when you’re planning to set that thing off so I can stand far, far away as you explode.”

“Have faith in me, I haven’t exploded yet have I?” She just laughed weakly and shook her head. I turned my attention at last to the terminal, warily saving it for last after my most recent experience with data interface devices. Sure enough when prompted for a password the one provided by the dead pony unlocked it else I would have been lost.

Knowledgeable though I may be with the mechanism of their function and use I was no good at hacking terminals. I understood it in principle, the password guessing thing, but my experimentation in Stable 57 had only ended with several locked screens and pony delivered beatings.

The terminal held several dated log entries, which reminded me to check the logs I had recovered from the Overmare’s terminal once I was done. I selected the oldest first to read them in what I hoped was chronological order.

***

Day 1:

Okay, so Dusk Treader wants me to keep this log of our expedition into Ghoul City. Says it’s important so that’s what I’m doing. Just kind of looked around town today until we found this place and got maps for the city out of this computer. Dusk decided it would be a good fallback point in case we got separated.

Megaspells really hit this place hard, not directly for some reason but something definitely hammered this place, only way to really explain all those damn fires that never go out. Not as many ghouls as I thought for a place called Ghoul city though. We’ve only scratched the surface but still. Most of the damn things are blind! Too long staring into the fires I think. They aren’t natural, too red I think.

We’ve come here looking for the M.A.S. research lab. No one knows what it was they were researching, but legend says it’s a treasure unlike any other. Something from before the war, something powerful enough to make the Stripes pummel the hell out of this place. That’s what we’re after. And according to these maps it’s going to be smack dab in the middle.

Dusk wants us to wait until daylight and head over to the hospital by that really big fire pit to stock up before we really head in.

***

I backed out to the main menu and saw an option hidden among the logs.

Download city map?

Hell yes I would!

A quick scan showed a full map of Ghoul City now in my PipBuck. I looked and saw location markers labeled City Hall, Fluttershy District Hospital, Police Department, and others beside, but one stuck out that resided independent of the rest, the one that said Ministry of Arcane Science R&D. I had no intention of going there to search for some mythical treasure but I now had the location of somewhere I could get medicine and aid for Cinder and myself. Having found useful tidbits of information I otherwise would have missed after only one entry, I continued to read.

Out came my little silver lighter, the act of flicking the flame open and closed soothing and familiar.

***

Day 3:

Fuck! Reginald is dead. We went to the hospital expecting to just breeze through some half blind ghouls but something was there. Something none of us had ever seen before. It was a ghoul but like it had crawled out of that damn fire pit! Nothing we threw at it even slowed the damn thing. It just grabbed Reginald and broke his back like he was a twig. We just left his body for the ghouls but the fire one didn’t care about feeding, it just wanted the kill. I think those eyes will haunt me till the day I die. Took us five blocks to shake the damn thing.

Treader said we’d rest today and head to the ministry building. This had better be worth it.

***

Something about that name stuck out to me, something nagging. Flick click went my lighter.

***

Day 4:

So today we went to the ministry. The whole place is surrounded by a moat of that damn fire. There’s only a few narrow place to cross that are still safe. The zombie bastards were thick today, had to fight through more than one group, and no matter how many we kill there are more the next day. There were a few ghouls inside but nothing we couldn’t handle. Thank Celestia we didn’t run into one of those fire ghouls again, it would have wasted us. We didn’t get far though, lots of locked doors and terminals. We can see signs where other ponies have come and gone, no other traces though. Pretty uneventful all things considered in terms of legendary treasure.

I did notice a few weird things though. Wrong things. Like writing on the walls that looks like it was written in blood and I swear I saw a princess staring down at me this once. I know that sounds crazy but she had wings and a horn! One minute there the next poof! Gone! Something about this doesn’t sit right with me. It looks as though at least a dozen groups like ours have passed along over the years. And many of them locked the way back up behind them. Why? Something tells me that whatever treasure there is, it’s not worth it. Treader has faith though, so I guess that’s good enough.

***

The little fire crystal tirelessly produced its spark over and over.

***

Day 7:

Everypony is dead. Well, they’re probably dead. I lost track of them down there in that hell. We had finally reached the bottom floor. That’s when things went to shit. There is something down there. Something… I don’t even know what. But I know that it burned. Treader scouted the final chamber himself and came back crazy. He was just screaming nonsense, and then he sat down and slit his own throat. Buttercup went in next and she never came back out. The others were shouting and arguing when they came around the corner. By they I mean the fire ghouls. Dozens of them.

The rest of us ran for it. Everypony for themselves. I managed to make it back here and trap the entrance. There are so many radiated cannibals out there the streets are nearly impossible to cross. I’ll be damned if one of those ghouls does to me what they did to the rest. If somepony is reading this now. Get out. Leave this damned city. It’s fucking Ghoul City. It’s fucking Ghoul City because the ghouls own it. It’s theirs, and nopony is every going to tell them otherwise.

***

The clicking stopped and the little tongue of flame seemed to float in the air.

I read the last entry in horror, able to imagine what had happened, but what resided at the beating heart of this diseased, cursed place was beyond me. I determined that in the morning I would take my sister far away from this place. Whatever clues this place held were not worth our lives. Even though the hospital was a tempting prospect I disregarded the possibility. We would have to spend the night though, flying low under all the smoke would be enough a strain even fully rested.

I stifled a yawn and went to the mattress where Cinder had already gone to sleep, too exhausted to care about the pain. I lay next to her, kissing her once before settling in.

***

A few hours later something was nudging me awake. “Uhn. Huh what?” I blinked, my speech slurring.

“Brother…” Cinder moaned weakly.

“Waz wrong?” I opened my eyes further and clicked on my PipBuck light to see her swaying; holding her head, the stench of vomit flitted to me. I felt my sibling’s forehead. Oh mercy, she was burning with fever! I checked her shoulder bandages to see fresh blood, and beneath the wound was cracked and black. I delicately took her wrapped arm and sniffed.

I could smell the infection, a sickly, rotting fragrance.

“Oh no, no, no, no.” I whispered. Carefully I eased her onto her back. She needed medicine or she was going to die, never mind flying out of the city. I was going to have to go to the hospital.

No matter what monsters might be there.

Footnote: Level up.
Perk gained: Think Fast! – You are a swift learner. You gain an additional 10% whenever experience points are earned.

Chapter 3: Light In the Night

Chapter 3: Light in the Night

“No price is too high to pay for the privilege of owning yourself.”

Everything about Ghoul City demanded, required, a sepulchral obeisance to it. Observance of the quiet, and its mad inhabitants engendered survival. Disturbing the natural order that reigned over the ruined metropolis only invited doom. The haze, the ash, the ghouls, it necessitated a mindset of awareness and attentiveness. Disobedience was rewarded with retaliation, as is the way of such things, which I am well familiar with.

My reinforced barding definitely made me feel more secure, but as I grew closer to the hospital the temperature had risen steadily until I was gradually sweating beneath my clothing. A coating of dust and ash clung to my exposed feathers and fur, making me little more than a faintly moving smudge. So far I had avoided detection; not wanting to waste time or risk getting caught in a fight, having no healing potions whatsoever. I fervently prayed the hospital would return a plethora of everything Cinder and I would need to keep going.

I came across the old battlefield on the way, traversing the dimly illuminated, desolate streets. Stepping over mutated pony bodies I slipped through a gap in the barricade and scavenged what I could. It wasn’t something I was proud or glad to do, but it was necessary. Necessary to survive.

Pity whined in my chest for the group of hapless ponies who had not abided by the tenants of the city. I reconstructed a rough history of the events based on the physical evidence. The four had set up an improvised barrier of derelict carriages in the middle of a four way crossing. While admirably constructed, the ghouls had proven too much for the defenders and they had been subsequently killed and eaten guessing by the level of damage to the corpses. They had been there long enough to accumulate a thin covering of ash, probably having died only a week or two before.

As I turned over the remains of the quartet one by one, I wondered who they had been, and why they had come to Ghoul City. Treasure? Salvage? Had there been more in their group before being forced to make their last stand? Had they died quickly, or been torn apart, screaming and thrashing even while being cannibalized? Did they have lovers? Family? Would anypony miss these fallen?

The first body had nothing but a lead pipe and a bottle of contaminated water, and then I saw the butt of a gun sticking out under the next and smiled under the rag I had tied around my face to keep out some the polluted air. I it slid out of dead pony’s grip and brushed it off. It was a short, over under shotgun with a screw for an iron sight. I thumbed the catch, admiring the wooden stock and the weapon broke open. Both hulls had been expended and were popped out automatically. After eyeballing down the barrels I exhaled in relief that both were clear. From the saddlebag the former owner carried I took a dozen twenty gauge rounds.

Fed with fresh shells, the scattergun closed with a solid clack! I holstered it over my shoulder for easy access, feeling much better armed. A few more twenty gauges, some old rations, a pistol smaller than mine with no ammo, probably nine millimeter, and three of the ponies were stripped bare. The last of the four had something of particular curiosity. Around the neck of the gnawed corpse was a little bag on a leather cord. Expecting to find maybe an article of jewelry or perhaps a religious token, I was startled to find a piece of stained white cloth wrapped around a bullet, a massive bullet.

The goddess-forsaken thing was nearly six inches long! It had a strange glowing green band on the casing but was otherwise normal besides being, you know, massive. I checked the bottom and examined the machine-stamp. ‘.50 MWT’ Sure enough, my inventory labeled it .50 DB.

DB? As if that didn’t just raise more questions.

One of my favorite books back in the Stable had been An Equestrian History of Firearms: From Matchlock to Machinegun. So I knew that fifty caliber rounds were one of the largest pony portable grade ammunitions and had quickly became a fearsome and reliable zebra killer in the war, mocking all forms of personal armor, and most cover, and many lightly armored vehicles, and just about anything else that got in the way with its many iterations and payloads.

I guess the pony, lacking any weapon with which to fire the colossal slug, had probably kept it as a lucky charm, judging the way it had been kept in a bag by itself.

Loot obtained, survival chances improved, I sent a silent prayer skyward for the souls of the dead, ponies though they may have been, and continued my quest. Deeper into the city I dared not fly even though a fair bit of me wanted to. The air was so hazy that visibility was cut to forty feet at the most. It was safer to advance slowly, stopping to listen rather than flapping carelessly. My contemplations wandered to Cinder.

The thought of my sister made me worry and fret again if she would be okay. Before I left, I had mined the approaches to her hiding place on the top floor with the frag mines I myself disarmed in the lobby. Fortunately the roof was half gone so I wouldn’t have to worry about exploding on the way back in. I had also given her the pistol of the nameless pony that had left behind the journal entries, just in case I failed to make it back. For a second my mind tormented me with the possibility falling in some ditch, breaking a leg, or getting stuck, ripped apart by a ghoul horde while she sat there, getting sicker and sicker and eventually succumbing to her infection.

I would not fail. I could not fail.

The rest of the explosives had come with me, including the two 10mm pistols with what little ammo was left for them, and the brass knuckles given by Master Grimm. I was somewhat doubtful about the effectiveness of the bottle cap mine but at least it might buy me time if I needed to make a quick getaway. Firearms were not my strong suit, at least without more practice, but hopefully I could just sneak in and get back out without being seen. That was the plan anyway.

Keeping an eye on my E.F.S. the early warning it provided invaluable, I moved further down the street until finally rounding the corner to face where my objective marker pointed on my compass overlay. I was struck dumb by the scale of the raw desolation before me. The street dropped off right at the edge of a massive fire pit. It was easily five square blocks and the flames flickered up to almost twenty feet in the middle. My sight followed along the edge and spotted the cross christening the Ghoul City Ministry of Peace Hospital. It sat right along the rim of the pit. Half of it had fallen in, the other half tenuously balanced as the collapsing ground had eaten into the foundation while the sturdy upper floors remained jutting out over the hole.

It was a miracle of earth pony engineering that the whole thing did not go sliding into that hellish chasm. After two hundred years the building hung on by a thread and looked ready to go at any time. I approached guardedly, wary of the very ground falling out beneath me. The closer I got to the fire, the more my spine tingled. It felt sinister, like it was watching me, beckoning me in, telling me to end it all and just let it consume.
Not creepy at all.

Maybe it was the unusual colors. There was hardly any yellow or warm orange, it was mostly red. In parts it deepened to an abiding crimson, like pooled blood. It made me yearn for the comfort of my lighter, just to flick it once or twice and be comforted by the familiar fire, not this… stuff.

I wondered what caused the color change, or even the source of the blaze for that matter. It was contained to the pit, content to simply wear away at the rock and foundations of the nearest buildings. I tried to puzzle out what could possibly be fuelling such an inferno for such length and intensity. The only thing that came to mind were the megaspells which were said to house comparable magic, but if that had been the case there should have been no Ghoul City left! Or at least a larger, more concentrated blast zone.

Recognizing the fact that I had been standing out in the middle of the street gawking like a fledgling I looked around and spotted a low building that would make a good perch so I could observe the hospital. Charging blissfully into an unknown position in hostile territory was bound to end badly. With a flap that blew up a small flurry of settled debris I jumped up and settled behind a ledge to watch.

In the relative calm, a strange nostalgia nibbled at me, and my memories were free to wander while a part of my mind watched, other parts reminisced…

***

Nothing drives me up the wall quite like stupidity. Ignorance, not for lack of trying is excusable; however mind-numbing, aneurism inducing, senselessness is not. Attempting to teach something to a pony unwilling to learn is the metaphorical equivalent of ramming one’s head repeatedly into a wall. For me, it was a physical urge as I fought the itch to explain why ‘just yank some wires’ was never a good idea to the purple stallion hovering over me as I disconnected his personal computer.

“I want my terminal fixed immediately.” demanded Gilded Horn. His wife and daughter were lounging on couches, tittering to one another in the main room of the spacious living quarters, their conversation grating against my concentration like sandpaper.

“Yes sir, I just need to take it down…”

“It must have already been broken.” He interrupted, grating against my concentration like a claw hammer.

“Of course sir, let me…”

“I mean it was just a few silly wires. It wouldn’t let me into the archives!” No, you wanted to access the password protected section that held the smut, probably forgot it, and got mad.

“Yes, let me just bring it down to maintenance…”

“Why do you need to take it? Just do it here.” yeah, because you clearly know more about this than I do after frying the units memory block with the wire yanking approach.

“Well sir, I need to run a diagnostic to make sure…”

“Just do that here.” I could feel the muscles under my right eye twitch in annoyance.

“The equipment is not portable sir. I need to take it with me to service it. After that it may take a week or two…”

“What!?” Ugh, shouldn’t have mentioned that. The backlog of projects was always a pain. From terminals to toasters, they got fixed in the order that they came in, and of course it fell on me.

“I want it done immediately! It is your duty! I am a noble and require access to the archives and that is final.”

Urge. To. Bash. Head. Into. Wall.

Repeatedly.

“Sir, I don’t control these things, if you have any concerns please direct them to my supervisor.” It was easy to try and pass it off to my lazy bastard of a unicorn maintenance lead but more often than not, it was easier to pin it on the griffin just trying to do his job.

“Do it now or I’m reporting you!” Yes, threats. That will definitely speed your work order along.

“Okay, maybe there is something I can do so that this can get this done faster.” Let me ravage your daughter, or maybe bash your head into the wall for a change. “I’ll speak with my boss and see about getting you to the top of the list.” Which was utter shit, but he snorted and lifted his head so as to peer down at me and spoke in his thick, affected accent that was so popular among the high society.

“Now that’s more like it. Off with you then.” Fuck you too, fuck you very much. He turned tail and marched haughtily to his familial unit. His fake accent complimented his fake dress coat which highlighted his fake personality.

“Thank you, sir.” I came prepared when I had noticed the work order was for a terminal and loaded the malfunctioning (or idiot tampered) tech onto a wheeled cart I brought. Feeling relieved at having escaped the attentions of the obtrusive stallion I made my exit. On the way I passed a griffin butler dressed in a stiffly starched coat and vest ensemble carrying a tray piled high with mouthwatering delicacies, individually picked hay, apple butter rolls, and more besides.

He and I made momentary eye contact, acknowledging one another with an ever so slight nod. It wasn’t likely he would ever sample anything near to the culinary mastery that was simply hors d'oeuvres set before an even grander meal for the nobles. The physical perks were the main reason I went after high society mares, though fringe benefits did come along. Besides, more often than not, a refined palette was a useful tool in the dashing rogue personae I adopted as the occasion required.

Of course the games I played were not without risk, while the butler might get a public whipping for theft, much direr consequences were possible for me. After any particularly intimate encounter, or at any time after really a mare could cry rape, but that would mean exposing herself to open scrutiny, and her word against mine that it was consensual. An unspoken rule of noble court was to whisper, but never openly accuse of such deviant misconduct. Political backlash was my best safety net against being found in a corridor somewhere alone having suffered an ‘accident.’

Never, in any of my passionate endeavors have I forced a mare against her will.

Not after what happened to Lily Blossom.

Pushing my loaded cart out into the halls, beyond the aristoponies and their socializing, I found a very different scene.

“Watch where you’re going you stupid feather head!” Said an older, lime green colt to a gold griffin who had stooped to pick up the stack of books he had been carrying.

“My deepest apologies good sir, I did not see you.” I knew the griffin; his name was Yarlick, just an assistant record keeper tasked with inventory and such. He muttered more apologies quietly as he tried to gather up his spilled ledgers. Two more colts moved to flank their apparent leader.

“Let’s teach this cracked yoke to show a little more respect.” Yarlick knew what was coming and huddled close to the ground, covered his head and cringed away from the kicks of the young ponies. A crowd gathered, ponies jeering and laughing, griffins watching on in silence. Stable security in the circle of onlookers stood by to step in if it got out of hoof, dead meant paperwork, or simply for their own amusement.

Growling deep in my throat I felt the muscles in my arms prime, tense in anticipation and took a step when a griffin behind me grabbed my tail and gave it a firm yank.

Murder was written in my face as I whipped my head around to the one who dared stop me from stopping this insanity! Ireena matched my glare with her own frown, still holding my tail. I could hear the griffin bookie grunting in pain from the blows and the trio sniggering at his pain. My desire to crack some friggin’ skulls transmitted through my breathing and my stance but Ireena would not back down. Her emerald orbs holding against the inferno in my crimson spheres.

I wished that Blunt had found me. He would have backed me.

After what felt like forever, locked in my own private battle, the colts grew bored and spouted a few more derogatory slurs before wandering off. The crowd dispersed, a few griffins quietly moved to assist the injured. She released my tail and beckoned for me to follow. It hadn’t been an unusual occurrence, and I should have known better to try and get involved. I knew that.

I knew it but that didn’t make it any easier to swallow. To avoid doing something I might regret later I tried to count the feathers in Ireen’s bright blue crest, pushing my repair cart once more. Down through the Stable we walked, the destination unspoken in the absence of conversation between us. Along the way I deposited the cart in maintenance, ignoring the snoring unicorn with the bottle cradled between his hooves.

As is inevitable with any compound occupied by sentient, social creatures, there were parts of the Stable that had fallen into disuse over the years as the warm blooded inhabitants clung to one another in tighter areas. Many old storerooms had been left to the radroaches and it was to one of these we walked. It had no windows, just a plain steel Stable door which I rapped my knuckles against.

Rap, pause, rapraprap, pause, rap rap.

Master Grimm opened the door and smiled before beckoning us inside. The derelict storage room was roughly a thousand square feet, the cement floor covered by dozens of ancient rugs, ornamental or otherwise, forming a strange patchwork of muted browns and faded yellows. An air vent whispered fresh air high on one wall and various improvised workout gear lay in neatly organized piles. My fellow traveler and I took our position sitting in line next to our four other peers. We were the last to arrive. I sat at attention with the rigidity of a rod rammed down my spine and kept my gaze fixed straight ahead. Kresh, Larissa, Redemption, and Raya all from my age group were already there.

The elder did not question our tardiness and took his place before us.

“Welcome. Recite your pledge.”

“Sir!” Together our voices rang in union as we all stood.

“We pledge to live by the way of the Iron Talon, perseverance in the face of adversity, courage in times of uncertainty, loyalty and respect to our brothers and sisters of the Talon, and to act with integrity and honor in all things.” My words resonated in my heart, mind, and soul. They were a part of me, part of my life, having recited them four times a week since the time I could fly.

“Be seated.” We did, keeping disciplined movements. Our teacher, Grimm, led us through warm up and stretching exercises, testing our muscles and working us up to sweat beneath our Stable jumpsuits and wing bindings. Not every lesson taught by Master Grimm was a physical one. Sometimes he would lecture on historical battles, old griffin tradition, or read from an ancient leather bound copy of Sun Tail’s Art of War. Once ready he dispersed us to practice our forms.

I was glad for the exertions. They allowed me to put Yarlick out of my mind, shut out everything but following the familiar motions. Muscle memory, imbedded to the marrow was effortlessly called from within.

Rear stance, back fist, downward swipe.

Pivot, turn, side kick, jab.

Back stance, hammer fist, front kick.

Reverse, hammer fist, reverse hook kick.

As I turned I took in the others working through the movements at their own pace of other forms, unconsciously lingering on Ireena as she refused to look at me. Master Grimm stood with Larissa, pacing out a lax stance while Kresh and Redemption resumed their usual rivalry, and Raya just going with the flow.

Step, spin, jump outer crescent kick.

Land in front stance, overhead X block, step back downward X block.

Step back, choke strike, break over knee.

Reverse elbow strike, swipe, swipe, swipe.

Master Grimm walked slowly around us, studying, nodding in warm approval here, offering advice there, giving a demonstration of a proper strike or adjusting a stance. Always kind, always constructive and sensitive. In all my years of life I had never once seen him even raise his voice to anyone, pony or griffin, in or out of class. He never needed to; such was the respect for him that it hung about his shoulders like an ethereal cloak for he was an old bird and had lived his life with poise and control.

Jab, cross, hook, upper cut.

Turn, jab cross mid, jab cross high.

Step turn, reverse hook kick, round kick.

Knife talon jab at eye level.

And so forth until I ended in the final stance with the last strike frozen. My chest heaved and my legs shook but I kept my focus on a point, waiting for the others to finish. Our instructor gave us the signal to ease and I resumed my original position. We went through our forms quite a few more times, until Grimm could see us all perform and give us individual appraisal.

“Pair up!” Oh great, sparring. As I tried to snag Raya or Kresh, I found myself face to face with Ireena. Of course she would single me out. We took our places across from each other. Raya with Redemption, Kresh with Larissa, and of course me stuck with miss blue attitude.

“Ready! Begin!” She wasted no time, moving in a cobalt streak and cracking me solidly on the jaw with her rock hard fist. I saw stars for a moment and backed away. Showing no mercy she pursued me across the rugs, scoring another strike past my guard and contemptuously kicking my stomach and bashing me to the ground. Only then did the she-griffin back away.

There were no safety pads, and the sparring was full contact so injuries did happen. Never anything too serious as we were all trained rigorous self-control, but with the frequency of physical abuse, a few extra griffins coming in battered and bruised never raised any brows at medical.

My anger was distracting me, throwing me off, slowing me down, so I narrowed it at her. We took our places again, squared off once more, but she didn’t surprise me this time. When her right jab blitzed towards my face I grabbed her wrist, trading her other claw to my exposed chest in order to bring my knee hard into her gut then my other hand gave a hard shove to her shoulder, my grip allowing me to push and pull simultaneously, accelerating her impact into the ground where she landed, breathless.

Ireena was fast, had always been faster than me, probably the fastest of our class. But my technique had always been better. For every strike of hers that was faster, mine was cleaner, crisper, and more precise.

Back and forth we went, beating the tar out of one another, venting pent frustrations on each other’s flesh until our instructor called a halt. The six of us lined up, panting heavily. His gaze examined each of us in turn.

“Perseverance, courage, loyalty, respect, integrity, and honor to bind them all. Live by these virtues. Live by the Iron Talon.”

“Sir!” We all snapped a closed fist to our hearts and bowed.

“Dismissed.” Then the salute was dropped and we brought ourselves out of the bow and started to head towards the door.

“Ashes to Ashes, Ireena Freemane, stay a moment would you?” Raya giggled at our expense and earned a slap on the ass from Redemption’s tail. The four, jostling each other amiably filed out the door. After they were gone Ireena and I sat, not looking at Master Grimm or each other. He let the silence stretch until we were both squirming.

“Well? What seems to be the trouble between you two?” Our gazes met, then broke away. Ireena spoke first.

“There was an incident in the hall before class, Master Grimm. A griffin was beaten by some ponies.” Grimm digested this and rumbled out his response.

“And did Ashes behave himself this time? I would hate for there to be a repeat occurrence.” I flinched and cringed inwardly, acknowledging that Grimm knew me just a step too well. Surprise and guilt twisted my gut when my peer locked eyes with me again and answered.

“Yes, he restrained himself admirably.” The elder griffin paused.

“Very good then, you are both excused.” With muttered thanks we both trudged out into the hall.

As we walked, it was I who broke the silence.

“Why did you do that, tell him that? I would have beaten the ever living shit out of those three if you had not stopped me.”

She stilled me with a claw to my shoulder and turned me to face her.

Ireena Freemane, Stable masseuse. She was the only griffin I considered my equal or better. In both the Iron Talon, and working the insane social circles of pony high society. My counterpart in many ways. While I plied my wiles and wits to noble mares, she was schmoozing and seducing young, masculine stallions. For every one of my conquests Ireena had one to match it. Mares did not rat me out to their fathers because of the ramifications of lying with a beast, while the bucks could never admit to their mothers that they had become real stallions by associating with a griffiness.

Her beauty and seductive sensuality was legendary among the colts of the Stable, no male being immune to her charms. Admittedly, she was the only living creature I knew that could make a blue jumpsuit look good. Plumage from deep blue, to turquoise and cyan crowned her head in a perfectly preened crest, highlighting her sharp green eyes. Poems had been written over those features; even older gentlecolts had succumbed to her, she, playing them like well-tuned instruments.

Both working the same playing field, just at different angles, we were bound to meet in the middle. It had started out almost as a friendly competition, see who could get their partner to perform the lewdest act of depravity, uncover the strangest fetish, incite the biggest scandal, and so on. I extended the olive branch and soon a respectful professionalism was born.

My position as a repair griffin allowed me access to private information, and it was simply amazing what ponies said to or around their masseuse.

Every now and then over a pot of tea in the atrium, or perhaps after a flight together in the Aerie we would sit down together and trade notes, pass on the latest gossip, and test out different pick-up lines. She got a more male oriented viewpoint and I a female. Together, we were nigh unstoppable. If a particularly stubborn stallion wasn’t getting the hint I would come along and give him a nudge in the right direction. If a mare wasn’t reciprocating, Ireena would just fawn after me a little and the competition instinct would kick in.

With her training in the Iron Talon, and me to watch her back, she never had to worry about a pony overstepping his bounds. Even in practice we began to complement each other, pairing together, learning together, pushing each other to be better, be sharper.

We carved a swath through the nobility, and made ourselves untouchable, confident. A few months passed this way and such times were had, because we made them memorable. As is the way of these things we grew close.

It was late one night, having lingered a little too long in my secret hollow near the reactor and had just made it to her quarters, insisting on being the gentlegriffin and escorting her. She lived alone, no siblings, father passed on, and mother likely passed out from her sleeping medication we had wished each other good night but hadn’t moved. Before we could think I had my beak locked with hers and she was moaning and melting into my embrace. The heat, the passion between us was unlike anything I had ever experienced with a pony lover and I suspected from her actions, the same could be said of her.

Moaning into her mouth, tongue dancing with hers, we slipped into her bedroom, giggling like youngsters. We were both expert lovers, she made my flesh tingle at her well trained touch, and her feathers quaked as my fingers worked their own magic on hers. Never before that moment had I imagined intimacy to be like that, sharing something with an equal, and a partner.

In a near frenzy, we tore off our clothes and latched again, almost ready to consummate our union.

Something stopped us, something made of leather, straps, and metal buckles.

In that darkness, Ireena started to cry, and the sound tore my heart from my chest. For a mare, my bindings make me seem like a barely contained font of primal fury. For a stallion Ireena’s harness makes her seem submissive, or dominant depending on what they were into.

For us it was the reminder that we were not free. She clawed and beat at my chest in futility and dissolved into more tears. It’s not that we couldn’t work the mechanics of our union, but we could never be intimate as two griffins ought. Both she and I were smart enough to know that.

I held her as she sobbed, waited for her to fall asleep, and took my leave. From that time on, we still held parley, maybe not as often, and we didn’t laugh as hard, because of a barrier between us, one that neither of us would cross again. An unspoken need to drown thoughts of the other with the flesh of the species that held us in bondage drove us, our way to fight the control. If we kept busy we wouldn’t have to think about what we could have had.

I snapped back to reality and my question of why? She smirked ever so faintly.

“Because Grimm would have had you running laps until you passed out. Besides, I would have felt bad if security had stepped in and rearranged that pretty face of yours.” There was warmth there and a little worry even, but also a resigned longing.

“Yeah, whatever.” I waved her off and we went our separate ways. Words went unspoken between us though, shared, but never uttered.

***

With vigorous a shake of my head, I dispelled the fog of memory. Never had I imagined escaping and then yearning after life in Stable 57. Well, some parts of life. Having seen both sides of the world though, it brought a few things into perspective. Ugh, enough introspection for one day. Cinder needed medicine and here I was doing nothing. One more mental kick and I hopped down from my roof.

After watching the hospital for a while I had spotted no movement in or out and headed toward the precariously perched complex. The entry had once been many glass doors and was now so many empty frames and shattered edges. An overturned sky carriage had at one point crashed through the front, leaving the bottom floor in even greater disrepair. I stepped gingerly through the debris into the waiting room. I scanned my E.F.S. again, not seeing anything immediate I went over to the reception desk, hoping to find maybe the location of the hospital’s supply of medicine so I wouldn’t be plodding blindly around.

I rooted around to no avail until I spotted a large visitors guide posted on the wall behind the desk. Of course it did not specifically say where everything was kept but I could assume that the blank rooms near to the emergency rooms would at least have something. Judging from the outside, my best bet would be two floors up. Mistrustful, I skulked in the direction of the nearest stairwell. Beyond the double doors past reception I was buffeted by a wave of heat that staggered me. Most of the walls this close to the pit had given way, leaving only support columns and a clear view into the red fire.

That’s when I caught sight of it.

A pony stood at the edge of the chasm, staring out into the flame. A Burning One was a ghoul unlike any I had yet seen. Heat distortion came from its hide, holes were visible that a red light shown out of that waxed and waned in time with the fire, the edges blackened and flaking. It was as though it had been invaded by the fire and hollowed out, wearing the pony like a grotesque marionette. I stood frozen, heart racing, feeling suddenly very cold inside. I stood unmoving, cowering behind a pile of rubble, not daring to take my eyes off the scorched demon. I stared for as long as it took to realize that it had not spotted me yet, indeed seemed content to ignore everything but the pit of fire.

With a deep breath through my cloth covered beak and a prayer to whatever gods remained in this forsaken land I made his way slowly to the stairwell. Moving from cover to cover I then darted the last few feet and did not stop until I heaved and panted on the landing to the second story. I strained and stretched my hearing to the furthest for any sign of pursuit. It seemed I had gone by unnoticed so far. Right next to me was a medical case with three butterflies marked for emergency use. Inside were some magical bandages and two healing potions. Already I was breathing a little easier as I scooped them into my bags.

The second floor hallway had survived much better than the bottom floor. I poked through empty doctors’ offices and various treatment rooms turning up nothing but junk. Another emergency box at the end of the hall bore another pair of healing potions and some med-x. Various posters with nature scenes were placed on the peeling wallpaper. A softly colored Pegasus with watery eyes looked down upon me. I mouthed the words ‘We must do better!’ and made my way further on.

The third floor would hopefully hold what I needed. The very first door opened to an operating room and had been torn off its hinges. A typhoon had gone through it. Old blood coated the walls and ceiling and empty shell casings were scattered around. An only pony skeleton slumped against the far wall. Evidence of severe fire damage was evident and I could guess what had been responsible. I turned from the wreckage and checked the next one. The pit had left only a fraction of what had once been a major city hospital behind.

Fear and doubt started to creep in on me during my search. Magical bandages could help stymie the infection from the ghoul bites my sister had suffered but would not be enough at this point to purge it completely. I needed serious high grade pharmaceuticals or my efforts would be in vain. Approaching a state of anxiety I almost walked right by the door marked supplies. The heat was making my thoughts and limbs sluggish and heavy. Too much time had passed already I knew. Up in the third floor the smoke was thicker and was burning my eyes.

The door handle was hot to the touch, and locked. I nearly screamed in frustration but ground my teeth instead. I grasped the handle in both talons and put all my weight on it, trying to force the lock.

“Please don’t jam. Please don’t jam. Please don’t jam!” I whispered.

Cursing and begging the door I strained and sweated. In a few moments I began to feel light headed and the door turned with a strained click. With all my mass balanced on the nob, the door swung inward suddenly, the handle coming off in pieces and sent me sprawling. I stared out into the chasm that yawed just a dozen feet from where I lay. The floor looked as though some giant had taken a bite out of the room, leaving a curved remainder. Three cabinets still remained in the room. Two safely away from the edge to my right and another to my left somehow still perched on a small jutting ledge of flooring.

I picked myself up and hurried to the first cabinet, the faded white paint was chipped and the glass front broken and cracked.

It was empty.

Trying to quash the rising panic I went to the next and found a pouch of rad-away, more healing potions, and a few empty bottles. I turned to the final cabinet with a resigned sigh. Hovering was an option, but I feared that my wings would cause too much noise and attract the attention of the Burning One below. Ever so carefully, I edged out onto the ledge. There was just enough room for both my front and back feet squeezed tightly together. Then I heard my PipBuck ticking.

The fire was radioactive. The fire was radioactive! Of course it was! Because the wasteland wasn’t full of enough horrors and another thousand deadly things beside!

I risked a glance down, having a clear view of the ground floor from my ledge. Next to the fiery ghoul sat a pile of almost neatly stacked remains. In that pile was a skeleton different from the rest in that it was larger and sported wings.

Insight lit my memory and I recalled the name from the unknown unicorn’s log entries. Reginald had been an older griffin ponyservant that had chosen to escape with his mother those years ago. Sure enough, a griffin compatible PipBuck sat next to his bones. I risked a glance at the ghoul and one back to the PipBuck, weighing the odds of me getting to it without alerting the infernal sentinel. I was distracted and my right paw caught on a loose tile and sent it sliding and shattering down to the second level.

Uh, oh.

My breath caught, eyes flickering back to the ghoul, right into its gaze. The pits where its orbs had been were hollowed out and filled with the fire. Smoke and heat distortion leaked from its mouth as the Burning One turned to me and roared. I had heard a similar sound when Stable 57’s industrial incinerator opened. It charged straight towards me! A fraction of my mind wondered at the ghoul’s curious choice of path but the rest of me was screaming to get my ass in gear!

With the last few steps to the final cabinet I threw open the front and gazed at a lone bottle and a case holding several syringes, both marked antibiotic. A large crash came from below and cracks spread along the wall. The floor beneath my feet as well as the medical supply cabinet gave way. Despite years of Stable dwelling, a deeper instinct took over and I flapped my wings, staying aloft where otherwise I would have fallen. Both case and bottle tumbled out. I extended desperately and the tip of a single talon brushed the smooth plastic shell of the bottle.

Both items miraculously landed undamaged on the bottom floor, the bottle rolling towards the edge and the pit of fire. I flew with a single minded purpose, straight and true as an arrow, scooping up the bottle barely a foot away from tumbling into oblivion. The small flutter of joy that rose up within me was short lived. Like a thing alive, possessed of malicious will, a massive tongue of red fire lashed across my chest like a whip.

The impact sucked the breath from my lungs and made my eyes go wide.

My PipBuck wailed and ticked furiously, rad counter edging into the yellow as my reinforced barding was cut through like butter. Pieces sloughed off around the impact area as the armor saved me from being seared to the bone. My wingtips crisped in the backwash as I was thrown backwards into the pile of bones. All I could do for a moment was lay on my back unable to find the breath to even moan, the bottle clenched in a death grip. I blindly stuffed it into my pack as my brain started to fuzz over.

I retched and tried to gasp some oxygen in, but my lungs refused! I was choking and strangling on dry air! Gaping like a fish on land I managed to locate a healing potion, get the stopper off and guzzle the thing.

I choked and sputtered on the purple liquid but succeeded in breathing again as the magic took the edge off. With a groan I rolled off the bone pile and took a sharp inhalation as the skin on my chest, blistered and cooked, was tightened. My claw hit the lost PipBuck and into my pack it went, griffin bone and all. That was all the time I had before a charging blur crashed into my side.

I was sent sprawling and the Burning One hissed as it struck me and continued on. I got up in time to bat a hoof aside that was aimed for my head. This close, the light shining through the holes in the ghoul’s body made its skull stand out, the equine bone stuck in a rictus grin. However there was no mistaking the hatred and hunger that smoldered in those eyes. It possessed an unnatural strength coupled with relentless endurance. It did not relent nor give me even a moment to recover.

With a grimace, desperate, I dodged and backed away, driven away again and again. I drew out a frag grenade and pulled the pin, counted to two and jumped. I entered my Stable-tec brand targeting spell and left the grenade right at my opponent’s hooves. The three second fuse went off and the grenade detonated with a bang. Despite shrapnel and the explosive force, the ghoul did not react in the slightest. Back into S.A.T.S. I went, and another two grenades rained down, delivering their deadly intent with an explosive finish.

Ghoulified flesh was flayed from bone but still the monster came on.

I fell back further, tripping over rubble and turned the tumble into a roll that put some distance between my attacker and I. Thinking quickly, I went over my options. I had gone with the grenades first hoping to put the monstrosity out of the fight quickly, not taking chances with something capable of snapping a griffin spine in two. After careful deliberation consisting of ‘oh fuck what am I going to do now?’ A stun grenade was next, right into the Burning Ones face. The magical blue stun field finally elicited a reaction from the thing as it tossed its head and reared back in confusion.

The damn thing was between me and the medicine case! I cursed my luck again and pulled out my one loaded pistol and expended my remaining 10mm against the creature. Maybe one bullet in five hit the ghoul.

My burning eyes and chest did not engender optimal shooting conditions. Cursing myself this time, I put away the empty firearm and pulled another stun grenade. Just in time, the second blue pulse sent the pony reeling once more. Taking quick stock of my remaining weapons left me grasping at straws. Somehow I doubted the firebombs would do anything to the infernal creature and while the stun grenades did a little I only had one left, the frags had proven ineffective and I was left with an untested bottle cap mine.

With a prayer to the princesses I brought out the unorthodox weapon, flipped the arming switch and tossed it down near a thick concrete column. I hunkered down and waited, keeping the mine in line between me and the ghoul, mentally urging the creature on, lacking the ability to draw in a deep enough breath for verbal abuse. There was no chance for me to outrun the Burning One in this state. I could only hope to buy enough time to grab the medicine and make a break for it.
Full of malicious intent, the ghoul pony charged him once more, heedless of the grievous injury already done to it.

One BEEP! Was all the warning the ghoul got before the bottle cap mine detonated with a huge bang! Okay, wow, I had seriously underestimated the payload potential of the innocuous explosive. I shielded my eyes and caught a razor sharp bottle cap in the arm for my trouble. I made a mental note to both never underestimate the bang bottle caps could bring and invest in a blasting mask. When the dust cleared a little a faint hissing reached past the ringing in my hearing.

Thick ichor leaked from the monster’s left foreleg where it had been sheared off at the knee and it was trying desperately to get up and limp towards me. With a certain satisfaction, I took a moment to inject myself with some med-x for the pain and skirted warily around the maimed ghoul. I tossed my final stun grenade at it just to be on the safe side and stumbled weakly over to the small, impact resistant, life-giving case and slipped into my pack.

There came a loud structural groan that made the inner engineer in me cower in alarm. The age of the building in conjunction with my not so gentle blasting proved too much for the Ghoul City hospital as the final supports started to give way with metallic pops.

“Oh, fuck me.” I managed to whisper in comprehension.

The floor started to slowly tilt and the central beam, cracked through by the bottle cap mine started to bend. I yelped and started heading back to the entrance when the massive vehicle that had driven through the front of the hospital crashed through the intervening walls straight towards me!

“Fuck me sideways!” Yep, had enough breath for that given the situation.

The noise was horrendous as shrieking metal screamed and threw sparks everywhere while the pit of fire loomed nearer, its flame reaching closer to my heels. I strained with all the strength left to me and flapped for all I was worth.

Rubble and chunks of masonry rained all around me. The truck was big enough to scrape the floor and ceiling so I was left only with the option to dodge left, but had underestimated the tenacity of the Burning One. As I swooped past, the pony reached out and wrapped its front hooves around my back paw, trying to drag me down into the fire. I turned and punched the ghoul with a perfectly placed knuckle duster shot to the jaw yet still it clung on. Somehow I found the breath to curse the creature too.

“Get,” Nearby, the burning truck screeched past into the fire as the floor continued its tilt, missing the ghoul and me by inches.

“The fuck!” I reached over my shoulder and drew the shotgun, pressing it to the glowing head as it reached to try and bite, my wings struggling with the extra weight, my pectoral muscles screaming.

“Off!” The Burning One screamed its hatred at me one last time before two twenty gauge shells took its face off and it too dropped into the fire. Everything was now canted at an excess of fifty degrees and only getting worse, but fortunately for me, I could fly and did so now despite the pain and my shortness of breath from my burned chest. I strained and flapped for all I was worth and shot from the crumbling building like a missile.

Below me the whole hospital and much of the surrounding street crumbled and fell into the hungry flames. A throaty rumble shook the city. I landed on the nearest safe rooftop and tore the grime and ash choked rag from my beak and threw myself down. Sweat and dust caked in my fur and feathers in clumps, drying in the cooler air.

A bath or shower sounded really nice, but I was content to be alive.

Nausea washed through my stomach. A glance at my PipBuck informed me I was now suffering from minor radiation poisoning and a crippled torso. Another healing potion was this time chased with the salvaged rad-away.

I practically shook all over from my brush with death but found the will to step up to the edge of the rooftop and looked down to where I had dumped both hospital and ghoul. I beamed as a line from an old war story came to mind.

“Fire in the hole.”

***

The walk back from the hospital was uneventful. Damn was I tired though. Evading the few roaming, blind ghouls became ever easier, even in my exhausted state. It felt like everything in me that did not itch, hurt, or feel singed was aching to just lie down and sleep for the next three days. So it was with great relief that I flew through the hole to me and my sister’s temporary safe house in the hellish city.

I knocked three times to let Cinder know that it was just me and pushed the old wooden door open. She lay where I had left her. Her eyes were closed and her breath came in slow, shallow rises of her side. I rushed to the mattress and fumbled through my pack for the salvaged case of medicine I had nearly died to obtain and pulled out one of the four hypodermic needles. I ran a critical eye over the faintly glowing contents before injecting it right above her wounded shoulder and another into the inside of her injured arm. Although I was not sure what good it would do I also managed to coax her head up to tilt a healing potion into her.

That done, I sat back on my haunches with a deep sigh and tended to myself. The remains of my reinforced barding came off in pieces, held on by the straps of my pack and pretty much beyond salvaging at this point. Packs came off too.

I delicately felt around the angry, swollen tissue that went from my shoulder to almost midway down my stomach, touching the irritated, blistered flesh told me that I had gotten away with mostly second degree burns. Only a small line of black in the middle of the injury showed where it edged into third degree. The damage to my pectoral muscles, providing much of my flight power, would necessitate I take it easy on flying for a while.

It took a whole roll of magical bandages but I managed to wrap the worst of it. The healing properties infused in the soft linen gave it a cooling touch that managed to bring the amount of pain from ‘please rip my skin off’ to ‘it could be worse.’ Down to a level anyway that made me remember how tired my everything else was.

Simply leaving my discarded belongings where I had dropped them, I crawled next to Cinder, who thankfully was now breathing much easier. I closed my eyes, drifted off, and slept like the dead.

Footnote: Level Up.

Perk gained: Bird Brain - +2 skill points upon level up.

Chapter 4: Dark City Blues

Chapter 4: Dark City Blues

“I don't think the sun even... exists... in this place. 'Cause I've been up for hours, and hours, and hours, and the night never ends here.”

From the office of Overgriffin Silvia Swiftwind:

Entry 1, Day 1

By the goddesses it happened. The world ended today. Nearly everywhere got hit. I heard about what happened in Canterlot right before they sealed the Stable. Could the princesses really be gone? Is there any hope without them? They also say that Cloudsdale is less than nothing now. Who knows how many bombs were dropped on the poor bastards. None of us ever stood a chance, not with that much shit flying around. I had a nephew in the flight school there… I remember my sister was overjoyed when little Brighteyes made it in.

Maybe they closed the clouds fast enough to spare the rest of the Pegasus cities. I know they got the Aerie. Stars above will I miss those peaks, watching griffins soar among the silver spires. Some of the city-states might survive if they sheltered with the Pegasi. Damn those featherbrains and their neutrality debates! If only they had listened to the Talon Masters! The griffins, united could have helped tip the scales.

Doesn’t matter now though. In hindsight, no one really won the war. Everybody, pony and zebra, loses if they’re all dead.

Today, I assume duties as Overgriffin of Stable 57. The griffin race will survive. We will survive this horrible war, because that’s all that matters now. Not victory, but survival, because surviving is victory.

Damn the zebras, and damn the ponies for that matter. Damn them all for this senseless war and dragging everyone else into it with them. The griffin people did not deserve this. But really, what did we do to stop them? What did any race really do to stop them?

I would beg for Celestia’s forgiveness, but we killed her too didn’t we?

***

Flick. Click. Flick. Click…

***

Entry 2, Week 4 Day 3

I have to hand it to Stable Tec, when they build something they don’t go halfway. Working at a replenishing output we can comfortably sustain large pony and griffin populations; more than enough to maintain a reasonably diverse gene pool for both parties. They even had the courtesy to provide contraceptives so that we don’t have horny teenagers knocking each other up. Full medical suite for pretty much every injury and illness you can imagine, even recreation and spacious living quarters given the circumstances not to mention the complete complement of water, air, power, and simulation sunlight talismans.

One of the teachers, Miss Harpsichord if I recall, came to me today to tell me about the library-in-a-box, containing Ministry of Image approved material on just about every subject and history you can imagine. It was good to see all the Fillies and hatchlings running and playing. A lot of them are too young to really understand that this is a permanent thing and what that means. Without the indoor flying range I don’t think any of us older griffins could make it. When I think too hard about generations of our youth growing up and never knowing the sky I…

It’s hard sometimes to walk the halls and see everyone trying to adjust. In the first two weeks we had a few suicides, but everyone left seems to be willing to stick it out.

My partner, Overmare Juniper Blossom makes it easier to cope. I can’t imagine doing this all on my own. Sometimes ponies come to me with problems that require a pony understanding. I'm starting to catch on though. The more time I spend among them, the less division I see between us. The mane or the feather don’t matter, our hearts matter. That’s what this Stable is supposed to be about, to see if we can live together without killing each other. Griffins are a proud people, proud in being able to overcome anything, conquer anything. And we will conquer this challenge.

Because we aren’t ponies and griffins, we’re equestrians.

***

I remembered the library-in-a-box fondly; having spent many nights awake accompanied by nothing but the glow of an access terminal to the wonderful device. Ah, Daring-Do, the hours I spent in your adventures.

***

Entry 3, Month 5 Week 2 Day 2

I swear that pompous duke Gilded Scepter sets my teeth on edge every time I have to see him.

He needs to learn his place! Why doesn’t he seem to get that he’s no longer a duke? I had to sit there for an hour listening to his ridiculous demands! Everything that he was duke of is now nothing but a glowing crater and yet he still insists on putting his duties on some other hapless pony more than willing to jump when he says jump because he’s the closest thing we have left to royalty down here. I can only be thankful that no griffin noble got stuck down here with us. The stable would probably already be a battlefield!

The idiot spent half the time complaining about why he had to speak with a griffin and not a proper Overmare. Then when I threatened to toss him out of my office by the tail he spent the rest of the meeting trying to butter me up with bribes of fine wine that he somehow managed to get into the stable. Poor Juniper must have her hooves full with just him let alone the other little disputes that have been creeping up.

Unfortunately I’ve had to implement a time card system for the indoor flight range. Everyone is trying not to think about when they had all the sky to fly in and the med bay is full of air collision injuries. One pair of hotheads actually started fighting mid-air! The idiots damaged one of the minor obstacle courses so everyone has to use the timecards to limit flyers until the damn thing is fixed. I slapped both of them with flight restraint harnesses Stable Tec gave us for training hatchlings and banned them from the flight room for a few weeks until the featherbrains cool their heads.

I hate having to ground any griffin like that but the harnesses have their uses. The muscle strain they generate will keep our flight muscles from deteriorating over the years. We have enough of them for every griffin and then some. Stable-Tec thought of everything. The younger ones complained for a while but they got used to it, they have to because they might need those muscles someday. I didn’t have the heart to force it on anyone who didn’t want to wear one though. Seemed cruel to make any elder griffin work muscles they might never use again.

Time is strange down here without the sun, the real sun. We have day and night cycles but it’s not the same. Already it’s been months since the world ended. Everyone is trying to settle into routine again. The Stable was designed to make the transition easier but sometimes everything feels fake, artificial.

Everything except that damnable duke! He’s just a step too real for my taste.

Entry 4, Month 7 Week 1 Day 4

I’m beginning to worry about Juniper; she’s been spending way too much time around duke pain-in-my-ass. She and I have had a lot of time to talk given our parallel positions and I’ve learned that her husband wasn’t able to make it to the Stable in time as he had been visiting relatives when the megaspells hit. She said it has been hard but that she has a duty to every pony living in the Stable to be strong. I can sympathize with that. And while Gilded Scepter is a stuck up, snobby excuse for a gentlecolt, I can’t begrudge poor Juniper a little companionship with everything that’s happened.

It’s still far too early to tell when or even if the surface will be habitable again but our radiology expert Geiger remains positive. It gives everyone a little bit of comfort every time he makes his report, even though it bores me to tears, he certainly sounds hopeful.

Rumors are floating around that an Iron Talon master made it in. No one is sure who, and the talk is vague and insubstantial but I for one am glad. Traditions matter. Our hatchlings need to learn the old ways, the ways of honor, integrity, kindness, mercy, honesty, loyalty, and discipline.

Virtues are going to insure that the future is in good hands. We fucked up the world, the least we can do is try to teach our children to do better.

Entry 5, Month 11 Week 2 Day 6

The duke has lost his mind! Barely a year we’ve been in this Stable and he’s preaching the dissolution of my position! He proposes that the noble families should rule the Stable, that it is their born right to rule. The Stable Tec mental screening should have picked him out of the lottery for these fucking tendencies! I wonder who he had to suck off to get in.

He’s been preaching that the Overmare position should be filled by a representative of noble blood and that since no griffin nobles are present that my people should defer to his better judgment. Ridiculous! I know why he’s been buttering up Juniper Blossom now. She just looks at him with those big brown eyes smiling and nodding to whatever garbage he spews. He may as well be the Overmare at this point!

He has the ear of the handful of aristocratic ponies and all the ones that follow them. This has to be contained. I’ve spoken with my security head and convinced him to lock up the psychopath on grounds of him threatening to start a riot. Hopefully I can come up with something before his associates leverage for his release. I can’t believe it’s come to this.

I’d throttle him myself if I thought it would do any good, but that would make me no better. Satisfying though.

Entry 6, Year 1 Month 6 week 4 day 2

There was a riot. I shouldn’t be surprised; things have been building towards this for a few months now. I miss the quiet when that lunatic was locked up in security, but now most of security answers to him. How could things have spiraled out of control this quickly? I fear for the safety of my people and those ponies not insane. The aristoponies have griped non-stop about servants this and living conditions that.

It’s a Stable, ponies! The faster they get it through their heads that everyone down here needs to work the better. But it doesn’t look like it’s going to happen anytime soon. His ambition is idiotic and destructive, but so long as I’m Overgriffin he only controls half the decision making. He dare not make a move against me lest he find over a hundred angry griffins ready to tear his face off. It won’t come to that though.

The instigators of the riot can’t be traced back to him but I know it in my heart. Suspicion is not enough to warrant his arrest however. Stable-Tec promised reliable communication, at least to the Stable-Tec headquarters in case of emergency but looks like that worked out about as well as any post apocalypse plan.

Celestia grant me the patience to deal with this fool.

***

There was an audio log attached before the final entry. Through it, my lighter was dark.

“…still show that surface radiation is not expected to drop for some time as well as anomalous…” The sound of a door opening and several sets of hooves on steel rattled.

“Gentlecolts, please remove our esteemed professor Geiger.” The voice was oily, derisive, and spoke in that disgusting nobleman’s accent.

“Scepter! How dare you barge into my office without permission! If I need advice on how to drink soup I’ll send for someone more qualified.” The speaker was female, and likely, Overgriffin Silvia.

“I think you know why I’m here.” Arrogance this time.

“You can’t touch me Scepter. I am the Overgriffin in case you forgot.”

“Not for long.”

“If you want every griffin in here after your blood then go ahead. I’ll be happy to watch you go down, even from the grave.”

“Hold her down.”

“The fuck- You can’t just! Get your hooves off of me! Bastards!” The sounds of a struggle ensue before a hard slam that was likely the Overgriffin being pinned.

“You see, the griffins will accept my rule, proper rule, pony rule, when it is discovered that you killed yourself out of shame. Shame from their behavior and that you can’t handle the mantle of leadership. And that as your final act of Overgriffin you decree that the position has been erased and all Stable residents will answer solely to the Overmare. Like it should be. Your position has that power.”

“You mother fucker! You can’t do this! They’ll know. You can’t hide the truth like this! I will not see you make slaves of my people!”

“I’m afraid it’s no longer up to you.” A lone gunshot broke anything further Silvia may have said. “Clean this up like we discussed, then erase everything. Turn on the martial law function. Make sure none of those… griffins get any smart ideas.” He spoke griffin with a particular loathing, as if he were chewing on something distasteful. “I shall be at the dinner party when the tragic news reaches me. Then have Juniper make the announcement.” The distaste and the casual execution phased the pony not at all.

I felt a mix of emotions. Anger and impotency at what I had just heard. Helplessness too at not being able to visit vengeance on a pony who had been gone for many years now. Around the fourth entry I had gotten up and was now pacing around on my hind paws so I could read my PipBuck.

Outrage boiled deep in my heart of hearts. This Scepter fellow hadn’t just forced the griffins, my kin, into virtual slavery; he had crushed the hopes of unity, of harmony.

When I had been younger, I had asked my father why all the griffins had to do what the ponies said. Soot had told me, with great sadness that they had all done something dishonorable a long time ago. To a griffin, honor is a matter of lifeblood, pride, and redemption was the only vindication they could hope for. That redemption came through service to the pony nobles and the Overmare that ruled the Stable.

What a load of crap, shoveled like the shit it was and buried with the dead. It had made Blazing Glory’s rebellion all the more shocking when it had happened, and why only a few griffins had gone with her.

Cinder moaned and rolled in her sleep. Over the past few hours her fever had slowly gone down and the worrying red lines of infection had withdrawn back to her wounds. Having woken up to rewrap my own wounds and, unable to go back to sleep I had finally gotten around to reading the files I had downloaded from the Overmare’s mainframe.

The room we were sheltering in had started to leak from the light drizzle that pattered down from the heavens and had only the single, ratty mattress, but it was safe. I checked my own injuries and groaned at the stiffness of my muscles, having pretty much fallen asleep in the first position I had laid down in. It felt like somepony had worked me over with a club, or thrown a burning sky carriage at me.

I stretched, testing my tendons and made sure that everything was moving the way it was supposed to. Vertebrae and joints popped in a most satisfying way. Ahh… that felt nice. My chest did not though, and when I stretched out my wings I was nearly strangled by the constriction that gripped my chest. Afterwards I had to take a moment to catch my breath. Definitely wasn’t going to be flying very far without getting some enchanted bandages or some healing potions.

I made sure Cinder was comfortable before I turned a dial on my PipBuck and opened the last entry in the Overgriffin archive, the red light the only illumination in the dark room, aside from the faint green of the desk terminal.

***

Entry ERROR! Please contact technician!

I don’t have much time. I leave this for all the Griffins who come after us wanting freedom. My name is Blazing Glory and I found the truth of what happened in our Stable and have decided to leave with a few others who no longer wish to be servants. Most of them are scared to leave the Stable! It’s almost like they’ve grown comfortable, complacent with how things are. It disgusts me, but the Stable was never meant to be a home forever.

The codes for the Stable door are here in the Overmare terminal, use them and escape. Good luck. I don’t know what we will find outside but I promise to bring back help if I can.

To my mate Soot,

I love you my darling, please care of our children. I know we’ve talked about what we would do if this day ever came, that one of us would escape if the opportunity presented itself. I wish it could have been you my dearest, but our children will be safe until I get back to free us all. Tell Ashes and Cinder that I love them very much, that I will watch over them and that someday they will be free too.

***

Heart heavy, I read my mother’s final message at least three times. After which I slumped back against the wall and stared up into the cracked ceiling. It felt good to know that my parents had had a plan all along, a plan to free every griffin in the Stable. It was not comforting to know it had failed. Nagging, chewing on my logic was an undeniable query.

Why hadn’t she come back in all these years? In her entry, she had promised to bring back help. Had she died, or worse, given up? And where did that leave Cinder and I? A little soul searching found my answer mixed. Sure, I wanted to bring help back, find some secret griffin army and come back, marching like a champion to annex the evil pony overlords. Comic book images and improbable rescues aside, I felt there wasn’t much left to go back to.

My friends… Ruby, Blunt, Master Grimm… Larissa, Kresh, Redemption, Raya… Ireena. If I was to be realistic, fatalistic, nihilistic, they were probably already dead. For every griffin killed, two ponies would undoubtedly fall, but that was without access from either side to guns. Always I could put on a brave face, be optimistic, positive with others around. Left on my own, my mind wandered in dark places.

And my mother Blaze… Had she even survived Ghoul City, even as we her children struggled to do so? The scope of finding her seemed an impossible task. The world was a huge place, and she had been gone for years. How was I supposed to follow a trail so old and cold?

Wait, maybe I did have one last thread to pursue in this tangled weave…

I fished the dead griffin known as Reginald’s PipBuck out of my pack on the floor. Somehow I managed to interface my own PipBuck with the battered thing and extracted a few fragments of personal log. Most of it was just Reginald complaining about working as a butler but among the garbled text I managed to construct a rough picture of what had happened after my mother had brought a group of about two dozen griffins out of Stable 57.

Ghoul City had been just as hostile to them as it had been so far to Cinder and I. Only a few made it out of the city to somewhere not specified. Reginald mentioned something that sounded like a town but didn’t elaborate even which direction it was in.

One little tidbit did stand out during my information inquiry: that the group had camped at first in the Ghoul City Police Station, still marked out in my own PipBuck. Although frustrated at the lack of anything more solid, I at least had one more place to search.

I crawled over to Cinder to and nudged her gently awake, speaking softly.

“Hey there featherbutt, I’m gonna go check something out okay?” She stirred with a groan.

“Mmm… What?”

“I might know where mom made camp in the city. I’m going to go see if there’s anything there that’ll lead us to her. After I get back we’ll get out of here, okay? You think you’ll be all right to go by then?” She rolled and wrapped her good arm tight around my neck and squeezed.

“Thank you for taking care of me brother. Dad would be proud.” Oh sis… How you keep tough… for my sake I’m sure. She was stronger than I. Tears threatened with her so close; she smelled like mom, warm, feathery down. Pushing her back a little, I brushed a stray feather back from her face.

“Thanks, little spark; you just get some rest okay? Oh! Hey, I’m gonna give you this to hang on to alright?” I held out the last dose of antibiotics. “I want you to inject yourself with this in an hour or so, okay? Promise?” Cinder took the syringe and curled back on the mattress.

“I promise. I am really tired though. Is it okay if I go back to sleep for a while?” Her innocence, kindness, made me crack a smile. She was the last good thing in my world.

“Of course you can sleep more, get all the rest you can. Just remember to take it when you wake up. I’ll be back soon though.” She nodded and laid her head back down, breathing easier. I made sure to leave two full canteens of water and a can of cram in easy reach. I had already shoveled down a breakfast of apple preserves and water while reading Silvia Swiftwind’s journal entries.

I had brought a spare Stable jumpsuit in my size but had no real protective clothing after losing my armored barding in the hospital. And as fashionable a statement the gaudy clothing was, it would only make me stick out. It did feel odd though, setting out in nothing but my fur and feathers.

My explosives were depleted, but not gone, bullets limited to shells for my over under scattergun, and my brass knuckles, yet to be properly tested. Wistfully I pinned after a silencer for one of my pistols like out of the spy stories I had enjoyed in youthful days or ammo for them for that matter. It would make moving and neutralizing ghouls without calling down hordes much easier. At least I had my E.F.S. as an early warning.

Thus armed, I set out.

As I jumped out of the building’s open roof however I felt a strange tingling and froze on the ground. Something had my feathers standing on edge. I shook my head to try and dispel the feeling as I slipped through the hazy streets of Ghoul City.

***

After two hours of trekking, I stood before the police station. It hadn’t been easy going; the rain was just heavy enough to turn the layers of ash in the street into a thick, gluey grey sludge. This time at least, the municipal building did not teeter precariously on the edge of a fiery abyss. The wear and decay had not been kind to the station, earth pony engineering aside. According to Reginald’s notes, the group had camped out in the station’s armory on the second floor.

Burnt out automatic carriages both sky and earth bound lay where they had been scattered two hundred years earlier.

It seemed simple enough, but then so had getting medicine from the hospital. I took no chances and advanced cautiously, keeping one eye on the ground for traps, the other on my E.F.S. The usual haze prevented me from seeing much farther than thirty or so feet but once past the rotting doors the air was much clearer.

I tried to shake off as much ash as I could but the consistency of the stuff made it stick to my fur and feathers, making me feel heavy. Ever since emerging from the Stable, I had been moving through the corpse like city, the mark of the ghouls clinging all the way down to my skin. Lion tail flicking, I headed further inside.

The first door on my right was blocked by rubble; the next on my left was where I truly struck gold. It was a room for processing confiscated items and on the counter laid an open crate. Inside of which was four sticks of dynamite, a spool of thin steel cable, and a hoofwritten note.

‘Hey, Baton, found some idiots down where they’re planning on demolishing the old railway station swinging lit dynamite around on a wire! I just took the whole box and wrote them all up for reckless endangerment and handling explosives without a license. Kids these days.’

While the dynamite didn’t pack as much bang as a good frag grenade did, I was pleased by the thought of my trusty lighter contributing to the destruction of my adversaries. Into my spacious pack went the dynamite and wire. Another door was at the back of the room which was labeled ‘Confiscation’ but a quick test told me the lock wasn’t one that could be forced. I continued on.

Passing through various offices, I found little other than some old oat bars and a few bottle caps, scavenging for anything useful. I walked around a corner and found the staircase leading to the second floor; at the top I heard rattling breath and a faint shuffling. A red line stood menacingly in my E.F.S. Quietly; I stepped up and saw a ghoul pony, facing away from me shuffling through the refuse on the floor.

It was not a Burning One, thank the Goddesses.

I had the element of surprise and contemplated the best approach to silently and quickly dispatch the affront to nature.

Both guns and explosives would generate too much noise and I was not certain enough of my abilities to outright snap a full grown equine neck. Nor did I have a knife or the expertise, else throat slitting might be viable, but even that was not a complete guarantee for silence. A screwdriver might work but the last thing I needed was a ghoul howling its lungs out in the middle of Ghoul City. Again.

What I did have though was a length of industrial wire. A quick look at the label on the plastic wheel informed me that the cable was rated for over five hundred pounds of tension, more than enough for my purpose as I pulled it out of my pack.

From my tools I got a clipper and measured out a small length and after a few tries, had a basic noose. Immediately my thoughts went to the steel cutting through my claws and slipping so I secured the loose end through a finger loop of my brass knuckles for a grip.

The ghoul had stayed right where I had left it. I stalked forwards until I was just close enough. With a grunt I pushed off with my back legs and flapped once, landing on the ghoul’s back. With nimble hands I allowed the generous loop to slip over its head and pulled the snare shut. The ghoul let out a strained gurgle and bucked wildly. It tried to paw at its throat but the steel had sunk into its desiccated flesh. I hung on for dear life and pulled all the tighter. In its panic, the pony with its rotten brain stumbled to the edge of the staircase and fell, dragging me with it.

Aw, pony feathers this was going to hurt.

Still grappling, we bounced twice before sprawling out at the bottom. During the tumble, I was jostled loose but had kept my grip on the brass knuckles; forcing the noose closed with such force the ghoul had been nearly decapitated. I felt winded and would definitely be feeling the new bruises later. I groaned, picked myself up, and snipped my knuckle duster free. Disgruntled, I marched back up the steps.

The armory, just past the stairs, was sealed by a mighty steel door with a thin slit for peeping. I sent silent thanks to Celestia when the door opened with no trouble. Inside were countless empty gun racks and several yellow mattresses. On the opposite wall, some griffin had scrawled in white chalk. ‘Rust Town or bust!’ It had to have been left by my mother’s group.

I checked every corner, turning over empty crates, mattresses, even sifted through a pile of empty bottles but found nothing other than the graffiti proclamation.

I huffed in frustration and decided the plan remained the same. Get Cinder and myself out of the city via the quickest route possible and go from there. Tortured and broken, skyward, filled as it was with toxic debris was not really an option, so it would have to be in the more traditional way.

At least the trip to the station had not been a waste. I was now up a few sticks of dynamite and had the name of a city, hopefully not populated by ghouls.

There had to be civilization out there somewhere beyond this dark city.

There was one door that I had not checked. Not expecting to find much, I was pleasantly surprised to enter a locker room, many of them tipped open or over. A few were unopened and only required a little persuasion. In one I found a few boxes of ten and nine millimeter ammo respectively and an old ten millimeter pistol. I took a moment to disassemble it to improve my own two pistols, taking comfort in their solid weight.

Fixing things had always come easily to me. Taking things apart, learning how they worked, improving them and then putting them back together gave me a deep satisfaction. Mechanical devices were simple, black and white. They either worked or they didn’t. Toasters weren’t really all that different from guns and were a particular pleasure I had found. After I finished with the pistols the action felt a little smoother, the firing mechanism more responsive, and into each I slid home a fresh clip with reassuring clicks that promised deadly force.

In another locker I found a lunchbox and wondered faintly if I could substitute the cherry bombs with a stick of dynamite. Another bottle cap mine would add to my meager arsenal, but I needed a spare sensor module. I committed to keep an eye out for one. A poster with a flight of anonymous pegasi asked me to join the Equestrian Aerial Forces today! Yeah, that was likely.

Against one locker a large piece of rubble had fallen and jammed it closed, buckling the door. A peek inside revealed some police body armor. Greed flared in me and I set to work. I huffed, heaved and worked the rusted hinges loose enough to let the slab of concrete slide away with the door. I winced at the clatter and perked my hearing, waiting to see if a horde of flesh hungry ghouls was about to descend upon me.

After a few moments I relaxed.

In the locker was indeed a protective vest, black Kevlar, sleeveless, and was split on the back to accommodate wings. I loosened some of the straps and slid it up over my head, grimacing as my pectorals pulled tight. Some white lettering across the front, faded, was all but gone. While it was only light armor, it was better than walking around in just my feathers. The cool material felt good, and I was now definitely less naked and slightly more ghoul proof.

On the top shelf was a small rectangular box. Expecting to find more ammo, I was intrigued to discover that it was in fact a pack of cigarettes. Giggling like a truant school griffin I pulled one from the pack, set it rebelliously in my beak and lit it with my little silver lighter. Making sure to strike a jaunty pose I took a deep inhale… and promptly coughed my lungs out. Figuratively, of course.

Ack! How did ponies smoke these damn things! Bleh, they tasted like… well, they honestly tasted like smoked fruit, but there was a subtle hint of something else… strawberry? I lit another but didn’t inhale this time, letting the end slowly smolder, allowing the sweet scent to curl around my beak. There was a little mirror on the inside of the locker and I took a second to admire myself, laughing at my own expense. Silly though it may have been, it felt good.

In remarkably higher spirits than when I had arrived, I left the locker room, and armory behind, smoke trailing behind me. At the bottom of the steps, I was just about to turn the corner past the dead ghoul when I heard a noise and took cover against the wall.

Voices? What the blue flying fuck? Ponies! Haha! I never thought I would be happy to actually hear living pony voices!

I walked blissfully around the wall, wearing what I hoped was a winning smile, lit roll of cheap tobacco nonchalantly poking from my beak. Catching sight of them, I faltered. There were three, and they were unlike any ponies I was familiar with. All were festooned with vicious looking armor, patchwork, studded with spikes, chains, and splattered in gore, like they had waded through bodies.

Disconcerting as it may have been, I gave them the benefit of the doubt for their appearance, ghoul fluids having splashed me too. It was the looks they gave me. The way they looked. A lavender mare smiled possessively. One buck glared in hate and greed, while the third fell somewhere in-between. That one leaned to the extra hateful one.

“Told you I saw him come in here Rage,” Lavender took a step towards me.

“C’mere griffin, griffin, we jus’ wanna have a lil’ chat.” Her teeth were yellow and many were broken.

“Shut up, Serrated. You’ll scare him off.” The three of them advanced. Thoroughly freaked out now, I backed up.

The red one named Rage continued. “Oh yeah, he’s gonna fetch a good price.” Wait, price? As in selling me? Holy hornfuckers. My cigarette fell out of my beak, forgotten.

“S-stay back. Who are you ponies?” Rage said nothing, but the one named Serrated drew a pistol with her mouth, cackling around the guard and shot at me, one bullet grazing my arm, another thudding into my chest armor, my world flashed in pain as the kinetic energy bled out against my tortured chest.

What was wrong with these ponies? Wasn’t there enough messed up stuff already? Now we have to kill each other too? There was no love lost, but my reaction still felt slow. I ducked back around the wall, more shots thudding into the woodwork.

You know what? They wanted to play, and I was in no mood. I pulled a pin, and threw the deadly metal apple hard at the wall, letting the angle of reflection bounce the grenade to my target without becoming one myself. Physics are fun.

“Shit, gre-!” Boom! Debris and fiery backwash filled the hallway.

With my shotgun drawn I leaned out. I had hoped to catch all three in the blast but these were not mindless ghouls, thoughtless and irrational, these were living, thinking ponies. All were shaken, yet still up and in the game.

S.A.T.S. let me line up the unnamed pony wounded from shrapnel, with the business end of my shotgun and call up two shots. Even though my chances to hit only registered in the spell matrix as roughly sixty percent, I let loose. It’s not like I would be any better on my own. A double pattern spray of buckshot stripped pony hide and the stallion dropped, his life fluid painting the nearby wall.

The other two returned fire and I had to slip back into cover. Well, that was one down.

More bullets zipped down the hallway, kicking up plumes of dust. I waited for a lull and fired twice more blindly around the wall. Ugh, I did not want to get stuck in a protracted gunfight in some rundown police station!

My talons slipped and one of my precious shells tumbled away. Cursing my clumsiness I went to reach for it but drew back when it was sent spinning away by a near miss on my claw.

“Serrated, get ‘im!” Aw shit! The mare with the messed up teeth had closed the distance of the hall.

Shit! Shit! Shit!

Nice, very articulate, said the cynical part of my brain as the mare came at me with a foot of cold, sharpened steel. As her name suggested, the blade had nasty, flesh rending teeth. Her first strike was foiled by my gun, but what the earth pony lacked in magical finesse; she made up for it with sheer determination. A slash caught a few of my knuckles, shallow, but still painful enough to forcibly disarm me.

She drove me back, step by step, and I drew my brass knuckles. We took a fraction of a moment to regard each other and laid into it. Although her armament was deadlier, mine was faster and allowed much better reach. An earth pony with a mouth-guard melee weapon was restricted in agility and range by their neck, also making it harder to track a target or an opponent’s weapon with your head swinging around.

Back step, jab.

Back step, jab.

Simple, but effective.

After each blow, Serrated slowed a little more, growing dizzy from the repeated punches I inflicted on her face. One more hit, and with a teeth jarring crunch, the mare crumpled to the ground. Panting, heaving, heart racing, and bleeding from numerous cuts, I didn’t notice Rage until he shot me with my own over under twenty-gauge.

Ouch. Yes, sarcasm, that would totally help my situation.

Burned chest coupled with being shot did not mix. So far, it wasn’t fun being shot. It wasn’t noble or heroic to be shot like in my stories, it just hurt. And I was definitely feeling a little betrayed by my shotgun. How dare it work for my enemy! Blasted off my paws by the force, I rolled over with a groan. I heard the bastard step through the rubble until his shadow loomed over me.

“Ha! Now I don’t have to split the sale between those two idiots.” The casual dismissal, even happiness at his compatriot’s deaths mortified me. Feelings of indignity at his disgraceful behavior fought through my pain.

I felt a prod and allowed myself to be rolled over. His expression changed from a smug leer to surprised disbelief as he looked at the pistol that I had secretly drawn while down and now aimed between his eyes.

Bam! Bam! Rage slumped to my left with two new decorations in his cranium. No hesitation, just execution. It was easy because it didn’t require me to think, not really, only act in self-defense. That was how I justified my murder of a sentient pony. A tiny voice in my head tried to needle me with guilt. I smothered it with pragmatism, and buried its remains with self-righteousness.

Sitting up, I gave my Kevlar vest an affectionate pat (good vest, stopping those mean bullets) and tried to dispel the image of the red pony’s final look from memory and succeeded only so much. Stripping the vanquished dead of their gear provided some distraction. The highlight was the wicked knife of the mare for it was quality, unlike the other feeble pistols that were rusted, poorly maintained low-caliber pieces of crap.

After bandaging my fresh wounds and holstering my rebellious shotgun, I slipped away into the gloom, leaving three more pony corpses to rot, and fade into obscurity under a layer of Ghoul City ash.

***

I returned to the Utility Administration building and immediately knew that something was wrong.

The front doors hung wide open, one of them dangling from its hinges precariously from where my mine had detonated. Inside were the remains of a pony, but not a ghoul. The corpse still had fur and was wearing familiar patchwork armor. Closer examination revealed a cutie mark of a spiked collar. I knew all too well the importance of a cutie mark and what it meant about the character of a pony. My own flank felt the phantom of my branding and I realized they must have seen me leave and come to investigate! That explained how the three had found me.

I disregarded stealth and ran up the staircase, finding two more, fresh pony corpses, victims of my carefully placed mines. At the site of the last mine, some unfortunate had tripped and landed directly on it, leaving his or possibly her, (hard to tell at that point) pieces all over the hall. I ran full pelt now and saw that the door to the third floor office had been smashed of its hinges. I burst in, heedless, to find the room in shambles.

“Cinder! Cinder!” I called. But nothing answered back. The corpse outside was still smoking, so my sister could not have been gone long.

I called up my PipBuck map and tried to breathe calmly. There! The tag for Cinder’s PipBuck was moving steadily away from my position.

“Just hold on Cinder, I’m coming.” I backed out of the room and ran towards the open roof; I bounded and spread my wings wide, ignoring the agony in my chest and embracing the sky between the dead city streets and ceiling of smoke and ruin. At nearly every street corner I stopped and checked the progress the tag was making on the map. I quickly found evidence of whoever had taken Cinder in the form of the occasional ghoul shot to hell. These ponies were armed.

I heard gunfire and ducked into a doorway. Frantically checking the tag once more I saw I need only go a little further. The little griffin in my head cautioned against reckless haste. I couldn’t help my sister if I was dead. Assess the situation, plan my attack. I took a few deep breaths, trying to still my racing heart. It was no good; I couldn’t steady myself, talons shaking uncontrollably.

I had to be strong.

With a deep breath I closed my eyes and summoned up memories of all the injustice my sister and I had suffered. The pain throbbing through my breast helped focus me. With anger, tempered with agony, my breath steadied and my heart beat more strongly.

I could do this, for Cinder.

I leapt up to a roof and started to run until my EFS tagged a group of hostiles and one friendly on the street below. I peered over the edge and spotted seven ponies, clad in leathers covered in spikes and other crude decoration. They were armed with a hodgepodge of weapons. Three sported battle saddles, two with rifles, and one with a long tube. The others had pistols or melee weapons. There in the middle was Cinder, wings bound up cruelly at her sides. She had a rope tied around her neck that was attached to the armor of a large yellow unicorn that had the battle saddle with the metal tube.

That’s when I started to feel very nervous indeed, but I turned it to anger. Not a small kind of anger, a big anger, one that I could feel blooming deep in my chest and gut. Soon the anger was rage, and soon that rage blossomed in my head into furious temper. Ire not just at the ponies who had visited more misery upon my family, I was angry at the very city for causing my sister and me such pain. I wished I could dump the whole Celestia damned thing into a giant fire pit, but I had more pressing concerns than venting my wrath.

The ponies were all walking at a casual pace. One of the rear ponies lagged behind, limping severely, his two front legs bound up in fresh bandages. It seemed my mines had caught more than just four. I felt my insides turn sour in vengeful vehemence and considered my options. Shooting would give away my position, and going hand to hand against so many would only accomplish my death or capture. It occurred to me that justice demanded the ponies burn, and I had just the tools to make that happen.

With a mad grin, I pulled one of my personal firebombs, the volatile mix sloshing innocuously. When the lagging pony passed under my position, I slipped into S.A.T.S. and took aim. It was an easy throw and the bottle landed right on target, engulfing the unsuspecting pony so quickly that he lacked even the oxygen to scream as the flame consumed his flesh. The whoosh of the flame was loud but I had chosen my target well and the pony seemed to have spontaneously combusted.

All the ponies turned to stare in horror as their injured companion dropped with a meaty thunk, smoldering against the road. Next, I readied a length of wire. I waited as the large unicorn that had Cinder tied up shouted at the other ponies until they overcame their shock and were moving again. I walked parallel to their path from roof to roof and caught faint words, but nothing discernible. I waited, took a deep breath, then pounced off the building and curved majestically down towards the poor unfortunate who now occupied the rear guard.

The hoop of wire missed on my first pass but looped neatly around the pony’s neck on the second. She was a sickly magenta and her eyes bulged as she was lifted by the throat. I lifted her silently from the group and hauled her up to a rooftop. Before I set down though I flew up and let a little slack in the line, then allowed the mare’s weight to drop down completely on the thin metal cable, snapping her neck. She hung, limp like a marionette with its strings cut.

Guilt of all things flickered again in the depths of my soul at the heartlessness of my execution of the evil mare. Before a few days ago, killing, really killing anypony was an unthinkable act, but out here, in the harshness of the world it was necessary to survive. Then I remembered Cinder and the feelings were extinguished.

She had been one of the battle saddle wielders and I ripped what seemed to be a hunting rifle from her saddle. She had little else of value and only a little ammunition.

“Where did Lashes go? Anyone see her?” I stole a look over the edge at the slavers again to see them milling about in confusion until the big unicorn once again cursed and threatened them back into order.

“Holy shit, she was just behind us.”

“The fuck is going on?”

“Told you this place is cursed.”

“It’s gotta be that big griffin we saw leaving, you fuck heads! Tighten up and watch the sky!” The dull yellow unicorn bellowed. I gritted my teeth as I watched the ponies draw in closer together. I shifted position to another rooftop and lobbed another firebomb. The moment the bottle left my talon I flew to another building and watched. My bomb was aimed true and succeeded in catching another pony alight, who broke and ran screaming down a side street, shedding burning fur as the fire ate their flesh.

If that didn’t bring the ghouls running, I didn’t know what would. And yet, none did. The further we went, the fewer there seemed to be. At that moment I counted it as a boon not having to deal with hordes of flesh hungry zombies.

Four ponies remained. Two with melee weapons, one of the battle saddle ponies, and the unicorn leader. While the others had been watching the streets in fear, the leader had been watching the sky. I peered over the edge and found the piss colored stallion eyeing me. That alone jarred me, but I was especially shocked when the tube turned out to be a missile launcher.

The building beneath me exploded.

I tumbled through fire and shattered masonry down fifteen feet to the street below, stunned and reeling. Bloodied, bruised, and pissed as hell, I lifted myself up and roared at the two ponies galloping at me. One swung a heavy lead pipe at my head. I moved to the side and reared back onto my paws, extending my wings so that I balanced neatly on two feet, talons ready. The pipe wielding pony came at me again and got an elbow to the throat.

His partner thrust at my chest with a spear. But I was a student of the Iron Talon and twisted out of line with the thrust and snapped two pointed kicks into the spear pony’s stomach. Mr. Pipe took advantage of his companion’s misfortune and slammed his weapon into my leg, dropping me to a knee. I slipped my talons into my gifted knuckle dusters and unleashed three skull cracking punches into Mr. Pipe’s noggin. The dull brown earth pony went down hard and would doubtfully ever be getting back up again.

A spear hit me in the chest, barely stopped by my salvaged police armor. The other pony pulled his bladed stick back and slashed at my face. I reached out, caught the haft, and twisted it, jerking the equine’s head around sharply. Rifle rounds flew past me, two clipping my wings sending grey and black griffin feathers flying. With a firm grip still on the spear, I brought the pony into line with the shots, feeling the bullets pounding indifferently into my meat shield. Without time to draw a pistol, I let his first reaction guide me into S.A.T.S.

Although lacking a firearm, I did have one weapon at my disposal. Still in my kneeling stance, I cocked my arm back, feeling my paws slide through the slurry of ash on the road. With the use of my PipBuck time dilating spell, my muscles coiled like a striking snake and I threw the spear clenched in my talon with a shout. The javelin traced a deadly arc through the air and penetrated deeply into the advancing pony’s flesh at the base of the neck above his armor, cutting through muscle and artery. With a bloody gurgle, the equine fell.

Then the world around me exploded once more.

I was lying on the ground, blinking up at the sky of smoke trying to remember how I had gotten there hearing nothing but a faint ringing. I sat up rapidly and nearly doubled over again as dizziness made my head spin. From far away I saw the unicorn magically loading another missile into his launcher and in my mind registered mechanically that I was probably about to die. Distracted, the pony did not notice until too late the little griffin attached to him by rope, plugging the barrel with a rock.

We shared a moment of connection as she met my gaze with conviction and a glint of victory.

“Cinder, no!” I reached vainly towards my baby sister, imploring her not to, somehow trying to will her deed undone.

The unicorn took aim, and this time it was he who exploded.

Adrenaline spiked and flooded my body. I struggled to rise and found my bulk sluggish and unresponsive. Frantically, I fumbled for a healing potion and downed it in one swift gulp. With new strength, I ran to the crater that used to be a unicorn.

“Cinder!” I called into the dust and smoke. A rattling cough escaped my beak as I called again for my sister.

“Ashes…” A weak voice spoke.

Alive!

I scrabbled over to the source of the voice and stopped cold.

I had found my sister, but only her upper half. From the waist down she was nothing. Loops of entrails hung out of her chest cavity. Blood was quickly seeping from what was left of her body.

“By the Goddesses… Cinder…” I grabbed all the healing potions he had left and tipped them down her throat. She was beyond help, beyond anything short of a healing megaspell, but that did not stop me from trying. She coughed weakly and her eyes, ringed in our mother’s red coloring, fluttered up at my crimson eyes, ringed also like Blazing Glory.

“Hey, I saved you.” Tears of blood traced through her feathers.

“Yeah, you saved me.” My voice caught and choked. This couldn’t be happening. My mind refused, denied what was in front of me. She would be alright. Somehow, somehow beyond all logic and reason I would save her.

“I wish I could have seen mother one more time.” She coughed and sputtered, her life giving fluid spilling freely from her beak. I held my dying sister, rocking her back and forth, uncaring of the gore that soaked my fur.

“You can’t leave me, Cinder! You can’t! I need you. Mom needs to see you. What am I supposed to do without you?” Perhaps, most cruelly of all was that I could smell her, that faint scent of apple flowers and feathery down. But now it was mixed with the heavy scent of dirt and blood. She just smiled up at me, her nervous system likely unable to process pain from the shock.

“You gotta find mom.”

“Please… Sis, don’t die,” my voice was just a whisper and tears were making it hard to see. Didn’t she understand that I needed her!

Oh gods, oh Heavenly Sisters have mercy. Please…

“You can’t die! You can’t! It’s not fair!” It wasn’t! It wasn’t right, or just, only cruel. She had escaped! She couldn’t escape our Stable just to die now.

“It’s okay… I’ll be with dad. Won’t that… Be nice. No… More… Pain. And… Free.” No, no, no…

She breathed out her last word with one last smile and the light faded from her eyes.

No, no, no! NO, NO, NO!

I held my sister as tight as I could, cradling her remains, rocking her back and forth, weeping, and wailing my pain to the uncaring sky.

There, in the blood I sat until no more tears would come, then sat some more.

I gazed into Cinder’s empty eyes and eventually set her down reverently. Everything in my world was now dead or gone, but I would be damned if I was remiss in my final duty. Griffins did not bury their dead, would not consign their spirits to an earth-bound tomb. The spirit needed to be allowed to fly free.

Into a pile, I gathered all the wood I could find. From the ground, from walls, refuse piles and abandoned road side stands. Frantically I worked, throwing myself into it, alternating between tears, anger, and soul numbing sorrow. Part way through my task I found her other half and fell apart again.

When the pyre was taller than me, I set both halves of my sister on top of the pile. My stomach was wound too tight, and too empty to relinquish itself to vomiting from grief. I had also found her packs and laid her paints and brushes next to her. She seemed so peaceful, arms crossed, eyes closed, with that phantom smile still gracing her features.

I stepped back and held my last firebomb, the last of the Stable batch. Just throwing it would be crude and disrespectful, so instead I pulled out the rag and poured the flammable contents on the dry wood. I held my lighter in one trembling talon, open and ready. The tiny flame flickered worshipfully in the stillness. Ever so slowly, I touched the sliver lighter to the wood. Piece by piece, the cleansing flame, orange and pure, lit the pyre.

Numb, I stood, letting the crackle fill my head, unable to find the will to even light a cigarette as the heat caressed my face. Silhouetted against the skyline like a phantom, I tilted back my head and watched the roiling smoke drift upwards, joining that of a dozen others raging through Ghoul City. A bright orange cinder from the fire drifted on invisible thermal currents and landed on the tip of my beak. It burned brightly before it was smothered. In a few minutes the blaze burned high and the pyre collapsed, sending a cascade of cinders skyward.

I watched the tiny lights fly up into the layer of smoke and imagined them going all the way up to the stars.

Then I heard voices. Pony voices, searching for their companions no doubt. I ached, body and soul, having used all my healing potions and painkillers. I summoned the will to produce a pair of huge hypodermic syringes from my pack and read the labels again. The information registered in a distant part of my consciousness that was still working on keeping me alive. I injected one dose of Stampede, then the other.

My gaze drank in the vision of the pyre and felt one more pang of heartache before my mind was consumed in the throes of chem induced frenzy.

***

A pair of earth ponies trudged through the haze where they thought they had heard the sound of their leader’s missile launcher. One nudged the other and pointed a hoof at something coming towards them from down the street. It resolved into a creature of nightmare. Caked in blood and with the fires of hell burning in its eyes, a griffin stalked towards them. It roared like a lion and launched forward. The ponies did what any sane living creature would do. They broke and ran.

A tiny voice, detached, informed me of this, but that voice wasn’t even the ghost of a whisper.

They deserved to die.

With my mind filled with roiling hate, limbs fuelled by a massive dose of combat enhancing drug, I tore after the pair.

They all deserved to die.

I followed the ponies all the way back to their camp. It was a crude collection of tents set near the edge of one of the city fire pits. Another pair stood sentry as the two ponies shot past as if pursed by the devil pony himself. I flew straight down on top one, the force of my aerial impact breaking the back of the unfortunate pony.

They would all fucking die!

The other blasted at me with a shotgun but in my state I did not feel a single pellet of buckshot and tore into the gunner with a berserk strength, rending flesh and breaking bone with each strike, first the sternum, then a leg, then jaw, then brow. The unfortunate blue buck fell to the ground and tried to crawl away. I reared up and brought a heel down against the equine skull, crushing it like an egg against the ground.

The stink of death and fear permeated the air, and I drank it in like a fine wine.

I tossed lit sticks of dynamite into the tents I passed, watching the few ponies left in the camp scatter. The pair that had fled from me originally ran onto a jutting walkway that went into the fire. The motion caught my attention and I let my lion half through, roared with all my might and pursued. I crossed the gap in a flash, the heat infernal above the pit, and through an open door one pony was trying to close.

The door slammed shut, brushing the end of my tail as I shot through the portal into the building.

Had I been in a clearer state of mind I would have observed that the location was marked on my PipBuck as the Ministry of Arcane Science.

Level up.
Perk Gained: With One Stone - +50% range and velocity of all thrown weapons.

Chapter 5: Burned

Chapter 5: Burned

“I just want to start, a flame in your heart.”

In a harmonious synchronization of electrical nerve impulses, biological locomotion, mechanical precision, and chemical reaction, I drew, aimed, and fired my two 10mm pistols. As I sailed through the jaws of the massive steel bulkhead I turned, tucking in my wings and rolling with my shoulder. I continued in my pivot to land on my paws and skid backwards, bleeding off momentum.

That left my talons free to do their deadly dance. I had improved since my first attempt, only missing a third of the time at such close range. Cordite and gunpowder filled my olfactory sense with relish as a rain of brass fell around my paws.

The first of the pair I had chased received a dozen mid caliber supersonic pieces of lead and dropped his body perforated. The other, a lilac mare froze with a frag grenade in her mouth. Other ponies from the camp had hidden in the refuge offered by the facility at the first sounds of fighting and now came to grips with me. I only had time to reload a single handgun before I had to duck lest a fire axe remove my head from my shoulders. Then a hoof thrust out in a fearsome kick that caught me in the chest while a knife, wrapped in a magical field narrowly missed my eye and slashed my cheek.

The tight confines made movement difficult and the muzzle flashes created a strobe effect in the dark, but their opponent was a student of the Iron Talon.

I was an unstoppable onslaught of flesh and feathers. Every strike was filled with bone cracking force, my pistol barking death and screaming metal. The axe pony swung again and got a hammering fist to the throat. The unarmed pony lashed out wildly with his hooves. I deflected a kick with an open palmed slap with my right and rammed the glowing barrel tip of my left pistol under the pony’s chin and pulled the trigger twice, painting the ceiling with blood. Brass tumbled and glinted.

The unicorn used the opportunity to stab his knife into my shoulder, sinking it into my police barding and a few inches into flesh before getting stuck. To an already raging individual, the injury only served to infuriate me more. In the language of firearms, my pistol spoke again. With the assistance of SATS the unicorn’s front left leg was sheared off at the knee. The pony shrieked and clutched his stump, the glow around the knife in my shoulder fading.

Axe pony had recovered by then and swung with desperate vigor. I stepped back and snapped a side-kick into the attacking pony’s knee, bending it the wrong way with a wrench. Desperation kept the brown stallion on his remaining limbs and he swung again. Once more I stepped back out of range and lashed out with a solid right hook that shattered teeth. The pony reeled, his axe dropping from a mangled mouth. With contempt, I holstered my pistol and threw a jab. Brass knuckles pounded yielding flesh and knocked out more teeth.

The stallion stumbled back, blood pouring from his mouth, when his injured leg gave out. Punch drunk, he looked up into my face and watched metal sheathed knuckles connect with his already battered jaw. The blow snapped his head around with a sickening crack.

I turned my attention to the unicorn, bleeding out, and sobbing pathetically on the floor. Gory chunks fell from my knuckle dusters with wet plops. I grabbed the unicorn’s horn and examined the stallion’s features before slamming the pony’s features into the unyielding floor. Then I placed a paw on the equine’s neck and reloaded my pistol.

“Disgusting,” I sneered with every iota of hate and contempt I could muster. The word fell from my beak like a snake as my talon tightened on the trigger and ended another life.

With raptor eyes I turned on the lone mare still living, still frozen, still with a frag grenade in her mouth. Her pupils were wide and dilated in fear as she quivered. I felt the anger roiling in my soul like a thing possessed. Putting away my gun, I dropped to all fours, never letting my stare leave the frozen pony.

With all the menace of the great hunting cat within me, I stalked forward, each paw and claw step fluid. I could hear the grenade clattering against her teeth as the lilac mare made little animal sounds. A smile spread across my beak. Her nostrils flared and took in the scent of death coming off me, nearly collapsing as her breathing got more and more rapid.

A faint scent told me she had just soiled herself.

Almost tenderly, I stroked a claw down her cheek and looped a digit through the pin of the grenade. That touch was the final straw that broke the mare’s mind. I pulled the pin and slapped the pony right on the flank above her triple bullet cutie mark, sending her racing, screaming down the hall. As she ran, I stayed where I was and counted to three.

It wasn’t a bang, so much as a wet whump.

Once the smoke cleared it was obvious the unfortunate mare would need to be scraped off the walls and ceiling if the hall was to be ever clean again.

By this time, the double dose of Stampede was starting to wear off. But I had enough left in me to curse loudly at the door for not opening. A quick look had shown that the first pony I had killed shot the locking mechanism. I screamed and ranted and beat my fist against the unresponsive metal.

One moment I was slowly coming down from the drug, the next it was like a trap door opened beneath me. And just like that all the anger left me, my flame of hate extinguished. Chemical balance reasserted itself in my avian brain and the weight of the world came crashing down.

Pain came to me first, my abused body feeling its injuries in a dull, aching way. Wounded I may have been, but not mortally. A distant part of my brain registered that I should try to find some healing potions or some med-x, but the hurt was not enough to override the massive abyss of apathy that now engulfed me.

It was quiet in the hall and I lacked the will to even lie down, instead just falling to my side. Sprawled uncaring against the metal flooring, the only coherent thought that floated through me was that of the cool feeling of the steel against my cheek.

For a while I gazed deeply into the wall, simply because I couldn’t be bothered to look at anything else. There I lay, still as those I had put to rest. The fire of my hate had consumed all other emotions for fuel and left me a husk. Like poorly oiled mechanisms my thoughts turned to my sister.
Cinder, the sibling I had been unable to save, unable to protect. It was my fault that she was now dead, my fault that she had been found and taken, my fault that she had been injured, my fault that she had to watch our father die, and my fault we had had to leave the safety of their Stable for this hell of a city.

Even the willpower to introduce my mouth to the taste of a barrel was beyond me, lost beneath the affliction of the nothing. Tears welled and spilled down my face, leaving tracks through the grime and the filth. What kind of son could not fulfill his father’s final instruction to keep his daughter safe?

The buckshot in my right arm throbbed in annoyance.

A single little thought fluttered through my mind like a passing breeze. From a pocket I fished out two battered playing cards. I cradled the queen of hearts and the jack of clubs in my talons. My speech was cracked and uneven.

“Hey. I don’t know what to do guys. I messed up. I messed up real bad this time. I hope you guys are okay. If anyone can handle the shitstorm I’m sure the Stable is right now, you can. But, I just… She’s dead guys. Cinder is dead.” My voice, traitorous, dropped to just a whisper. “It’s my fault. I couldn’t… Couldn’t keep her safe. And now I’m alone. I don’t want to be alone.” I curled up, shaking as the sobs started to come.

They offered no answer, and if they had voices, they spoke not to me.

Eventually, I ran out of tears to shed.

Reality was harsh mistress, harsher now that the world had ended and soon I felt the nagging sensations of thirst for my scratchy throat and balm for my wounds weightier than my sadness. Listlessly, I yanked the knife from my shoulder. It was only a shallow wound but I knew all the little cuts would add up. Groaning from all my aching joints and overexerted muscles I half walked, half dragged myself to the nearest dead pony and rummaged through their packs.

Relief flooded my battered body as the mending properties of a magical healing potion pushed the buckshot from my wounds, sealed them over, and even flushed some of the ache from my muscles. I mentally kicked myself for tearing through the camp without scavenging for any supplies. But that was only a distant concern. The guilt, the weight of my sadness still clung to the edges of his mind, hooked in deep, more than ready to drag me down again.

I kept going, honestly, because it was easier. It was easier to escape the grief and pain weighing me down if I took a step forward. Up, or down, so long as I was moving, I didn’t have to think.

It was all I could do just to loot the pony corpses. I came up with a nine millimeter pistol, another hunting rifle, ammo for both, and the knife from my shoulder as well as the axe. Oddly enough a few piles of bottle caps too.

These ponies didn’t use bottle caps for money did they? I scoffed at the ridiculous thought and pocketed the caps anyway, imagining all the bottle cap mines I could make.

At the idea of mines my mind had regained enough faculties to pine after my previous supply of explosives, now expended in rage. Further down the hall, the mare that had run had one spare frag grenade. It was hard to ignore the smell. Cooked pony meat was not aromatic.

A glance at the PipBuck on my left arm showed my location tag as being in the Ministry of Arcane Science building. I sat down, stupefied.

In my drugged state I had trapped myself in the deadliest place in an already horrific city. The darkness in the hall ahead took a sinister overtone. Paranoia had me imagining monsters crawling out of every nook and darkened corner. With the door jammed shut behind me, I now faced traversing whatever terrors the place held. Blowing my brains out suddenly doubled in value, sparing me the pain of living and the possibility of ghastly, rending death.

The thing about living though is that as easy as it would be to bite the dust, we find all kinds of excuses to go on living, no matter how much pain we’re in. My excuse was that I would rather not leave my bones someplace they would be gnawed on by ghouls. Then there was my mother, but if I was to be realistic, what were my odds really?

It was just an excuse, and as much as I loathed myself for the weakness it implied, I could not refute the selfish desire to keep breathing. Not for the first time, I wished that I had died instead of Cinder. I would have traded places with her in an instant, but what was done could not be undone.

I squared my shoulders for the task ahead and set off, downward into the blighted heart of Ghoul City.

***

The path took me deeper and deeper into the facility. Whenever I found markings on the walls for alternate exits or stairs leading up the way was blocked by rubble or some other immovable obstacle. I pondered how the facility could still be standing; moored as it was over the huge fire pit I had seen outside.

There were clear signs that I had not been the first to traverse these depths. I found groups of blackened skeletons of various expeditions. Some lay in the hall while others were barricaded in some of the offices I passed.

Through one corridor I found the remains of half a dozen massively armored ponies. Explosions had ripped into the walls and ceiling, and debris littered the floor I noted as I made my way carefully from body to body looking for anything I could use. It was to no avail. The bodies had been picked clean by others and the armor that was still there was mangled nearly beyond recognition. I turned over a somewhat intact helmet and realized why they seemed familiar.

Back in Stable 57 there remained a few posters left over from the Great War. One of which was an armored pony pointing down. ‘Equestria needs soldiers! Join the Steel Rangers today!’ Were these Steel Rangers that now lay dead? I shuddered at the thought of whatever had the strength to kill such armed and armored ponies but tried my best not to dwell on the fear. They had been dead for some time, their bodies torn open like canned meat.

Everything started to take on a ruddy light, the further I went. Emergency lighting strips where the walls met the floor cast strange illumination that one could see by, but only made the shadows take on ever more twisted dimensions.

Then I heard whispers.

It was faint like a passing draft at first, but it began to grow. I strained my hearing. It sounded like a hundred ponies all muttering at once and the voices grew closer.

I increased my pace. The voices got closer.

I moved as quietly as I could, running into locked door after locked door. Soon it was like an avalanche of whispers was coming towards me. Fear lent speed to my flight.

Abandoning stealth, I ran full pelt into a wooden door at the end of the hall, crashing inwards with it. There was a simple desk in the room which I heaved over to block the doorway in a scattering of dust and drew my pistols. Down the hall the faint light faded and died.

The babble filling my ears reached a crescendo. I clicked on my PipBuck light, the circle of radiance stopping at the entrance. Everything was black as the deepest night when the whispers started to fade.

It was as though a hundred ponies had walked down the hall towards me and just taken a turn. Soon, the light returned. I breathed out slowly, hardly daring to believe that whatever it was had simply passed me by. Something caught in my peripheral vision and I whirled to find…!

…Nothing.

By my feathers I could have sworn that a pony had been standing there. Maybe I was losing my mind. Talons shaking, I clicked my weapons back on safe and holstered them. Turning back to the door, I stopped. On the bottom of the desk somepony had attached something.

A key was taped to the underside. Something about it served to only unnerve me more. It was too… convenient. Why would they bother? Curiosity overcame fear.

There was a wall safe below a massive poster I hadn’t noticed before, depicting a very serious purple mare looking sternly into the distance. It had a single command: ‘Read’ it stated in bold letters that spanned the length of the poster. The simple message calmed my nerves somewhat as I opened the safe with the mysterious key.

Inside were an audio tape, a book, and a strange orb. I picked up the tiny sphere and blew the dust off. Barely big enough to fit in my palm, it was pale and cloudy on the inside but seemed to be made of crystal by the weight. Into my pack it went and on I moved to the book.

“Megaspell Theory?” I read aloud, shocked at volume of my own voice in the empty room. As fascinating and darkly alluring it was to sit and read it right then, I suppressed the desire to delve into the magic of mass destruction and slid it into my pack with the same treatment I would give a live grenade. Lastly, I played the audio recording.

“Oh my goodness, oh my goodness! Twilight Sparkle herself visited us today!” I heard the bubbly mare squeal in delight. “I just had to put it in an orb so I can revisit it later! I’m so glad Hypothesis made me a spare key and put it under my desk so I wouldn’t forget it! This is going right in the safe.”

So that’s why the key had been there, not some malicious scheme, not some paranoid delusion, just some poor mare who misplaced her things.

From many hours of reading and personal study, I knew that Twilight Sparkle was one of the Ministry Mares, some of the singularly most powerful individuals in pre-war Equestria, and head of the Ministry of Arcane Science.

I felt myself sliding into depression again and tried to distract myself by going into the little room connected to the office.

It was a little living space of all things, complete with fold out cot, bathroom stall, and sink. I helped myself to the contents of the medicine cabinet. A bottle of med-x in pill form rattled half full and a pouch of radaway sat in all its orangey goodness. On the cot sat another of the strange pearl-like orbs and a note.

‘Thanks for the memories, -H’

The workers must have spent a lot of time at the facility to need spaces like this adjacent to their offices. I chalked it up to overly dedicated ponies as I poked through the bones of what had once been a life.

I continued on with more questions than answers, deeper and deeper.

***

In the darkness and the shadows, shapes seemed to form and fade. Twice I thought I heard the whispers come back, and kept catching things moving just outside my direct vision. Bedrock now made up much of the walls. A sign, mounted on the wall informed me that I had reached the bottom floor. Presentation and primary research chamber apparently.

It was there that I found the zebras. There were four.

It was in a large semi-circular theater room, littered with the bodies of many creatures, some long dead. The zebras were clearly the most recently deceased. I bent down and examined the nearest quadruped, curious about the other side of the Great War. To my griffin eyes, they looked no different than ponies, just with stripes. I was almost disappointed.

The corpse I was examining could not have been dead for more than a day or two and showed evidence of the same brutal demise that seemed to have been visited on every other formerly living thing that had descended into the facility. If I had to guess, I would say cause of death had been the force that had twisted the zebra’s head completely around. The unfortunate lay clutching an elegant assault weapon, barrel bent and casing cracked, I took it all the same. His pack did have some mid-caliber rounds, however not much else. I admired the armored clothing the zebra wore, the dusty camouflage patterned metal mesh and Kevlar plates looked both sturdy and flexible. Feeling just a little guilty, I stripped that too, then stood and moved on to the next.

Countless hundreds, perhaps thousands of spent shell casings littered the floor of the stone cut theater. They tinkled underfoot like brass rain, a dirge for all the lives lost and the pony bones never laid to rest.

The next zebra was just a torso. There were a few things of interest however, namely a pair of audio recordings. I was soon disappointed however as both were recorded in the zebra tongue. Nifty, but now was not the time for a lesson in linguistic dissemination.

Overall, some preserved food, and a fair catch in magical gemstones and the almost intact zebra assault weapon was all I managed to salvage. I examined the cunningly crafted gun, more art than firearm. Etched with intricate runes of spiraling designs and various strange arcane apparatus protruding from the matte black body, it baffled me. If I were to take it apart, I could perhaps reassemble it with some of the other parts I had gathered. It would have to wait though until I found a workbench and some finer tools.

No doubt the zebras had come seeking the same treasure everypony seemed so hot after. I glared down the final passage, suspecting what was waiting for me, knowing that it would probably mean my death. This city had taken everything else and if I was to die, then maybe it would mean me having the chance to strike back.

It was just another excuse, but it beat anything else I could have done.

That final hall was more battle scarred than any other. Bullets, flame, explosives of many yields, and even energy discharge disfigured the walls. Blood, new and old painted the rock like a psychotic mural. I stepped carefully, quietly, ready for whatever lay in wait, prepared to oppose whatever demons resided within.

My plan was simple: Lure any enemy out into the theater where I could hover, high above any gnashing jaws and distribute justice with impunity. That idea crumbled as I rounded the last corner and stared in open beaked shock.

Journal entries left behind by the unnamed pony had hinted at a group of Burning Ones, but that did nothing to prepare me to see them in such number. And they were… worshiping? There were over two dozen, all bowed in obeisance. Flame, bright red billowed up the walls and lashed through the air like a thing alive, filling the massive chamber with whip crack sounds.

Then I saw what they were worshiping.

It was the single most beautiful thing I had ever seen.

Equestria was famous for its crystal deposits. That was the start of the resource war with the zebras after all. The fire ruby which stood at the heart of the room was monolithic. It was at least eight feet tall and perfectly formed in hexagonal growth. It was encased in a framework of gold worked into whorls and delicate designs. Dozens of desks stations surrounded it, and thick cables attached to large scientific apparatus led back to the structure holding the mineral arrangement.

I felt my senses drop away except for the sight of that singular object. Light from the flames all around flowed through the inner facets of the gem refracting in flickering majesty.

I wanted it.

I needed it.

Never before in my life had I desired something so fiercely, so passionately. Such a craving wrenched my heart, an unquenchable, inexpressible, undeniable anticipation. It pervaded my being, sinking its roots deep into me.

The first of the ghouls turned and advanced on me, guardians of their holy site. A small part of me gibbered and babbled insanely, but that little voice of reason was just a whisper. Nothing would stop me, not monsters, or even gods. Only thinking of getting to the ruby I took the most direct route, and flew over their heads. The burning ghouls jumped and howled their frustrations as I paid them no heed.

I reached for it, strained for it, and there! The tip of a claw brushed it, but that was not enough! Pushing forward, I laid a palm against the smooth face of the gorgeous crystal. Cooing in pleasure, I floated and put my other claw against the cool surface, oblivious to all else.

Then it started to burn. Fire, red as the crystal, raced up my arm. I screamed and screamed as the blaze bit into me.

And the world fell away.

***

Faster than my very neurons could fire, I went from being on fire, to standing in a strange place. I was on a plain of cracked earth. Distant mountains were framed by encroaching thunderheads. Light flickered in the dark clouds, and faint thunder vibrated the air.

The feeling of desire that had my soul in a vice faded. I was able to think again, yet it wasn’t much of an improvement. Rotating, I tried to assess my situation.

Had I been teleported? Had I died? That wasn’t a pleasant thought. What else made sense though?

A faint noise garnered my attention, a choked squeak like a songbird that had breathed bad air for too long. Reaching for my weapons, I grasped at air. Until that moment, I hadn’t realized what a comfort it was to face a threat with a loaded firearm. Even my PipBuck was gone!

Heart racing, I reared around to face a most curious pony. A unicorn stallion if I was any guess. He was red, ruby red. The first thing I noticed was him smiling. Smiling! Then he seemed to really see me, which in itself was disturbing because his eyes were milky, faded, and yet followed me all the same. His smile vanished and his ears drooped, as if he were expecting someone else. The pony shook his head sadly and turned away. He walked a few paces away from me. Rattling accompanied his defeated trot and I saw that he was shackled to a fire ruby, identical to the one I had touched, embedded in the ground.

Thunder cracked and made me flinch in surprise.

Okay, so I was standing naked in the middle of a strange flatland with no company other than a reddish pony bound to a crystal in the middle of said plain.

Yeah, this wasn’t weird at all.

At least the odd unicorn hadn’t attacked me right off which definitely was an improvement over my recent experiences. Maybe… just maybe he would have some answers, or so I hoped.

“Hey! What… How…” Shit, where did I even start? “Where…” Yeah, wanted to know that. “Where am I?” The stallion turned and regarded me. He just stared with those cloudy eyes and an uncomfortable silence stretched. After a while he raised a hoof and tapped it lightly against the side of his head.

“Umm… what does that mean?” He tapped his temple with slightly more emphasis.

“Can you just tell me?” The unicorn shook his head no.

“Why not?” This was getting a little irritating. Pointing again, the pony designated his throat this time.

“Oh! You can’t speak! Oh, goddess, sorry…” I felt a little contrite and sheepishly bowed my head in apology. My mute partner seemed to accept this and tapped his temple slowly. Wait… he couldn’t mean…

“I’m in your head?” Another head shake no. He pointed at me and quickly did the head tap, then to him and did another head tap.

“We’re in each other’s head? Connected?” The unicorn finally nodded. Okay, wow. Just… wow. I surveyed the scene again, noting the desolation. The mountains, the ceiling of rumbling clouds, and my absence of gear made sudden symbolic sense. Stay calm Ashes, you’re just on some sort of mental… something. What was the term?

Psychoplane. Yes, that was it. My metaphysical self had merely been transported to a psychoplane. No need to worry about how my body might be being torn apart by flesh eating ghouls at that moment.

…

Shit.

Whew… okay, deep breaths. Calm. Was I even breathing air for that matter?

Deep mental breathing. Deep mental breathing.

“So then… how did I get here? How do I get out? And who are you for that matter?”

Mute, but not without the tools to communicate some concepts, my fellow incorporeal being gesticulated some more. He executed two rolls of his shoulders which I could only infer to be shrugs followed by a pondering hoof to the chin. The cherry unicorn beckoned for me to come closer. Warily, perhaps against my better judgment, I approached. With a small smile that seemed genuine, he repeated his come hither gesture.

When I was near, his horn took on a glow. Very calmly, he reached and touched the luminescent tip to my forehead. Perhaps if he had made a move to strike I would have reacted differently. Without my reflex triggering, I just stood there dumbly as the world once again faded away.

oooOOOooo

I was floating, or had the sensation of floating. It was calming in a way, like the feeling of being between waking and sleeping where you’re only distantly aware of your senses. Although I couldn’t really feel, I could faintly see something. It was like looking through a thick pane of rose colored glass

“… gorgeous, absolutely wonderful, Hypothesis! The ruby should work as a perfect heat sink for the gold. Think of the possible applications!” A mare beamed and put a hoof to the other side of the glass. She was a mousy thing, with tan fur, her brown mane tied back, and a pair of glasses perched cutely on her muzzle.

“The potential of this one specimen is simply staggering. Not just for size, but the fact that it has formed its crystal structure in such a way as to naturally channel magical energies. It is flame personified, fire crystalized, distilled blaze. The only thing that can outshine a Fire Ruby like this is the flame from an immortal phoenix.”

“I can’t wait to get started. With the superconductivity we could reach we can potentially suspend a spell form at any stage, and modify it! With the new interface of the rapid recollection spell and the control rhythm… might I add that was genius on your part as well… we might actually achieve full arcano-visual-manifestation.” The mare gushed in excitement.

I was sure that if I possessed physical blood vessels around my brain at that moment they would be swollen in agony as I tried to process the deluge of technical jargon that was just flung at me. What was I seeing and experiencing? What had that strange pony done to me?

“You give me too much credit, Synthesis. All of it was your idea; I just helped acquire it, no easy feat, but nothing without your theories.” said a stallion standing further back.

“Don’t be so modest. I would have been stuck as a lowly lab tech without you taking a special interest in my papers.” Something stirred in me. It felt like a leg… but not… I couldn’t control it but I felt the approximation of intent as it… me… reached to where the mare made contact with the surface.

“Oooh! It’s warm.” She pressed a cheek to the surface. “Almost… like a little heartbeat…”

oooOOOooo

I sat up with a gasp, desperately sucking in… uh… psychoplanar air, panting like I had just surfaced from a deep well. My companion sat facing away from me, staring at the far away peaks.

“What… in Celestia’s name… was that?” He reached out with a hoof and tapped the crystal next to him then his temple. What did that mean? Think, Ashes! Ruby, then his head. The gem is in his head? I saw through this… duh, I was seeing through the inside of it! How…

“You… you showed me memories? Your memories of the crystal?” He nodded then shook his head, still not looking at me. Hmm… yes and no? I had felt something… something had reached out to the unicorn mare with the glasses. So…

“You’re the crystal, aren’t you? And those are your memories.” One firm nod to my question this time. So, I was speaking to the somehow sentient spirit of an inert crystalline structure. Damn, I knew I shouldn’t have just skimmed Strange Properties of Unique Gemstones. I walked to sit beside the pony.

“How do you exist then?” He looked at me, and did his horn thing again.

oooOOOooo

I really needed to stop falling for that. Once more floating in a crystal I looked down where Synthesis was asleep at a nearby desk and alone in the empty underground chamber. My host kept its gaze fixed on the mare, roving over her lightly snoring form. After a few minutes the scientist identified as Hypothesis came into view. Gently, he shook her awake. The smaller pony moaned, straightened her glasses, and looked up at him.

“How long have you been down here? All the others have gone to bed already.”

“Oh, I must have dozed off.” She replied.

“I know you keep a cot in your office but you really must get out more.” The smallish mare stood and paced over to my host, practically pressing her nose against the ruby.

“Yes, yes, it’s just… I’ve been monitoring strange, independent power surges. Even after we deactivate the interface and heat functions, the residual magical radiation continues to saturate the conductive coil framework for much longer than it should.”

“What? That shouldn’t be possible, not if the gold is no longer charged, it should lose is conductive value at room temperature.”

“This whole thing was only theory a little while ago. We weren’t sure if anything would happen at all, or if our,” she giggled, “Hypothesis would prove correct. I’ve spent quite a few late nights trying to puzzle it out, but the only thing I can think of…” The stallion stepped closer.

“Yes, Synthesis?”

“No, no it’s crazy, and it’s weird.” I felt my host reaching itself toward the mare.

“Well, as long as it doesn’t have anything to do with giant tubs of jelly, I wouldn’t say you were crazy. It’s just theory and could be right or wrong.” She laughed aloud then took a deep breath and put her hoof to the surface, stroking it almost in a maternal way. My host followed her hoof as it tracked along the gem barrier.

“We selected the fire ruby as a medium both for its property as a magical energy reservoir and for its natural crystalline form as a conduit for easy manipulation of suspended spell forms, right?”

“Right.”

“I believe…” she chewed on her bottom lip. “It may be possible that through prolonged exposure to the spell runoff and as our use of it as a passage through which our own magic articulates the matrix that the alignment of certain molecules in the ruby have been altered. I began to really notice it after that self-sustaining come-to-life spell I worked on last month.”

“I remember that one. The darn thing drew too much power to ignite and then ended up being a dead end. It had such a promising potential outcome. Wasn’t that the day Twilight Sparkle had her visit?”

“Yes it was. Well, I think it acted like a catalyst. Even though the residual carrier wave of the spell matrix faded, I keep catching hints of it. The odd thing is that it isn’t the same spell, like it changed in order to perpetuate itself.” Synthesis turned to regard at her colleague. “Haven’t you noticed how much easier it is to interface with? The ruby is already a natural pathway for magical energy, but there should still be at least a functional resistance due to natural imperfections in the stone. They’re just not there anymore!”

“Okay, suppose all of that is accurate, which is impossible to determine because our current equipment isn’t that sensitive. What does that imply?”

“Here’s where you’ll think I’m foalish.” She turned away sheepishly but he reached out and put a hoof on her shoulder.

“You’re the most brilliant scientist I know aside from Twilight Sparkle herself. Nothing you could tell me would sound senseless.”

“The emergent patterns in the crystal, they resemble something I’ve seen elsewhere.” She opened her mouth to say more but closed it, as if thinking better of it. “I still need more time to puzzle it out. They just seem so familiar!” He laughed kindly.

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out.” The male patted her in a comforting way and yawned. “In the meantime, I’m going to sleep, and I suggest you do too.”

“I’ll be right behind you, g’night.” She watched him go. Once Hypothesis was out of sight she turned to face the crystal with a worried expression, chewing her lip incessantly. Her horn glowed and I felt a wonderful warmth spread through my bodiless self that lasted only a moment before her bony protrusion went dark.

“Like pathways… like neural pathways…” And my view melted once again.

oooOOOooo

Coming out of the memory, I floundered and gasped like a fish out of water. The transition was still strange and very disorienting, but I seemed to be getting the hang of it. The horn happy unicorn hadn’t moved from his melancholy seat.

I had plenty of other things to occupy my thoughts with though. To think, that after enough exposure, a rock could develop sentience! I mean really?! As improbable, as impossible and incomprehensible as that was, the evidence was right there next to me. That wasn’t the end of the story though. Not if he was sitting here, shackled.

Luna’s mercy, this undoubtedly happened before the bombs dropped. Which meant he had been here, alone, for nearly two hundred years. I couldn’t begin to imagine the scope, the span greater than ten of my lifetimes. I paused to consider my options, and made my choice.

“There’s more to it, isn’t there?”

With eyes of white he met my gaze and sighed with the weight of centuries. Maybe, I could help. I did not know the depths of his solitude, but perhaps I could share. Perhaps allowing me to see more, it would alleviate his burden. I grabbed his shoulder lightly.

“Show me.” His horn glowed and my consciousness was plunged into memory once more.

oooOOOooo

“No! You can’t do this! I will not have you turn my work into a weapon. Don’t you realize that this could save us?” Synthesis was protectively standing between the ruby and several others.

“I’m sure doctor, but any research you may be pursuing is secondary.” One stepped forward.

“It could stop the war!”

“My superiors think otherwise. As an agent tasked with maintaining the Morale of our great nation I am placing you under protective custody.” A pair of heavy ponies stepped up and grabbed the small mare. She struggled to no avail.

“Let me go!” The spirit in the crystal reached desperately towards Synthesis, helpless to pass beyond the ruby prison. They dragged her away but were stopped by a familiar stallion.

“I’m so sorry Synthy, but its better this way; you were getting too attached to it. You left me no choice but to call them in with the way you were acting. You were obsessed.” She struck him across the face hard enough to make me wince. The guard ponies continued dragging her away.

“You bastard! It is alive! It is!” Kicking, cursing, and screaming, Synthesis was hauled out of sight. Hypothesis, with a stunned look trailed after her. The first pony who had spoken turned to the five others who remained.

“Once she has been evaluated, the results will determine whether she continues under closer supervision. I trust our fellows in the Ministry of Image will take the appropriate steps to insure this stays quiet?”

“Of course, are we assured access to the good doctor’s research notes for purview and application?” An elegant looking blue mare responded.

“This research is essential to continuing projects of Peace and shall remain open to us as well.” An aged stallion piped in. Then another pony, this one wearing a lab coat walked to a terminal.

“All materiel, including any further revelation by Synthesis is under direct jurisdiction of the Ministry of Arcane Science. Though I’m sure our good friends in the O.I.A. will be more than happy to provide any required data in a discreet manner.” He said, tapping away at the keys.

A male wearing a finely tailored suit snorted. “So long as Wartime Technology and our subsidiaries get copies, I’m happy. Robronco’s sure have a field day.” He cast a look at the last occupant that had yet to speak. “I am surprised however; to see that Rainbow Dash actually sent someone.” Instead of answering, the individual in question walked up to the crystal, the spirit within recoiling. It was a griffin! Astonishment made the gears in my head come to a halt. I knew her, or of her rather. A legend that I had heard stories of.

“So what are you and that pegasus up to, Gilda?”

“Something Awesome,” she grinned.

oooOOOooo

My eyes opened to the desolate mental desert once more. The ministries… they were the most powerful institutions of wartime Equestria. They had reached out their influence, backed by the highest power in the land, that of Princess Luna, and taken command of every aspect of life. Leading them were the six who would become nothing less than the most powerful mortal mares of the time. In my reading of more contemporary works of literature, the ministry mares were always mentioned with awe, and respect at the authority and resources each wielded.

Their organizations had saturated every facet of society. Every soldier, home, and stalk of hay bore the mark of the ministries. Hell, even Stable-Tec was a product of one of the establishments.

I had just witnessed something involving all of them, the scope of which eclipsed my lowly status as a feeble griffin runaway. There were many secrets, buried by the war. And now, I was privy to some of those riddles. From my prone position, I looked at the mental projection of the consciousness occupying the crystal and began to understand his sorrow. He had been helpless, forced to watch the only pony to acknowledge his existence being taken from him.

For the first time, I noticed the symbol on his flank. It was a representation of an atom with a blue nucleus, and three orbiting electrons.

I sat up and joined him in gazing out into the distance.

“She was close to you huh? You cared about her?” the gem pony nodded.

“I know what it’s like to lose someone close. My sister…” The wounds, carved in my heart were still fresh, and throbbed in renewed grief. After he nodded in sympathy we shared a moment of solemnity.

“Did you ever see her again?” His chained leg clanked as he brought his hoof down against the ground. I waited for him to do more, but he made no other indication.

“Once? One time after that?” Slowly, somberly, the red stallion dipped his head. For what I suspected to be the last time, the spirit sent me into its past.

oooOOOooo

Immediately I was aware that something was wrong. Alarms and sirens wailed and shrieked. Ponies were trampling each other, leaping over workstations, to get to the doors. Dust cascaded from the ceiling as the earth all around trembled and quaked. It sounded like the sky was falling.

After the rest had evacuated, one remained, trotting out of the exit the others had taken. As she drew close my suspicion was confirmed. It was Synthesis, with quite a few new streaks of grey in her mane. As before, she pressed herself against the ruby and the inhabitant warmed her with his touch. My senses were much less muddled than they had been in the previous memories. I could feel the mare lying against the prismatic gem.

“How I missed you. You were my greatest success, my greatest work. A crowning achievement and a jewel fit for a princess. You’re the last hope.” She sighed against my, err… his exterior. All around the sirens screeched.

“Those fools… giving the zebras megaspells in the hopes of it serving as a deterrent to war, trusting in the purity of hearts tainted by endless years of war. Mutually assured destruction my flank.” Shuddering, she shut her eyes and rubbed a cheek against my crystal prison.

“And now it’s come to this. This city is close enough to the border to be targeted. Very little won’t be targeted really. The zebras had too long to stockpile. Maybe there is hope. With you, I can make a shield, a self-sustaining shield. A fire that will never be extinguished so long as this ruby exists.” Her horn began to glow and I felt such a strange stirring within. A heat welled up from within.

Such power! I wanted to writhe, to sweat, and to groan at the sensations. If I had had eyes, they would have rolled upwards in their sockets. It was a burning sensation that I was unable to bear, and unable to escape, like being roasted, burned alive without having a body to scorch. My vision blurred and just when I thought I would go mad, I felt a tug, and something was ripped away. That feeling was replaced with emptiness.

Sound like a titan’s rage drowned out even the sirens as the world quaked with the power of miniature suns. As sight somewhat returned, I saw Synthesis on the ground, bleeding from the mouth, nose, ears, and eyes.

“The shield… It… It’s broken. I couldn’t do it, I couldn’t save them.” The small, broken pony curled up and sobbed crimson tears. “I saw you… chained and alone inside that stupid rock. Oh Celestia’s mercy, I knew you were there! I knew… knew you were alive...” A rattling cough shook her.

“And it was me who put you there, me who gave you life, and me who failed you. The least I can do now… is set you free.” Her horn flashed weakly and she hacked wetly, her precious life draining from her forehead and veins. She took a deep breath somehow and her face scrunched in concentration. Light enveloped her once… twice… and popped like a soap bubble.

“Please, blessed Ladies, grant me the strength…” Once more her magic manifested, only to fade.

“It’s too much.” Synthesis cried and beat her hooves against her head, weeping as her unicorn heritage was not enough to save the thing she loved. Weakly, she crawled to the crystal. “Twilight once told me about the Want It, Need It spell. I cannot free you, but maybe somepony else will.” Somehow, the little mare cast her spell. She put her leg against the base of the gem, and died.

Sacrifice is what makes a soul noble. Never had I seen one nobler.

oooOOOooo

I knew what I had to do. But how?

If Synthesis, a unicorn scientist of far greater power and knowledge couldn’t do it, what chance did I have? Give me guns, explosives, something! Even a rock to bash against the unyielding chains! I strained, heaved, pulled, and even kicked at the cruel bindings.

I didn’t know what would happen to the consciousness of the crystal if I untethered it, but I know that in the same position I would have wanted to be free, no matter the consequences. That desire was close to my heart, having grown with it. To be free, to soar in the clear sky, I dredged the feeling up from my soul to lend myself strength.

No matter how hard I pulled, and no matter how much I wanted to break the chains, they gave not an inch. Defeated, bitter, I reflected on my disappointment and my mind dwelled in dark places. Tears welled up in my eyes as I thought about how Cinder would never fly with me again, how I would never hear her laugh again. My wings drooped and scraped the ground.

Red watched me struggle with his confinement and waited until I slumped in loss. He gripped my shoulders with strength that frightened me. His horn glowed and pressed the luminescent magical appendage to my forehead. Memory did not come to me; instead, I felt his arcane might flowing through me. I gasped as my nervous system became a vessel for his intrusion. My limbs and muscles twitched uncontrollably as my body tried to accommodate the violating energies.

Heat started to flow through my whole body. I recalled once when I was younger being incredibly sick and touched with a fever so high I had almost gone into a coma-like state. It had induced hallucinations to the point where it almost felt good. That burning filled me up until it was my whole world. I could feel nothing but my body nearly cooking itself alive.

It felt like I was made of rubber forced to stretch the wrong way. My heart labored to keep blood like molten lead flowing. Something in my skull felt like it was about to burst as a pressure built. The sense that I was about to die occurred to a part of my conscious self not busy being overloaded.

Eyes crossed, synapses misfiring, the dam broke and I moaned in release. Red let me go, and I happily allowed my muscles to go slack.

Oh sweet Celestia’s bare flank…

A chill ran up my spine as I stumbled dizzily. I clutched my head, trying to keep what felt like the two halves of my brain from separating at the stem. At some point I must have fallen over. Throbbing in ways I hadn’t thought possible, I shakily stood. The red pony who had just magically raped my neurons watched me with a seriousness he hadn’t had before.

I felt rather perturbed towards him for his unasked for intrusion, but I was feeling rather loopy at the moment.

You know what; if my last act in Equestria was to set this spirit free, then maybe I could face my father and sister proudly by Celestia’s side.

With this grim, fatalistic determination, I grabbed a length of chain and pulled with a feral abandon. I shored up my desire to set my companion free with my own memories of flight. Flying was freedom; it was liberty from all the hurts of the natural world. There was no feeling like it, knowing that no force, not even gravity could shackle me down. A new fire burned in my chest, in my heart, one that originated from me.

I embraced this feeling, drawing strength, and will from that integral part of all creatures that have wings. A force heeded my call. It was familiar, like an old friend. Something was different this time though, like a veil had been lifted from my sight. Manic, frenzied, my claws burst into flame and the shattered the chain I was holding.

Aha! I had a suspicion that will and desire would have pseudo physical affects in this place!

Marveling, I gazed at my talons in rapture. They did not burn; they were just filled with faint tingling warmth. One by one, I broke the bindings of the red pony.

The broken ends of the metal links disintegrated, dissolving into nothing. But as the vanishing shackles reached him, the spirit too began to come apart.

I had been afraid this would happen, but instead of sadness, he smiled. There wasn’t a hint of regret in his expression as his eyes twinkled in joy. With a shout, he raised a hoof in defiance.

I returned the salute with my own blazing fist and did not lower my clenched talon until the spirit was nothing more than dust in the ethereal wind.

***

With a flash, I returned to the land of physical world and conscious state. Stumbling back from the giant crystal I watched a blackness bloom in its heart, spreading out with web-like hairline cracks. Corrupted and empty, it toppled over with a healthy boom. Backpedaling, I tripped over something and landed hard on my backside. That was when I became aware of the coldness all around me. My breath misted the air as the sub-freezing temperatures crystalized the water expelled from my lungs.

How long had my confrontation on the psychoplanes taken? Seconds? Days? I suppose it was possible that all of it had happened at the speed of thought… but that could mean, well, seconds, or days.

A pony face, frozen in a scream, stared sightlessly up at me. Where I had tripped over it, the body had crumbled. The spirit, in its incarcerated state had fed the fires of the city and in turn the Burning Ones. Now starved of that energy, they had died, at last being allowed the peace stolen from them by the apocalypse. That was my notion anyway.

I wasn’t sure if the heat stored by the ruby had been extinguished, causing the decrease in ambient temperature, or magical balance reasserting itself after so long, or perhaps a byproduct of the original function of the gem and my mental interaction with it. Synthesis could probably tell me, but I knew the odds of that were worse than the chance of finding my mother.

Suddenly my nerve endings lit up the pain centers of my body in a cascade of neurological infernos. My grey talons were charred and blackened I noticed. The same thing started in my forehead where the spirit had touched me, blossoming in skull splitting pain and blessed unconsciousness soon followed.

***

Shaking, I chased a pair of thick med-x pills with a healing potion, sighing as the cracked and blistered flesh of my claws mended somewhat. According to my PipBuck I had been out for either ten minutes, or ten days. The time keeping mechanism had somehow been damaged and my head felt like it had been bucked by a two ton stallion and then fed through a rock crusher. Idly I wondered if hangovers felt anything like this.

Bandages, soaked in healing magic went around my claws next. Gingerly I flexed and felt my skin tighten and winced at the raw feeling. The potion could only do so much with burns. I knew how lucky I was to have found the medical case attached to the wall with its lone potion and magical wrappings.

Goddesses above did I need a bath, or preferably a cool shower as the thought of anything hot sent my skin into unpleasant shivers. Filth and grime from days of running through the ash filled streets rubbed against my undercoat and skin. My sister’s ash was probably somewhere in there too.

Before I could sink into melancholy again though, a strange light shined and a prickling touched my flanks. With a wince I craned my neck around and stared at the ugly black horseshoe brand. A shimmering light enveloped the scar and it changed! Before my unbelieving eyes the mark morphed to that of an upraised, clenched fist, surrounded by flame as if grasping it. It was red, deep red in the middle, bright red around edges. I looked to my opposite side and saw the same image.

Stunned, I sat on my haunches, contemplating, my mind trying to wrap around it. First I had somehow spoke with an ephemeral fire spirit that had decided not to kill me, seen memories from said two hundred year old spirit, freed said spirit, and now I had a cutie mark! Or, griffin equivalent as it were.

The strange meter, nestled right in the reality lobe of my brain short circuited.

Weirdly enough, I felt relieved. One more reminder of my servitude in the Stable had been erased and had been made my own. I could guess perhaps the symbolic origin, but the exact, literal meaning of the emblem eluded me for the moment. Although, the red was pleasing on my grey-furred flank and reminded me of Cinder, and Blazing Glory.

Shaken and burned, I could only pick myself up and move on. I had faced the heart, the burning heart of the city of ghouls and had overcome, had survived. And in the wasteland, survival was victory.

Maybe my mother was still out there, whether living or dead, I was determined to find her somehow. Perhaps I was crazy, but better crazy and determined, than sane and defeated any day.

Everything that might have been of value aside from the empty medical case in the room had been destroyed. I winced as I put weight on my wounded forelimbs but the painkillers at least took the edge off them and my headache. I passed the broken husk of the crystal with mixed feelings as I walked painfully to the elevator at the far end of the room. Pitch black now filled what had once been lit like hell itself. Silence as well.

I stepped into the elevator and hit the button labeled top floor, leaving behind nothing but the quiet of the grave. Squealing, somehow the gears turned and after so much descending, at last I rose through the MAS hub. Midway through the ascent the elevator stopped and chimed, doors opening on yet another darkened hall.

Confused, I jabbed the close button in agitation but nothing happened. Then I heard the whispers. Putting my back to the wall, I drew my guns and faced outward, shaking and unsteady.

Shit, shit, I was not ready for this. Please just pass me by, please just go away. I inwardly pleaded, but it was no use.

A pony appeared to melt out of the air right next to me. She was huge! Easily one of the largest ponies I had ever seen. Something about her didn’t sit right though. Before I could realign my guns she spoke but her lips did not move, then she touched her horn to my forehead.

“We found you. We can hear you now.”

The sensation that followed the contact was akin to having brain surgery with a rusty carving knife. Thoughts were pushed into my head as the pony royally mind fucked me. It was similar to the spirit, but infinitely more invasive. Where the spirit had one unique feeling, this intruder had many, like a roiling chorus of pony voices all speaking as one. Where Red had been smooth and subtle, she was brutal and forceful.

“THE GODDESS DEMANDS YOU ANSWER US. WE DEMAND YOUR POWER AND HOW YOU ACQUIRED IT.” I could feel the will of many through this single vessel. How did I know that? Why was this strange pony invading my head? Why did it feel like my brain was about to explode?

Rage and indignation swelled my chest. Now that I had experienced mental contact, I knew, how fundamentally wrong what this pony was doing. How dare she intrude into my sanctuary! The fire ruby had only sought to share, whereas this being sought to exploit.

I visualized the single mare like a channel, a pipeline that was sunk into my grey matter that funneled all the other voices. In my mind a fire rose up, and I felt it constrict around the mare’s mental probe like a snake sinking its fangs into prey. Blood burst from my nose as the mental strain took its toll, forcing me to grit my teeth.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING? WE DEMAND TO KNOW WHAT YOU ARE DOING! RELEASE US! RELEASE THIS ONE!” I could feel her trying to retract her mental spike, but I would not let go. Frost began to coat the walls, and our breathing misted in the still air between us.

I was not a griffin to suffer intrusion lightly, and felt the fire acting on my behalf, given my directive and then let loose. It reminded me of when my talons had burst into flame, felt a similar passion, but there was no such flashy manifestation outside of the psychoplanes. The mare backed away, breaking physical contact, but unable to escape the flames that now fed on her psychic connection.

Then she spoke with her actual mouth.

“It burns. It hurts! Make it stop! His mind is like fire!” I reeled, seeing in my mind’s eye the flames work like a living thing, severing her from the huge chorus and turning to continue feeding on her mind. That was when I saw with my real eyes what was off.

She had a horn and wings! Instantly my memory flashed to depictions of Princess Luna and Celestia but something was different about this mare, besides the mental attack that is. She was a deep blue for one thing, and lacked a cutie mark! Immediately it set off alarms in what remained of my rational thinking.

“Mind like fire! Like fire!” She stamped and flailed, bashing her head hard into the wall. Blood began to pour from her nose and eyes. Again and again the alicorn rammed into the wall. Finally snapping her horn off, she screamed, wailing uncontrollably as she sank down slowly, leaving a wet crimson smear.

I was debating whether it wouldn’t be better to put the poor thing out of its misery when she shot suddenly to her hooves and giggled madly. Swaying, the alicorn collided with the wall again, and walked off into the facility, now muttering insanely to herself.

Breathing out a sigh of relief and nursing the worst headache I had ever experienced in my life, I slumped down and winced with each contraction of my heart. The blood beat a steady, throbbing rhythm in my skull.

My inner sense of wrongness had definitely taken a dive out a five story window at some point, so the encounter was just another mystery.

Who had that strange mare been, and who or what had been that… thing talking through her? I had no answers. No answers to the many questions that just kept piling up, one atop the other. As I pushed the close door button once again the elevator trundled upwards.

Everypony had secrets. Many went to their graves keeping secrets. From the little glimpses I had witnessed, I imagined everypony involved in the war possessing many secrets. How many millions had taken their secrets to the grave? And now, how many of those secrets were scattered across the wasteland like landmines?

Weapons and plots and schemes, lost and forgotten, lay buried just below the surface of everything it seemed.

Thinking about it just made my head hurt worse if that were possible and I was exhausted. By the time the elevator reached the top, it was a struggle just to keep my eyes open. Because of a strange, nagging fear that the elevator would descend on its own, I crawled out onto the roof of the MAS hub.

The gravel covering was really quite comfortable.

***

It felt like I had only dozed off for a little while when a strange voice spoke to me out of the darkness. I shouldn’t have been surprised.

“Hey, you alive, griffin?” I was disinclined to answer and it hurt to talk but maybe a little conversation would be nice so long as it wasn’t a pony trying to catch and sell me. Other than that, in my state of mind, I really didn’t care.

“Depends on your definition of alive,” I croaked.

“I saw you up here and you’re talking, so yes, I guess you’re alive.” The voice was strange, metallic, and almost whiny. “I don’t really bother to check this area much; ghouls tend to go after the spritebots because of the noise they make.” I looked up at the strange floating metal ball that was speaking to me, wondering if I had truly gone insane.

“Yeah, ghouls are a real problem around here.” My tone was despondent.

“You’re from that stable aren’t you? Haven’t seen anyone come out of that one in quite a long time.” This was a well-informed hallucination. I felt a brief flare of hope that almost prodded me to full wakefulness.

“I don’t suppose you know where they went?”

“Afraid not.” Something struck me as morbidly funny as I laid my head back against the very comfortable pebbled roof.

“Neither the living or the dead can give me answers.”

“What do you mean?” The strange floating ball questioned.

“Nothing,” Numbly fishing around in my pack, I pulled out the jack and queen, willing them to spring to life somehow.

“And what are those?” I didn’t look up, just sighed.

“My friends,” Silence for a moment.

“I knew a griffin once. Long, long ago, she was quite the grump and a bully. You just seem sad, different maybe. What’s your name, griffin?”

“Maybe you should just call me a ghost. For a ghost is all I am.” In truth, I had lost interest in the exchange; content to stare at my cards, pushed passed all limits of endurance in body and in mind.

“Alright Ghost, you may call me Watcher, for watch is all I do. From someone who has watched for a long time, let me give you a piece of advice, find some friends. Some new ones maybe, yours look a little… flat.” There was a static filled pop followed by strange music, and the black metal orb floated away.

Just before sleep once again claimed me I decided that if talking, mechanical oddities were conversing with me then maybe I had gone one step too far into the realm of crazy. Thoughts of fire spirits and disembodied voices chased my thoughts as I fell into blissful nothing.

***

I tumbled through mock psychoplanes and visions.

I was sitting on a hilltop when an emerald light bloomed in the distance, it was impure and poisonous. Griffins had been flying and now were swept aside as they flickered like tiny motes of black against the overwhelming light before being consumed. I walked through city streets, ponies and griffins turned to dust stood frozen where the light had touched them.

I fell through an abyss of swirling color as the street crumbled beneath my paws.

Into a pool of tar I sank, down beneath the skin of the world, down into the festering maw beneath. The tar was sticky and I gasped and struggled but inevitably sank and it filled my lungs.

Then I fell further, through the tar, onto a desolate plain.

It was a desert, a wasteland unrivaled in the entire world. The sky was an endless grey and all around the ground went on and on, all the way to the horizon and beyond. No mountains or fire ruby or any feature marred the imperfection of the earth.

Footnote: Level Up.
Quest perk added: Touched By Fire - You now have access to the Fire Spirit perks.

Perk Gained: Fire Mind - You are now extremely resistant to all forms of mental intrusion and psychic attack.

Trait Gained: Burned - You have received severe damage to your talons and have lost some fine motor control. -10 to lock picking, repair, and explosives.

(Author notes: Whew! Hot damn, okay, everything that I had previously written is now in revised first person. Really, the whole story up to this point has been leading to... well... this point! This idea, that of a griffin finding a wartime research project, and getting strange powers from it was the basis, the launching point of Fire Ghost. The whole scene with the spirit has been completely reworked! Let me know what you think in the comments!)

Chapter 6: Luna's Anvil

Chapter 6: Luna’s Anvil

“We are always on the anvil; for by trials the Goddesses shape us for higher things."

Gunfire.

I cracked open an eye and looked across the grey gravel roof, my consciousness dredging up from the depths of a tortured dreamscape. Skies raked with emotional lightning opened to a firmament wrought with the death of a world. The air was still, hanging like a funeral curtain bearing witness to the mourners, waiting for the deluge of tears.

Tears from heaven.

Quiet was unnerving after several days spent in Ghoul City. The moaning denizens and hazardous unnatural landmarks had provided constant background static. Perhaps unnerving was inaccurate, it was disturbing. Crackling from the great fires was absent even, a welcome but strange turn.

With a groan I rolled onto my back to take some of the pressure off my chest. The sky was so like that in my dreams I wasn’t sure if I was even awake. My pack of cigarettes had gathered condensation from the cold in the facility and was now ruined but for one stubborn crooked stick. Fortunately my lighter was waterproof. Clumsily my claws tried to work it and after a few flicks a little ember glowed in my vision.

The past few days weighed on me. My limbs were heavy to lift, my marrow filled with lead and my feathers made of stone. Within the shell of the armored vest my ribcage rose and fell in a slow rhythm. A rock had worked its way into one of my footpads and nagged at me in annoyance, but my disillusionment was greater than the irritation.

Perhaps the rain would feel good, the cool kiss possibly cleansing my flesh and soul. Grime and grit perforated me. It stuck to my fur, hide, and felt crunchy in my beak. Eventually I would have to get up, but that was future Ashes’ problem.

Gunfire, closer.

It was probably just more ponies killing each other, or perhaps some hapless bystander, or maybe ghouls. The sound was not yet close enough to make me want to get up and I hoped it would stay that way. Sleep had been pursued, and I felt just as tired. Morning had always been my least favorite time. Sleeping on what amounted to a pile of rocks in full gear didn’t help.

Ponies were shooting and shouting within earshot now. The noise was bringing my aching head back into perspective.

A floating black orb entered my vision. I got the distinct feeling it was looking at me.

“Aren’t you going to see what’s going on?”

“Watcher, right? Shit, I thought you were a hallucination. And no, not really.”

“What if they need help?” I liked this Watcher better when I thought he was a figment.

“And? Why would I help a pony?” Even flat and emotionless, Watcher’s voice conveyed the challenge enough to sharpen my wits.

“I thought griffins were supposed to be honorable.” The words stabbed into my heart.

“What did you say to me?”

“Just what I’ve heard.” Honor. What was I without my honor in this hell, this place of death and lawlessness? I gave this Watcher credit; he sure knew how to galvanize someone.

“Never question my integrity.” Now I let indignation carry me to my feet. “Never doubt that I am a griffin of honor.” I snapped in a vindictive tone.

“So, being a griffin of honor would you help the pure? Help the still honest ponies struggling to survive out here in the wasteland?”

Honor meant something different to everyone. Griffin and pony alike all understood it in their own way. To me, it was a code of ethics, of principles that I lived by. My honor commanded that I defend the weak, those who could not protect themselves. It required me to do the right thing. Bring retribution upon the wicked; to not stand by idly while injustice ruled. Act with chivalry, stand by my vows, and conduct myself in a dignified way. This and more defined my actions. It was my anchor, the moral compass that pointed me in the right direction when at a crossroad.

“Alright Watcher, I’ll help.” Honor called me to do so.

“Thank you, Ghost.”

“You know, that isn’t my name.” I heard the voice chuckle in monotone.

“We are what we are, Ghost.” There was a static filled pop and the strange sprite-bot inhabiting hacker faded once again.

Inwardly trying to brace myself for battle I flicked my last cigarette away and crawled to the edge of the roof. There was a low wall that I crouched behind and used as a firing ledge for my hunting rifle. It was a long gun, heavy wooden stock, and bolt action. I only had maybe four clips worth of ammo for it so I would have to be conservative.

Lying prone, I propped the rifle into a gap where the brick had crumbled away long ago and sighted in the direction of the reports.

The veritable moat of flame that had surrounded the MAS research center had been extinguished, even smoke no longer rose.

Could I have done this? With my freeing of the spirit had the fires finally gone out? More shots rang out and my attention was drawn to the firefight going on in the remains of the camp I had gone through. Sure enough, several of the ponies with vicious armor, spiked hair, and insane voices were attacking a lone blue unicorn. His mane was tied back in a simpler manner and he huddled behind a slab of rubble. I saw the pony peek out only to duck pack as a staccato of bullets struck his cover.

By the looks of him, I could guess that at least he wasn’t affiliated with the ponies who had killed Cinder. He wore a set of tan leather barding and had a simple pack strapped to the top of his armor. He fired blindly over his cover a few times with a pistol

From my vantage, I watched the unicorn put away his gun and float out what looked like a sledge hammer. He launched it at the closest of his attackers. The weapon struck the concrete barrier next to his foe and pulverized it in a cloud of powder.

Luna’s frozen teats!

Wow, I gave him a ten for power, but a three for aim. At least the display kept the unicorn’s opponents at a distance. Quickly pulling his glowing sledge back, the white haired stallion whipped his head and struck again with more success. He caught his target in the chest with an audible whump and sent the raider flying like a ragdoll.

The distraction had allowed one of the spikey ponies to sneak around to a flanking position and take aim.

Now it was my turn. Engaging SATS I was frustrated when the spell registered only a ten percent chance to hit. Looks like I would be doing this the traditional way.

With the advantage of elevation and firing angle on the unsuspecting body, I lined up my iron sights. Nothing fancy like a head shot (that would be nice though) I aimed for center mass and squeezed the trigger.

Sounding like a miniature cannon, the rifle boomed. My PipBuck displayed the ammo as being .308, much heavier than anything I had used before. It entered the flanker’s left shoulder and exited his belly. I watched the pony shriek and fall, holding his wounded gut.

The butt of the gun kicked like a mule into my cradling joint. Sonuvahornfucker! Jamming the rifle tighter against my body to better absorb the recoil I pulled the bolt back, ejecting the smoking case and chambering a fresh round with satisfying click-chack.

I turned to the next unsuspecting bastard and shot again. Cursing vilely when I missed, the pony turned and shot up at me. Click-chack!

Shit! I ducked down as supersonic lead whizzed by wildly. Taking aim again I caught the trigger happy mare in the leg. She dropped with a yell but kept shooting. Three more times I missed, inwardly screaming at myself to do better, I reloaded.

Resolved to be patient, I lined up my shot with more imperturbability even as one of the others caught on to my attack and added his gun to the fusillade as well. This time the bullet caught my adversary in the snout, blowing off her lower jaw in a spray of gristle.

Click-chack!

There was a gravelly sound as something landed next to me; something looked suspiciously like a grenade.

I had three options: Move, try to toss the grenade back over, or pray.

Not knowing how much time the fuse had left I just followed through with the first one and dove over the edge of the roof, beating my wings furiously despite the pain that flared in my sternum. Stone showered me as the explosive went off, and the shockwave nearly sent me into a dangerous spin by its proximity. Flung out into the open the gun toting ponies saw me as a better target. Hot lead streaked up at me, catching my right wing and left leg.

Short of breath, I managed to shunt myself forward and let gravity take over to come to earth swiftly. Ugh, why did the ground have to be so hard? Before I could recover there was a pony standing over me, bringing a pistol to bear. Somehow I had kept hold of my rifle, but the gun was too long for me to swing up in time to avert my fate.

An object travelling at blurring speed impacted the pony’s head like a freight train. With a whoosh then a crack the raider was sent spinning with a spray of blood and a pulped head. I looked in the direction the huge projectile had originated and made eye contact with the white-haired unicorn. He gave me a brief nod of acknowledgement and turned to face the remaining raiders.

I tried to shoot again with the bolt action rifle, but my aim was truly lousy on the move and after wasting another few shots, I switched over to my pistols and stood my ground. With battle cries the last two ponies charged me. There was no time for second thoughts, no time for remorse, regret, or fear. They were coming to kill me, and I gunned them down. First one, then the other I laid out to bleed their life away in the dirt.

Warily, I didn’t lower my guard until the last echoes of battle faded away into the city.

“Woo! Yeah, kick some ass!” The pale blue stallion trotted over to me, pleased as pie with his hammer over one shoulder. A balefire bomb couldn’t dampen this one’s spirit. He was tall for a pony, but being a griffin, I still had to tilt my head down to meet his look.

“Wow! A griffin!” He held out his hoof with a wide grin.

This was weird.

My experience with unicorns either had them expecting me to grovel or more recently, trying to kill me. After a moment I took his hoof suspiciously and he proceeded to shake my claw with enough enthusiasm to make my bags rattle.

“The name’s Hammer Horn! ‘Preciate the save. Why’d you help me out?” His cutie mark sure enough was a hammer with a magic contrail.

“Because uhh…” because a robot voice told me to. “Because I saw you needed help.” I shrugged.

“Thanks, might not have made it out of that one. What’s your name?” Genuine was not was I was expecting, and it was disarming for sure.

“It’s…” I hesitated, and then came to a decision. “Ghost. My name is Ghost.”

“Cool!” His magenta eyes glinted in exuberance. “So, are you with the Talon Mercenaries?”

“What? No, what are the Talon Mercenaries?” Hammer gave me a strange look as my brow furrowed in consternation.

“You’re not? But you are available right? I’d like to hire you.” Affronted, I turned away. My services were not bought like some trick pony! The nerve of some individuals.

“Wait! I’ll pay caps! You can split the reward with me.” Yeah, fat chance of that. I kept walking. My sense of duty was satisfied in saving him. That didn’t mean I had to keep helping.

At least the unicorn had confirmed my niggling suspicion that bottle caps were indeed used as a currency in this hell. I went to the closest dead and came up with four switchblades and a bottle of cheap liquor. What pony needed four switchblades? Although, it did give me an idea…

Taking a minute, I disassembled the spring loaded daggers and fetched my brass knuckles. What wonderglue was made of I did not know, but it was equal to the finest cold weld and after negligible effort I had affixed the four blades to the first two rings of my knuckle dusters. Guilt nagged at me, making me hope that Master Grimm would understand the necessity of my modification.

I resumed my plundering.

Hammer Horn cantered to follow me as I looted the camp. All in all, I collected two new nine millimeter pistols, another hunting rifle, and a large double action revolver with no bullets. After fixing the weapons I had, I munched thoughtfully on a spongy snack cake, imagining the preservatives pickling my insides. In one tent not blown up by dynamite there was an ammo container with a few clips of ammo for an assault weapon that I dearly wished for.

The inventory management system in my PipBuck displayed the various weapons I had collected, from guns, knives, an axe, my last grenade, worryingly low ammo, little food, and no healing potions or bandages. Just great.

“Come on, please?” He asked.

“Not interested.” I turned away to head out of the encampment.

“You haven’t even heard what it is yet!” Persistently, Hammer galloped around in front of me. “The mayor of Rust Town herself asked me to do this. Her si…”

My thoughts snapped like whipcord and lassoed his words.

“Wait, did you say Rust Town?” I interrupted, suddenly much more attentive.

“Yeah, her sister was ponynapped. She suspected it was Ragtag, so she sent me here to where she heard some of his thugs had taken her.”

That changed things.

“If I help you, will you take me to Rust Town?” Here it was: a chance to get to the city my mother had gone. If anyplace in this goddess forsaken wasteland held answers, than mayhap this place did. And maybe… maybe if I rescued someone else’s sister, I might begin to repent in Cinder’s eyes.

Perhaps his offer had merit after all.

“No problem! That’s where we gotta get her back to anyway.” Hammer was going to say something further but I held up a talon to forestall him. It took me a moment to realize why I had done that.

Something… familiar? But what was it?

A strange dread set my feathers tingling. Slowly, my wings opened with the instinctive desire to flee.

There! Oh sweet Celestia… no.

A howl comparable to a whisper teased my hearing. Like the wail of the damned, the noise made my hide crawl. My expression must have reflected my terror because Hammer soon had a look of worry.

In the distance the cry was answered.

“We need to find someplace to hide.” The image of several ponies dead in the ash surrounded by a makeshift barricade of cars sprung to mind in concert with a raise in pitch from the howling. Ghouls all around took up the carrion call.

“Now!” I set off at a run, the sound of hooves confirming that Hammer was following. They would home in on the noise and we needed to get as much distance between us and the raider camp as possible. The idea of being trapped on the roof of the MAS building was not appealing in the least. Not after what I had gone through in those dark depths.

From my observations it seemed like the normal ghouls had avoided the Burning Ones, and with the knot that were once below now gone, the zone of safety was lost. It was the only rational explanation for their absence around the facility up to that point.

Now that the fires around the city had gone out, the rain of ash had subsided somewhat. Striding through the streets kicked up a fair bit in our wake from what still remained and I still had no idea whether it was day or night from the haze. Fearfully, I watched the side streets we passed, alert for signs of zombie ponies. Soon the camp was far behind us, but our troubles were only beginning.

All around loomed the spiteful emptiness of the city and the ghouls emerged like maggots from a corpse.

“Don’t stop, keep running!” I called back to Hammer. Using a derelict metal wagon as a step, I jumped into the air, wanting to be out of reach of the ghouls and flew by the galloping buck. He tripped over a skeletal appendage in his run and stumbled with a yell. The ghoul wasted no time and leapt on top of Hammer with gnashing teeth. The unicorn struggled and kicked free with his prodigious strength.

By the time he had untangled himself though, two others were already clamoring to bring him back down. I dove and my spiked knuckles found one’s head, the thin blades cracking through its skull with a crunch. Hammer had taken care of the other one by the time I turned. Both of us were panting in exertion already and I knew that an unknown number of flesh hungry monsters were still bearing down on us.

Desperately I cast out for anything, any escape. It was possible for me to jump up to a roof, although that would leave my newfound companion to the mercy of the ghouls. I might have been strong enough to lift him in another circumstance, but not with me barely able to fly as it was.

Shit, what to do! My first thought was to get off the street. So to the nearest door I ran, ramming into it with all the force I could muster. It was no good though; the portal refused to give. Hammer had followed me and I turned to him.

“No good, it’s locked.” He wore a determined expression.

“Out of the way,” he said not unkindly. I sidestepped as he lifted his sledge in a telekinetic glow and slammed it into the reluctant entry. The door wasn’t just opened; it was torn off its hinges. Wood splinters crashed back into the building. We hurried inside.

It was almost black as pitch so I flicked on my PipBuck light. Hammer and I found ourselves in what I’m sure was once a very nice flat. Pushing my back to the wall by the door I motioned for the white haired stallion to do the same. He held his blunt instrument at the ready.

Quietly we waited, listening to the ghouls braying for our blood. After a few minutes, a snuffling sound came from just beyond the gaping entry and a pale pony quested inside. With a flap I leapt onto its back and plunged my affixed blades into the back of its neck and wrapped one foreleg under its jaw. After a mighty tug and a firm sawing motion I wrenched the thing’s head completely off.

I dropped the head with disgust and dismounted the slumped torso. There was gore coating me to the elbows, thick and ichor like. Another charged from outside and met the business end of a flying sledgehammer. Fragile equine bones were splintered under the force and the mutated thing let out a strangled squeal as its chest caved in.

There was a lull and I considered our options.

I could always set fire to the building. That was certainly appealing.

Lacking any accelerants however meant it would take time. Light from my PipBuck illuminated a staircase but my hopes were dashed as I saw it was collapsed and blocked. For the moment we were hidden and even that was tenuous. We needed someplace more secure to hide like Cinder and I once had.

Despair paralyzed me for a moment at the thought of my dead sibling.

Oh Cinder… Why couldn’t I have saved you? Why had I failed? Fuck, you weren’t supposed to die! Guilt crushed me, dragging my mind deep into dark places. Spaces full of razor sharp regrets and empty promises.

Reality rudely asserted itself with another abomination in my face. Punching it repeatedly with five inch blades vented my feelings nicely. Steel slid between ribs with little resistance, puncturing things that were vital even for monster ponies.

I let the ghoul fall off my knives and took cover again.

“Psst… Hammer.” I caught his attention. “Do you know any place we can go?”

“What’s wrong with here?” I looked at the broken door and gestured. “What?” I face-palmed.

“Just trust me.” He scratched his chin thoughtfully with a hoof.

“Well, I did pass an old church on my way here, seemed mostly intact.”

“Which way?”

“Just a few streets more if we keep going.”

That was just vague enough to work.

So far we had been lucky with the three that had wandered in. Outside, the ghouls still howled in the distance and now was as good a time as any. Soundlessly, I crept back into the open. Moving as quickly as caution allowed I couldn’t help but wince at the clop of Hammer’s hooves against the street.

Every time I saw movement I froze. Luckily the unicorn had the wit to mirror my actions. Haltingly we made our way in the direction he had indicated. Just as I began to hold out the hope that we might yet escape being ripped limb from limb, I stopped too quick with Hammer too close. He walked into me hard enough to knock me off balance. Stumbling, I managed to catch myself against an overturned metal wagon.

Before I could even glare at the stallion the ancient husk of a motor vehicle started blaring a siren!

WEEOOWEEOOWEEOO!

It was as if the wagon was a great metal sheep bleating that the wolves were coming. I clamped my claws over my head, grimacing in pain. Hammer’s ears lay flat as he winced. The air practically vibrated with the sound, drowning out the grating howls.

Celestia fuck my brain with a branding iron! The noise penetrated my skull like a drill bit. I tried to shout at Hammer but my words were whisked away.

Every ghoul within a hundred miles was surely converging.

The blue unicorn was pointing a hoof and trying to speak as well. I looked and saw the indistinct outline of a huge building close by and could only assume it was the church he had spoken of.

Didn’t have to tell me twice.

With a powerful leap I soared once more, quickly outstripping my earth bound companion. The wind whistled in my talons and streaked through my fur and feathers. Dashing the fifty yards was taxing, my eyes burning from the thick air. When I landed at the steps of the great edifice I distantly registered its size and majesty, taking in the important features. It was made of huge, interlocked stones and the double door looked large enough to admit a dragon.

Pushing with all my might, one of the massive, iron studded gates swung open. The noise of the siren still throbbed and I spotted Hammer about half way behind, galloping full tilt towards the open church, pursued by a veritable tide of slavering zombie ponies. Torn for a moment by the sight, my mind was unable to form thoughts, unable to understand or comprehend. There had to be two hundred or more.

Above the sea of writhing flesh there were a few pegasus ghouls as well, their featherless wings giving me chills of unnatural discomfort.

Pushed by a ceaseless hunger, a void of bodies, ready to strip muscle from bone lay behind Hammer. Desire for a heavy machine gun flickered briefly through my mind before I settled on using my last grenade. In the temporal grip of SATS I could see the determined stride of my unicorn companion, his bound mane and short tail flying, and could practically count the number of soulless stares in his wake.

I aimed for the center and toggled yes over and over in my display. Heaving with all my might into the red sea presented by my EFS I almost overshot. The metal sphere bounced once and came to a rest by the still blaring metal wagon.

A hole was blasted in their ranks that was quickly swallowed up. Willing Hammer to run faster, I paid no attention to the cessation of the alarm, nor the fact that the housing unit for the wagon’s engine block had caught fire.

Running unfettered as they were, the hideous mob closed the distance. One of their number broke ahead and latched itself to Hammer’s tail. With a yelp he turned his weapon in a magic grip and swept his assailant away but that slowed him enough.

Seeing the inevitable, I sprinted to his aid using all six of my limbs to lend speed to my dash. As he and I reached he struggled to escape the clutch of mouths and scores of flailing hooves threatening to drag him down. Into the throng I plunged, the horde soon to encircle us completely.

There hadn’t been time to think about the consequences. The idea of leaving Hammer to die, shutting the doors and selfishly saving myself had never occurred to me. Even though I barely knew the pale blue stallion, I would not abandon him. Not when it would directly result in his death.

Just as I grasped his reaching hoof, there was a thunderous explosion. The metal wagon’s powerful internal battery detonated with the might of two dozen grenades, obliterating everything in the immediate radius. Concussive force from the blast flattened or stunned every living thing caught in the open.

Half blind and deaf, I pulled Hammer free. Together we stumbled to the still open doors of the church and fell rather ungracefully inside. In unspoken agreement he helped me push the door closed and we slid a thick, rather archaic wooden beam into metal brackets. Unless the ghouls somehow gained the ability to reason and access to high yield ordnance, the entrance was secure.

Panting, blood throbbing behind my eyes, and legs shaking like jelly, I sat on the cool floor. Hammer slumped down beside me. His mane had come loose and was plastered to his face with sweat. Bite marks and scratches marred his flank and back legs. Looking at Hammer made me aware of my own numerous afflictions. A particularly nasty gash on my left arm was bleeding freely.

Groaning as I twisted, I grabbed my spare Stable 57 jumpsuit and cut strips from the faded blue fabric. I tossed the parts not shredded to Hammer so he could use it too.

Fuck, I remembered there were still bullets in me from who knew how long ago. I knew that it would hurt worse the longer I waited to dig them out, but I didn’t have the nerve just then.

“Hooleeee Sheeeeit! I owe you Ghost, you saved my fuckin’ hide. You were like whoosh! Swish!” Beaming, he bound up his gashes. A little embarrassed I tried to play it off.

“Don’t mention it.” Anyone else with half a conscience would have done the same.

“BLASPHEMERS!” A voice decried. Upon an indigo carpet set between rows of dark pews, a pony marched aggressively toward us. My EFS tagged it… yellow? It seemed to be a Burning one but… dissimilar. And here I was, thinking I had seen all the crazy shit this city had to offer.

Silly me.

The aberration was dressed in long, patched together robes. Its skin was paler than most of the others, but most striking was the glow. Luminescent spots shined through holes in the dark garment, and its eyes were shimmering lighthouses. What threw me off though, was the color, not red, but green.

Like Balefire. Or what I imagined Balefire to be.

“Begone ye unholy creatures! I will not have you profaning this sacred-! Oh!” He, for the voice was definitively male, stopped in front of us, his expression softening markedly.

“Why hello, children. It has been too long since I’ve had proper visitors. Please forgive my outburst; I assumed you were some of those wretched looters.” He opened his front legs in welcome. “Come, come! Let Anvil Church offer you sanctuary in these dark times. Luna’s blessing upon you both.”

Wait, how did he know we weren’t looters?

“Ghost…” Hammer’s tone conveyed what I was feeling at the moment as well.

“Just go with it.” Better to play to the thing’s madness than try and contradict it.

“This is weird though right?”

“Just a little,” Suppressing the urge to step away, the ghoul grabbed Hammer and I around the shoulders and guided us down the aisle.

Personal space!

Oh that was just... ugh! He was squishy.

“See how the fair lady rewards my vigil! Oh, what a wonder it is to have pilgrims in the church once more. It has been too long since I held a proper sermon. You have kind hearts lads for listening to this old preacher. Excuse my ramblings; few and far between are the opportunities I can hold conversation with anyone other than the cursed dead and bandits.”

“It’s alright mister…?” I ventured.

“Reverie, Reverend Radiant Reverie if it please ya.” Somehow, he struck me as a benevolent soul who had been lost in the dark of the city and had kept his faith, had remained loyal to his murdered goddess. Even after the end of the world he never stopped believing. Maybe he had a few loose screws, but I could respect that.

The screws and the religion.

“What are your names boys?”

“Hammer Horn, sir.”

“Uh, Ghost, sir.”

“Hammer and Ghost! Ghost Hammer!” He cackled in mirth and continued to drag us down the long, stained carpet.

As we walked I took a moment to marvel at my surrounding.

Anvil Church was an example of architecture I had only read about. Fluted stone columns and flying buttresses of beautiful speckled stone supported a vaulted ceiling that inspired awe. Regal ribbed arches held up the roof of the imposing cathedral. Dark stained pews neatly led the way to a pulpit and altar.

The ghoulish clergypony had maintained his domain admirably.

It was the window, a mosaic of stained glass that garnered my attention; more than the murals, more than the marble statues, more than all the rest. Luna, or rather, a representation made of many indigo glass panes stood over a great anvil, dozens of stars surrounding her with a down turned crescent moon presiding over the whole piece.

A few candles were lit on the altar, casting their flickering illumination upon the glass.

Reverie sat us in the front row with a warm smile and took his place upon the raised dais. “I see you’ve noticed my pride and joy. Anvil Church was built a few years before the war to celebrate Luna’s return to the throne.” He touched a hoof worshipfully to the base of the work. “This tells the story of how in the beginning of the reign of the two sisters, when Celestia commanded mighty Sol, and Luna, sacred Moon, the nocturnal lady sought to enrich her night.”

Moving behind his lectern, he began to orate.

“She saw the boundless blank dark, and thought to create the stars. In the great plains, far from any city where the light would spoil her work, Luna erected a great anvil. Using all her might, she struck the anvil, shattering it into uncountable pieces and flung them into the heavens! Using those little points of light of so many colors, she painted the great tapestry of the sky for all beholders of the night.”

“And how her subjects marveled, creating names for the brightest, crafting telescopes to better view her wondrous work, and following the paths of the constellations. It is said that from that anvil sprung not only the stars, but dreams as well, that even in sleep Her subjects may revel in the wonder and mysticism of Her domain. From the night and Her dreams came the muses, which inspired such artistry and beauty unlike any seen before.”

“Praise the Goddess Luna in Her light! Her undying contribution to the sky!” Reverend Reverie put his hooves together and bowed his head in prayer.

”Oh sacred lady, though we are cut off from your holy sight, we are ever your faithful. Watch over your children who need watching dear lady; shelter them from all the evils of this world. Please, keep the souls of our departed close to your bosom that they find may succor in the next life.” The glowing ghoul in his strange, priestly garb looked up at Hammer and I, grinning.

To me, the pony faith in their dead rulers had always simply been a matter of course. Growing up with it, I didn’t consider it my own but my speech still reflected their curses and sayings. Maybe Luna and Celestia were more than just ponies, but to me they had never been gods. Sadness was the only feeling the thought of benevolent dead watching from on high ever elicited.

There was a loud crash at the door, rattling the bar in its brackets. Perhaps I had overestimated the strength of the church doors. It sounded like the ghouls were throwing themselves against it by the cacophony. Reverie had a strangely remorseful look on his hairless visage.

“Oh my poor flock. What few of my congregation who still have their senses do their best to reign in the feral ones and guide them away from travelers.” He sighed. “Though many are slain, I begrudge nopony the right to defend themselves. Perhaps it would be different if there were some promised land I could lead Luna’s lost children, but alas she has not deemed me worthy of her holy vision.”

Crash!

I exchanged a worried glance with Hammer. No place was safe, not really. Not in Ghoul City.

“Mr. Reverie, is there anything you can do to send them away or something?” Come on crazy preacher thing can’t you speak ghoul?!

“Luna damn those accused demons! Them and their red flame! Their unholy conflagration has led so many of the faithful away!” The earth pony ranted as if I hadn’t spoken. I thought it best not to interrupt. He continued his tirade, denouncing the ‘demons’ and their corrupting influence.

Huffing with indignation, he seemed to notice our presence once more.

“What was that sonny?”

“I said, can you do anything about…” Crash! “… that?”

“Oh! Why didn’t you say so? Of course, a good tongue-lashing will teach them not to violate the church.” Abruptly, some clarity seemed to return to the ancient pony’s demeanor. He seemed to drift between two worlds, one where he still held his post and vigil like before the war, and one rooted in reality.

“I warn you, young griffin, I cannot turn them all away. Some have been lost on the path of damnation for too long to hear my words. Those, you will have to contend with. Though I am loathe asking this, in absence of any alternative, you must free their souls from this earthly torment. Will you do this for me, Ghost and Hammer?

Hey, it was either that or be eaten. I didn’t see what else we could do, so I agreed. Hammer had been quiet through Reverie’s sermon, looking around himself in awe, but piped in his ascent as well.

“I do have something here that may help.” He ducked out of sight rummaging behind his lectern. “Aha!” In triumph he came back up with the neck of a bottle clenched in his teeth. With a flick he tossed it to me. “Marauder Brew. I was a battlefield chaplain back in the day, used to give this to troops to put a fire in their bellies that words sometimes couldn’t. It’s a secret recipe that I whip up myself in big casks below the church.” He said with a wink.

The label was of a massive red stallion with unshorn fetlocks rearing back. I unstopped the decanter and took a healthy swig. Pow! The liquid hit my mouth like a brick! The potent concoction singed my taste buds and scoured my throat with its unique kick.

Crash!

Soon, strength flowed back into my limbs, my fatigue washing away. I knocked back another hit of the drink and handed the half-empty container to Hammer.

“Do you have any more of this stuff Reverend?” Said the stallion, smacking his lips.

“Oh no, come back in a week, the fungus from the latest batch should have fermented by then.” I blanched and looked at the empty bottle feeling just a little queasy as I heard the white haired unicorn gag.

“Free these blighted creatures from their maddened state, lads and you’ll have earned it. Let their souls return to Luna.” Reverie said, stepping down from the dais.

The pale blue unicorn and I followed the sentient ghoul, practically giddy as the effects of the drink throbbed in our systems. Reverie trotted confidently to the great doors of his church, the wooden beam visibly bending in the middle with the force of the ponies outside throwing themselves against it.

Hammer shoved some of the pews out of the way to make a clear space for us to do battle and held his weapon at the ready. Reverend Reverie stood defiantly before the barred entrance as the beam gave way. A wave of crazed ghouls fell inward, many crushed to death by the weight of those behind. Before the horde could take another step, the lone earth pony spoke with a voice that cut through even their clamor.

“HALT! In the name of Luna, I command you halt!” His internal glow seemed to swell and shined like a stoked forge. And many of the ghouls did, staring at him with vacant eyes and slack jaws.

But some did not.

A few struggled past their frozen fellows. They ignored Reverie, dismissing his quasi dead state in favor of Hammer and I.

“Remember my faithful! Do not succumb to the depravities that have so consumed you.”

A dozen ghouls or more, maddened beyond the call of reason, charged me. With a burning wrath, I counter-charged and activated SATS. Under the influence of the Marauder Brew, I was somehow able to stretch the spell capacity of my PipBuck matrix and targeted five separate enemies.

With zeal unknown to me until then, I smote my opponents with knuckle blade and lion paw. In the span of a blink, aided by unicorn magic, I tore out a throat, ripped off three limbs, and kicked in a ribcage. There was no time to do any fancy maneuvers, so I relied on muscle memory and placed my blows as accurately I could, backed by Brew boosted power. The five I had targeted dropped off my EFS as threats.

“The madness does not control you so long as you choose not to let it! Fight the voices of the Demons!” Reverie was a rock in the storm, refusing to crumble before the raging sea.

Some of the ghouls actually began to get strange looks, as if in inner conflict. Some though were too far gone, and pushed by the mob into the church.

It seemed the ones who ignored Reverie’s passionate oration were also the ones who had decayed the most. Their limbs and hide were fragile and disturbingly pliable. My knife punches parted flesh like it was rotten meat.

“Hey, Ghost, I’ve got two already!” I turned to Hammer in disbelief, watching as he pulled his sledge from a slain zombie-pony.

Was he really starting a kill competition with me? The… sheer morbidity!

Good thing I was already in the lead.

“I’m at five!” Surrounded by death, by chaos, and my own demise tenuously held at bay, somehow I was grinning. I unholstered my shotgun and pulled the trigger twice. Buckshot dropped another of my foes.

“Six!” Popping the catch, I jumped into the air and hovered beyond hoof reach to reload.

Bam! Bam! Seven.

“Luna’s light still holds sway so long as Anvil Church stands! I ask you now brothers and sisters will you stand in Her sight and hold yourselves proudly?” Perhaps some deep rooted part of their rotten brains recognized the old preacher from old repetition, or perhaps his words really did carry the weight of a goddess behind them. In either case the ghouls, some at least, started to turn away and shuffle away back into the city.

A ghoulish pegasus with its featherless wings flew towards me in a berserk determination. I just held out my knuckle knives and waited for the mindless thing to ram itself upon them as it charged. The thing gurgled with ten accumulative inches of steel penetrating its lungs.

Eight.

Another flying effrontery slammed into me from the side, hurling me into one of the fluted stone pillars. Air rushed from my beak as the impact winded me even through the armored vest. The ghoul clamped down on my neck and I immediately grabbed its head to prevent it from ripping out anything vital. Panicking, I slammed my right fist repeatedly into every piece of anatomy in reach. Wings flapping futilely, I tore open the bullet wound in my right appendage.

Nine.

Growling, groaning, and huffing, slowly the thing went limp and I could breathe again. I shoved the dead weight off. Nearby, Hammer was barely keeping his foes at bay with wide sweeps of his sledge.

Breathless, my adrenaline blotted out the pain. All sense of time had been lost to me, since awakening to Watcher asking for me to care, to help, to the impossibility of my current circumstances. If I stopped and tried to think of the scope of my experiences leading to that point, the weight of it all would have stalled me.

I chose to accept the strange things as they came, and in that choice I rejected disbelief. Barreling through monster ponies, I stood beside a unicorn who I had just met, and together we killed.

As Hammer struck and pulped one about to jump on my back, I whipped past him and eviscerated a ghoul about to bite him on the ass. The stallion may have been able to hit harder, but I was much faster, gutting two more by the time he had slain another. One remained, and Hammer reared back, ready to smear it across the stone floor. I shot it with a SATS guided burst of pellets, blasting off its face.

He gave me an indignant look and nickered. “That one was mine!” Still short of breath I could only give him a grin that said ‘too slow’. “Well, I got seven.” I flashed all eight of my digits then five more. The look on his face was one I would treasure dearly.

“Go now my little ponies! Stray not into the abyss of your sins. All will be forgiven by our merciful ladies!” The last of the crowd of ghouls drifted away like lost sheep, their vacant gazes were saddening. They had once been thinking, reasoning creatures, and some dim ember of conscious self was rekindled by Reverend Reverie.

If only for a moment.

He turned from the gaping doorway, cast a mournful look at the lifeless vessels at my feet and Hammer’s hooves, and smiled at us. The smugness I had felt at outscoring the unicorn drained away as I remembered that Reverie had probably personally known some of the ghouls we had killed.

“I’m glad to see you two survived. Once more, I must apologize for the behavior of my charges, they get unruly at times.” The preacher seemed to drift for a moment before coming back to earth. “I shall see to it they are buried properly in the church graveyard with dignity.”

“Do you need any help?” I asked.

“Oh no, kind of you to offer, but that is my task. You two pilgrims are more than welcome to rest here for the night.” Somewhat relived, and somewhat guilty at feeling relieved, I cast a rather uneasy glance at Hammer at the prospect of sleeping in the old church that my companion seemed to share.

“Thank you, sir, but we really should be going.”

“Youth, so impatient to be off. Before you set off, I would have you perform a service for me now.” Did everypony in the wasteland have some task they couldn’t perform on their own? “I have this old memory orb here, and darn it all I cannot for the life of me recall what’s in it! It’s the darnedest thing really, having a memory and not being able to remember what it is. I do know it’s important though, something that shouldn’t be forgotten.” Reverie dipped his head into a deep pocket in the side of his robes and pulled out a small, crystal sphere. He spat it at Hammer, who promptly fumbled the object trying to catch it with his hooves.

I rolled my eyes and picked up the tiny thing. Ah, the convenience of opposable thumbs.

“So these are… what again?” I turned it over to better examine the palm sized item. There was a strange little spark between the sphere and my talons.

“It’s a memory orb. You just touch it to your horn and-“

oooOOOooo

Hmm… I was a pony.

Celestia fuck my ass and call me a griffin popsicle, I WAS A PONY!

Let me list all the wrong in this situation:

There was a soft, frighteningly fleshy muzzle where my beak should have been. My prehensile lion tail was dismayingly absent along with the stability it provided. Don’t get me started on the fucking difference between hooves, paws, and talons! It’s huge!

Don’t panic. Just stay calm I must be in a memory.

Wings… oh my wings… panicking, panicking!

Just stay calm. Deep breathing. Can’t control host.

… Fuckberries.

Being inside the crystal was much less disconcerting interestingly enough. There was a marked difference between being semi-bodiless, and being a fucking stallion. They were two very separate apples!

Even the stallion part was… weird. As a well-read individual I knew full well the… ahem… anatomical comparison between the species. The experience was certainly enlightening in an academic sense. Yet I couldn’t help but feel the lesson was neither wanted nor needed.

Woo, okay walking on hooves was equally disconcerting.

“So what can I help you with, filly and gentlecolts?” Articulating with lips… if I had the faculties to shudder, I would. My host, whom I dearly hoped and assumed, was Reverend Reverie moved to stand behind his pulpit. Judging by the feeling of fur, I guessed this was prior to his ghoulification.

From the raised perch, through Reverie’s eyes I saw Anvil Church and its three occupants in the light.

Sunlight… real rays poured through the colored glass I knew to be at my back. Celestia’s grace refracted and glowed, catching motes of floating dust turning them to specks of gold. Oh please Reverend, turn your head just a little! Let me see it, let me see the life giving face of a goddess. A glimpse, all my possessions for a snatch of that sight I have only read or head tell of.

My mind conjured clear blue skies with the sun above it all, yearning and craving after that ideal.

But Reverie did not turn his head. He didn’t need to affirm a fact he had taken for granted since the day he had been born. No, my host’s attention was solely fixed on the threesome standing at the base of the dais.

A deep blue stallion and a soft pink mare flanked their apparent leader; a tan nag with a greying mane. All were unicorns, and all wore very serious expressions. Having grown up with ponies, I deduced that their cutie marks had something to do with magic, all having sparkles, stars, or other mystical symbols.

The principal pony spoke first, the other two seeming to defer to him.

“Are you First Chaplain Radiant Reverie?” The voice was akin to a pair of boulders grinding against one another.

“That I am. Although, it has been a while since I retired from the field.”

“We are here inquiring about one of your congregation, a mare by the name of Synthesis?”

“What business do you have with the filly?” Reverie’s tone was tinged with suspicion, as would have been my own. The tan unicorn produced a rather official looking badge with a trinity of brightly colored balloons.

“I assure you sir; we are Ministry of Morale agents. We just want to ask a few questions.”

“I’m sure you do, inquisitor.” The speaker was taken aback for a moment and my host used the opening to continue. “Aye, I recognize the badge of that office so I’ll ask again for it is privileged information you seek and inquisitors are not in the habit of pursuing casual knowledge. What business do you have with a filly in my charge?”

The ‘inquisitor’ had a brief, muttered conversation with one of his subordinates. Then his horn lit up abruptly and all feeling fled as the body I inhabited went numb and slumped to the floor. Unable to speak or move, the preacher darted his eyes in fear between the three.

And I was along for the ride.

“Why are we bothering with this recalcitrant old fool?” Sniffed the blue colt.

“Because, Dazzle, a pony will confide things in their preacher. Things they wish kept in confidence.” Chided the leader. “Rosedust!” he snapped.

“Yes, sir!” The pink mare piped up.

“Let’s see what the good Reverend knows.” Horn glowing, the one identified as Rosedust touched the radiant tip to my/his head. I knew what was coming but lacking the actual memories being pilfered all I felt was a very distinctive discomfort. After only a moment or two she pulled away and tapped her magical extremity first against her superior’s horn, then to Dazzle’s.

Fascinating! She must have shared the hijacked recollections with the other two.

“Synthesis has made much more progress than we have anticipated.” contemplated the old stallion.

“Shall I pass it along to the ministry?”

“No, the information is too delicate at this stage. Twilight Sparkle is scheduled to have an inspection of the facility in a few days. Let her get the gears in motion. The rest of the ministries will be after the research like sharks with the scent of blood.”

“But, the ramifications for Morale! Besides, Pinkie is sure to suspect something if our report doesn’t match her predictions.” chipped in Rosedust.

The tan inquisitor shook his head. “Our good scientist needs more time. Let me deal with the Ministry Mare.”

“Hmm, once the proper channels are informed everypony will want a piece of this pie. I imagine even the OIA will have a say in its dissemination.”

“While the advancement Synthesis has achieved is certainly beyond what we expected, it is not beyond our capacity to control. After the visit, we shall plant the seeds of dissent among her staff. Once she’s reported for possible mental instability she will be under our direct administration.”

“Shall I pass word along to Luna’s-“ Started Dazzle, only to have his superior cut him off.

“Do not speak the name! Even the whisper of a rumor of them is hunted down and sourced.”

That wasn’t strangely menacing at all.

“Apologies, my inquisitor.”

“Patience, Dazzle. I’d be surprised if they didn’t already know. All that’s left for us is cleanup.”

“What do we do with the preacher?” asked Rosedust with a flip of soft lilac mane.

“Pull out our visit, give the orb to him, and wipe the rest. Tell him that it’s a matter of national security that he safeguards it. If he has half the patriotism he seems to, he’ll keep it secret.

“Are you sure that’s wise? I mean, he’s only an earth pony, but still.”

“You two still have much to learn about memory. If we wipe all of it, there’s still a chance somepony good enough can snag an edge and drag the rest of it out. Put it in an orb, make Reverie think it’s vital, and he’ll lay down his life for it. It’s simple pony nature. We can’t have any evidence on ourselves. I don’t want a paper trail of any sort for this operation.” He looked to the mare.

“Make us disappear Rose.”

“Yes, my inquisitor.” Her horn lit once more and the memory melted away.

oooOOOooo

My eyes opened to the sight of Anvil Church’s ceiling, no longer lit with Celestia’s glow. Radiant Reverie and Hammer Horn stood over me with concerned expressions.

“You alright, Ghost? You touched the memory orb and fell over! You’ve been out for a few minutes.” Spoke Hammer. I lifted my claw into view and saw the small crystal still clenched in my fist and dropped it like a piece of red hot metal. Sitting up, I used a piece of cloth to grab the innocuous looking sphere and handed it back to the glowing ghoul.

“I saw…” wow was this going to sound crazy. “I saw your memories Reverend.” The pale blue unicorn looked thunderstruck.

“That’s not possible. Only unicorns can look at memory orbs.” There was nothing I could respond with to that. No rational explanation came to mind. Radiant Reverie ignored my blatant violation of magical law while Hammer looked on the verge of an aneurism.

“So what was on it? It’s been so long, all I remember is that it was important for some reason.” Whinnied the black robed clergypony. I fiddled with my lighter nervously, flicking the tiny flame off and on, considering what to tell the old nag.

“Do you remember a mare named Synthesis?”

“Of course! Bright young filly, always going on so excitedly about some research she was working on. Sweet as could be she was.” He said fondly. “What about her?”

“Well,” I supposed no real harm could come from the truth. There was a certain lack of contextual details that made the memory a strange conspiracy with dead threads. Only fragments of what had been said made sense and even then only after my digging and experience with the spirit down below the MAS facility. I stuck only to the memory however, withholding my own input.

Radiant contemplated the story I told him for a moment. “Oh dear, an inquisitor you say? I do hope Synthesis wasn’t in any sort of trouble. That clears up that mystery at least. I had a few dealings with Morale officers, always a strange lot. Very uppity if you ask me.”

At that point I felt Hammer and I had lingered entirely too long and wanted more time to digest the web of intrigue and the ramifications of the revelations.

“Thank you very much for your, um, hospitality but we really should get going.”

“Of course, my child.” I motioned for Hammer to follow and we walked to the door, being careful to step around the dismembered ghouls and pools of blood. Reverie escorted us to the steps outside.

“The doors of Anvil Church shall always be open to you both.” Ambivalent cheer bloomed in my chest at Radiant’s words. Here was a genuinely gentle pony among all the death and decay, unwavering in his dedication telling me it was okay to come back. He held a hoof towards us and closed his luminescent eyes.

“Sacred Lady, watch over these travelers as they walk or fly. Turn away those who would do them harm. Shine your light on their path in these grim times. Though the grace of your heavens has been stolen from us, we know it shall someday return.” Both Hammer and I thanked the glowing pony one more time and set out once more.

***

“So then he says, ‘I want to talk about something else.’ And then, looks at me with a perfectly straight face and says, ‘I have to go now.’ And just walks off!” It hurt my chest to laugh, but damn if I didn’t chuckle a little at Hammer Horn’s story.

“So Hammer, you’re a unicorn, what’s the deal with these memory orb things?” I wanted suspicion deflected away from my apparent ability to touch the innocent looking things and be sucked into another’s memory, but there was no helping it. There were two more resting in my bags and I dared not experiment without getting a little more information first.

“Er well, it’s simple enough really. A unicorn that knows the right spell can put any memory from themselves or another into an orb, and then a unicorn just has to touch it with their magic and they can relive the memories over and over. A lot of times you find ‘em and they’re from way back during the war.”

“Are they dangerous at all?”

“Not unless you find one that’s damaged, or has a password. May as well put your brain in a blender with those, but those are really rare. The biggest thing you gotta worry ‘bout is that you’re pretty much a dead fish for the duration.” My mind neatly dissected the tidbits Hammer had fed me and filed them away for later.

Since leaving Anvil Church I hadn’t spotted a single sign of the city’s undead denizens so on we walked.

***

“Let’s camp for the night.” My companion had no objections. We had been plodding through the empty streets for a few hours. His hooves and my feet were really starting to drag after making our way in the direction the unicorn had said the missing mare was supposed to be in.

After a little scouting, I found a gutted building with four standing walls so we could have a fire and not attract attention. I guided my unicorn companion to it and set about breaking up the decrepit furniture sticking out of the rubble.

No red bars had appeared on my EFS so it seemed harmless enough.

In a short time I had kindled a modest flame. To my surprise Hammer Horn set up a pot on a little folding stand above the blaze and began cooking. He unwrapped some meat I couldn’t identify and tossed it in. Soon enough, the roasting smell floated on the air, teasing my nostrils and making my mouth water.

“Ya know, I’ve always wondered something.” I gave Hammer a questioning look. “How come some griffins are different? Like, how come your talons aren’t yellow? And your feathers, what’s up with that?” I wanted to retort with something witty about pastel ponies but just rolled my eyes.

If I had a bit for every time I heard that one…

“Ugh, isn’t it obvious?” The unicorn shook his head. Groaning, I explained. “It all has to do with the bird. Eagles, ravens, hawks, and falcons and other hunting birds make up the breed. My mother was mostly red-tail and my father pretty much all raven. Most griffins you see have at least a little eagle, hence the yellow talons.” I waggled my grey claws and Hammer gave a knowing ‘Ahhh’.

Humph, damn specist ponies.

“So where are we headed exactly?”

“Well, I thought they were keeping Ravelin near the MAS facility,” Fear spike through me as I considered the possibility I had killed an innocent in my drug induced rage. “But there was no sign of her, so Ragtag must have her held at the old school.”

“Ragtag?” I asked before lifting my left foreleg to check my PipBuck map. There was a new little tag with Southvale Elementary as the label. The seeming omniscient automap never ceased to amaze. We had made good progress, having trekked almost half the entire span of the city and were close to our goal.

“You don’t know who Ragtag is? What are you, fresh out of a Stable or something?” Hammer mocked with a chuckle. Then he looked up at me and my arched brow.

“Hey! That’s one of them Pip things!” Really, he just now noticed?

“Wow, you really must be from a Stable. I never knew there was one with griffins in it.”

“Oh yeah? And how long have you been out on your own?”

“Who me? Only about a week. Set out from home with nothin’ but my sledgehammer and a pocket full of dreams.”

Gag me.

“Here, this is supposed to be a big help, but I haven’t really stopped to read any of it.” He floated a modest book over to me. It was titled The Wasteland Survival Guide: Badlands Edition. I cracked the cover and perused the table of contents. The scent of the stew continued to waft as Hammer stirred the pot.

“There’re a few powers in the wasteland you need to watch out for.”

“Powers?” I asked without looking up.

“Yeah, ya know, factions and stuff. Really, there’re ponies that will shoot you on sight and ones that won’t. The ones that’ll shoot you are the raiders, nasty ponies who’ll kill you, eat you, and steal your stuff. If you’re lucky, they’ll keep you around to sell. There’re also Hoofington raiders that wander in from time to time. They’ll eat you, rape you, and then kill you. Slavers of course, those are pretty self-explanatory.

“But you gotta watch out for the gangs too. A step above raiders, more organized. Some do slaving, some just rape and pillage. Really, the big two you need to beware of are Red Eye and Ragtag the Jag.

“Red Eye you might hear talking on the Sprite-bots about his vision for Equestria. He gives me the creeps personally; king of the slavers pretty much if only because he’s their main source of business. He’s all the way up in Fillydelphia so we only have to deal with the slavers moving north to sell to him.” My feathers stood on particular edge at the mention of slaving.

“Ragtag though is pretty much the king of all things bad and nasty down here along the border. Drugs, slaves, and the gangs trip over themselves to gain his favor. They call him the Jaguar because he’s so slick and smooth. Ragtag the Jag.

“There’s the southern chapter of the Steel Rangers, but they keep mostly to themselves. And every now and then, you’ll even see some zebras wanderin’ about. Most of ‘em are harmless, but the ones you don’t see are the ones you gotta be careful of. They’re Remnants and they still follow the teachings of the old Caesar.”

“What about griffins?” I closed the cover to the guide to listen more attentively to his answer.

“Well, every griffin I’ve ever met has been a merc, either independent or Black Talon. Hear Red Eye’s been buying up most of them too.”

“Now wait a minute, every griffin? I mean, I understand a lot of pony cities were destroyed, but what happened to the griffin council? The city-states? The griffin kingdom? They can’t all be gone.” Hammer gave me a worried look.

“I’m not sure I should be the one to tell…” Patience was one of my strong suits and at the moment it was sorely thin.

“Tell. Me. What?” The unicorn fidgeted slightly under my intense glare.

“Have you noticed how the sky is never clear?” Up to that point I had attributed it to Ghoul City and the fires kicking up so much ash that it occluded the sun, however Hammer seemed to be suggesting there was another cause so I nodded.

“That’s the pegasi. After the war, they closed the clouds and have kept them closed ever since. There hasn’t been pegasi really living on the surface for two hundred years. And now this is just what I’ve heard but… The Grand Pegasus Enclave needed all the space they could so they… well they annexed every griffin city above the cloud line. There is no more griffin kingdom.”

Ponies… fucking ponies and their goddess damned war!

Was it not enough to destroy the world? Starving the surface of the sun, was that not enough?

No, they had to steal the skies belonging to my people. My heritage, gone because some ponies thought having feathers made them better! That’s always been the problem, ponies thinking that they know better. Ponies thinking that they should be in charge just because they had hooves, or a horn, or wings.

Incensed, inwardly fuming, I lashed out at the pony nearest to me.

“Fuck you, Hammer! Goddesses damn you and all you fucking ponies!”

“Woah there! Look, I don’t know everything, you’ll just have to find a pegasus and ask them okay?” He said, trying to placate my wrath.

“I’ll just go up and ask one then.” Anger blinded me, and I rose to my feet genuinely prepared to fly straight up and do just what I had said.

“Don’t do that! You’ll be blasted out of the sky before you can get past the stratus. One thing I do know is that they have a lot of old tech and enough guns and lightning coils seeded up there to start another war.” Simmering, I sat back down.

“Damn dude, I didn’t think you’d care that much. Most griffins don’t.”

“I guess I’m not most griffins then.”

“So what’s with the cutie mark then? Seems like you’re trying to be a pony more than anything.”

Fuck you too Hammer. Fuck you with a hammer.

“Yeah well, in the Stable I was branded. Do you understand that? I had this burned into my fucking hide okay? It’s easy for you ponies. We can’t all be lucky enough to have a magical symbol appear on our flank. Some of us actually have to search for what we’re good at instead of it being laid out on a silver fucking platter okay?” Maybe I was being a little antagonistic, but the unicorn had pissed me off.

“Just because it’s what I’m good at, doesn’t mean I like it.” He sounded genuinely hurt. Well good, it was about time somepony started to feel guilty about the injustice meted out to my race.

Though I would deny it to the end, perhaps there was just a hint of jealousy pricking my soul.

I had grown up a second class citizen, taught to worship the ground upon which ponies trod. There was pride in being a griffin, superiority in being able to fly. The desire to have been born a pony had occurred to me when I was younger while watching the unicorns performed their wondrous magic. Even the earth ponies with their natural aptitudes impressed.

For all the good my wings did me, I was just a bird in a cage.

And of course, the cutie marks. Blank flank fillies could look forward to being endowed with that special mark, denoting their place in the world and showing them their path with unfailing certainty. Hatchlings had no such luxury, no such guide or hope. A griffin could live his or her whole life and never know if they had wasted it searching for their special gift.

Cinder and I had been lucky to be good at the things we enjoyed doing.

Silence stretched between Hammer and I while I brooded and he stirred the stew.

“Do you have a radio in that thing?” He broke the quiet first and gestured to my left wrist.

“Yeah, why?”

“Could you turn on DJ Pon3? He’s got the best music.” Music? Sure, why the hell not? I fiddled with the tuning knob on my PipBuck, flicking through static. With a pop, a voice emitted from my wrist.

“…everypony doin’? Now, recall old DJ Pon3 warnin’ you about Baltimare and its horde of ghouls? Well, some weird stuff’s been goin’ on down in Ghoul City ‘cause it has gone dark. What, did somepony finally decide to throw the switch? Also, there have been startling accounts of some crazed griffin busting up the Baltimare slaver camp and then vanishing. From the Big 52 to the badlands it seems ghosts are popping up everywhere.”

Baltimare. So Ghoul City had a real name after all that had transformed with balefire.

“There must be more griffins flyin’ around huh?” Spoke Hammer.

“No, no that was me, I think.” I hadn’t meant to take credit; it had just sort of slipped out. The stallion gave me a dumbstruck look to which I just shrugged. I seemed to be doing that a lot lately.

“And my little ponies remember, when the raiders come there’s no shame in locking the doors and hidin’ under the bed shakin’ like a foal. More news at the top o’th’hour.”

“I’m as sweet as apples in august, high as a kite in the blue summer sky. No more a filly being so silly I have found me a colorful colt!”

I kept the volume low as the lyrics drifted softly in the air. Hammer hummed along with the song.

Cinder would have loved this.

I had come to expect the worst from all ponies so imagine my surprise when a bowl of thick stew telekinetically appeared in front of me. Honestly, I had just assumed the unicorn was cooking only for himself. Steam wafted from the hot concoction and I took it gratefully. A little breath to cool it and I tilted a little into my mouth straight from the dish.

It was good. More than good: it was amazing! As much as I wanted to dwell in my sadness, wallow in… whatever it was I was supposed to be wallowing in, the soup warmed my insides and soothed the ragged edges of my grief. My anger against the light blue pony faded. Too much had happened.

In a few gulps, I drained the bowl, chewing on the meat.

“You like it?” Hammer asked as he floated my empty dish and refilled it.

“Mhm.” I said around a mouthful. His face lit up like a sun talisman at my praise as I gorged myself on another helping. Soon enough we were talking amicably again.

Pain spiked through my skull, right under my left eye. I checked and found no blood. It was just a searing spear of discomfort.

Stripes.

What the-

Cloaked stripes staring down through a scope.

Level up.

Perk Gained: Iron Talon Rank 1 - Years of training have hardened your claws into deadly weapons. +5 unarmed damage.

(Author’s notes: Alright, I know I said it would be out yesterday but there was a huge storm, power outage, all that jazz. So here it is now! This is the first all new chapter, the first five having been written, just needing revision. Questions? Comments? Flame?)

(Note: Vanilla Milkshake. That is all.)

Chapter 7: Stripes

Chapter 7: Stripes

“My friends and I all learned an important lesson this week: Never judge a book by its cover. Someone may look unusual, or funny, or scary. But you have to look past that and learn who they are inside.”

Sometimes, you just know things. You don’t know how you know; just that what you believe is irrefutably true. That was that feeling I had when the strange insight struck me like a cinder block (pain and revelation included). With perfect clarity I knew that there was something with stripes watching me through a scope. Days spent in Ghoul City had sharpened my sixth sense and it was buzzing.

Perhaps it was irrational suspicion, however better paranoid than dead.

This in mind, I spread my wings and flew straight up. Hammer hadn’t been paying attention and looked around in confusion at my disappearance.

“Ghost? Where’d ya go?” His voice drifted up to me, but I was already hunting. The feeling had given me a general direction. With raptor eyes, I glided quietly, searching for anything out of place. If I were a sharpshooter, where would I set up to watch?

No, no, no, maybe, and… there! I focused on a tall building fragment. The structure had crumbled away until only one corner of it remained upright, the vestiges of four ledges sprouted from the support column like fungal growth. On the topmost shelf was a lump that at a glance might pass for rubble if not for the barrel sticking out over the edge.

The overlook sat perfectly to peer just over the walls of the camp where Hammer was stirring his pot.

Even then I might not have spotted the stalker if the barrel of their gun hadn’t been moving. They must have seen me take off, but not known where I had gone from there. In my haste I had left behind all my guns and knuckle knives and now it was too late to go back and retrieve them.

As softly as I could, I landed behind the prone form. Not delicately enough though.

Faster than I would have believed, the shrouded observer rolled to their hooves, raised the oddly blocky rifle and shot at me. Angry red beams zapped the air, singing my vest as three struck center. An energy weapon! A laser rifle if I had to hazard a guess. The odd thing though, was that the cloaked figure was not wearing the more traditional battle saddle, and actually had the gun in a two hooved grip!

All the better for me.

Into my adversary’s guard I stepped. One claw grabbed right behind the tip of the barrel, shoving it to the side while with my opposite talon I smacked the stock, wrenching it from the cloaked figure’s hold. I spun the weapon around into the crook of my forelimb in a firing position. The sudden shift unbalanced my opponent. Not having the slightest idea how to fire the energy weapon I did the next best thing.

Using a similar motion to my disarming maneuver, I swung the gun back around in a two clawed grip and cracked the butt of the rifle into the stalker’s head. The force of the blow sent them into what remained of the wall. They fell and were still.

For a minute I stood over the fallen, panting and pointing my pilfered firearm. Cautiously, I grabbed the hem of the cloak and yanked it off and rolling my attacker onto their back.

Stripes.

The figure was a zebra. Female too judging by the fairness of her features, the curve of her hips and… Being a gentlegriffin I did not let my gaze linger in other unmentionable places. Even if she was knocked out. She was undeniably exotic though. Light glinted off numerous golden hoops in her ears.

A line of blood trickled down her oddly peaceful visage.

Part of me wanted to ruthlessly end her right then, and many other parts agreed. Something stayed my retribution though, something very simple: Curiosity. I had never seen a live zebra before and there had been very little material about the other side of the war back in the Stable. A hundred questions clamored in my mind, all wanting to spill out at once.

For a moment, standing over the vulnerable striped female, I struggled for a moment with what to do. Curiosity killed the cat, and I was only part cat, so what harm could come from a few questions? That was justifiable, right?

Dilemma aside, I slung the energy weapon over a shoulder, bundled the unconscious zebra in her own cloak and hauled her back to camp. Somewhat gently I set down my captive by the fire and tied her hooves together as best I could. Hammer gave me a strange look as I set down.

“Her, where’d you- what is that? What the hell is that?” He spoke with a surprising amount of vehemence.

“It’s a zebra.”

“I can see that. What’s it doing here? Why isn’t it dead? I thought you were better than this.”

“You though I was better than this? Excuse me? Where the fuck do you get off saying that to me, pony?” Finding my resistance rigid, Hammer switched from forceful to reasoning.

“Ghost, this is a zebra we’re talking about here.” He said, as if that alone should make my course of action obvious. I sat back on my haunches and folded my forelimbs across my chest in a stonewall gesture. This pony was really starting to get my feathers in a bunch.

“I mean come on, they started the war!”

“No they didn’t. War is a mutual state.”

“Think of how many they killed!”

“And how many griffins did your pegasi kill when they annexed our skies and our cities? Hm? How many hatchlings? Well, eggbreaker? Don’t lecture me when your race is just as guilty and do NOT try to wash the blood off your hooves by blaming the zebras.”

“You don’t understand. You’re a griffin.” I growled deep in my throat.

“If you wanna play the blame game you best be prepared to get some too.” Already I was regretting joining up with Hammer. The zebra moaned softly and I used it as an excuse to break off the argument before it could escalate. I patted her cheek with a palm.

“Hey, wake up. I’ve got questions for you.” She muttered something I couldn’t hear and blinked a few times. Hopefully I hadn’t given her a concussion. With a grunt she pulled anxiously at her bindings. Finding little give, the black and white mare gave me an accusatory glare.

“You hit me.” Her voice was just as outlandish as the rest of her, carrying a strange lilting accent. In better times she would have made a good soprano.

“You shot me.” I countered. My nerves were fried, my temper short, and I was in no mood to play games. “I have questions, and you might have answers. If I think you’ve answered truthfully, I’ll let you go. No strings attached.”

“What d’ya mean you’re gonna let’er go?” We can’t just let a zebra go!”

“Hsst! Griffin!” The mare hissed quietly to me. “Whatever this pony is paying you, I’ll pay you double.”

“Why does everyone assume I’m for sale? Look, I’ll say it one more time. Slowly, so maybe it will sink in. I want to know things. Get it? I work for nopony. Ease my curiosity, and we can all be on our merry way.”

“Why should I believe you?” She glared at me, eyes full of suspicion.

“Hey cunt, he’s offering you an out.” Sneered Hammer.

“What a surprise, a pony I would love to vaporize. Come over here and say that, limp-dick!” Hammer looked ready to do just that when I fixed him with my best glare. He subsided with a grumble for the moment.

“Anyway. So first, why were you watching us?” The zebra just glared daggers at hammer. “Hey, focus.” I snapped my talons in front of her face and repeated the question. That just turned her hateful look to me.

“You came out of the MAS facility, so I followed.” She chewed her bottom lip in worry, hesitantly asking her own question. “Did you… See any zebras in there?”

Oh. Things suddenly became much clearer.

“Yes, I’m sorry.” Hammer grumbled something but wisely kept it to himself.

“There were no survivors then?”

“None that I saw.”

“Then you must have found the lost treasure! My squad was tasked with finding-“ She clamped her muzzle shut suddenly.

“I don’t know what you were told, but there was no treasure.” Hammer spoke up suddenly.

“But legend says there’s supposed to be some big trove down there. A cache of pre-war tech, protected by undying guardians or something.” I glanced between the two, both looking at me expectantly.

“There is no treasure, only death. I did find these though.” I played the two recordings, the strange speech floating through the air. The zebra’s face was grim through them, no doubt reminded of her fallen comrades.

“It’s just copies of our orders. They left me to keep lookout. When the rendezvous passed I feared the worst. So, when I saw you go in and come back out I followed you. Are you sure there was nothing?” There was a pleading note in her voice. I weighed the consequences of telling her what I had found. It wouldn’t be fair to lie, not after all this zebra and her fellows had given their lives.

So, I told the banded mare of the burning ones, the ruby, the spirit, and my role in freeing it. That was all though. I left out the spirit’s memories and my strange encounter in the elevator. Both of my hooved listeners hung quietly on the tale. In truth, it felt good to tell. Everything that had happened since Cinder died hadn’t seemed real.

Like I wasn’t really alive anymore, just going through the motions.

“You must come with me!” Announced the zebra upon the completion of the story.

Well, that was certainly a new one.

“You’re not exactly in a position to make demands.”

“Please! Please there must be something. I’ll do anything. Just, please come back with me.” The pleading nature of her tone seemed genuine and made me distinctly uncomfortable. Goddesses I was actually considering it!

“What can you do?”

“I was my squad’s secondary battlefield medic, energy weapons specialist and third class infiltrator.” She reeled off formally. At the mention of a medic my wounds and aching joints reminded me of their presence once more. I considered her offer. There were definite benefits. Truthfully, I wasn’t eager to head into unknown zebra territory at the drop of a hat.

“Tell you what, help Hammer and I rescue his mare, help me locate my mother, and I’ll go back with you to wherever.” Perhaps it was a bit underhanded of me to make Blazing Glory part of the deal, but I could use all the help I could get.

“Done.” Well, that was easier than I thought it would have been. Why didn’t she want to haggle? Or argue the terms at all? “Just untie me for Caesar’s sake.” I lowered myself until my beak was practically touching her nose.

“Do you swear on your honor to these terms?” I didn’t like using intimidation, but I had to be sure. Hammer I could predict, anticipate. This zebra was a wild card. I didn’t know her, didn’t know what drove her other than what seemed to be a sense of duty. Duty I could understand. And it was to her duty that I hoped I now appealed.

It was a gamble surely; however what in life is ever certain?

“I swear.” I watched her say it and saw no lie in her eyes, so I undid her knotted cloak. Hammer muttered something else about cupcakes in the eye I didn’t quite catch as he continued to tend his stew. Cautiously, she stretched and put a hoof to her head with a wince.

In what I hoped was an apologetic gesture I offered a claw and helped her to her hooves. I took it as a good sign that she didn’t immediately go for her rifle still slung over my shoulder.

“I’m Ghost, and the grumbly one over there is Hammer. What’s your name?”

“Zinfandel. My name is Zinfandel.” Mmm, that rolled off the tongue smoothly.

What? Just because she was a zebra didn’t mean she wasn’t a fine looking female. I have needs too you know.

“Well Zinfandel, could you uhh… look at something for me? Seeing as how you’re a medic and all.” Very smooth Ashes, very smooth. She seemed to switch gears, flowing into a doctor like manner.

“What, are you injured? Show me where.”

“I think it would be easier to show you where I’m not hurt.” She took in the sight of me and nodded. I’m sure I wasn’t a pretty sight, from my bandaged talons to the improvised blue of my Stable suit covering the rest of my accumulated bites and scratches. With a grunt I started to divest myself of my bullet proof vest. The outer cloth coating was now singed and torn in many places. Zinfandel tut-tutted a little and poked the thoroughly soiled bandages covering the burn across my chest.

“Ow.” She pulled back her hoof.

“Sorry, lay on your back.” The zebra rummaged around in various pouches I hadn’t noticed around her waist.

“I’d rather not.” With a huff she gave me what seemed to be a well-practiced glare.

“Look, I’m not a fully qualified alchemist but I am a trained medic and have taken my oath to do no harm and help all in need. So I promise you, as a healer, you can trust me.”

“No, I mean my back hurts too.” I turned to show her where sweat and dirt had rubbed the base of my wings raw through the holes in the vest.

“Oh dear, well, let’s take a look at one thing at a time.” With a deftness that surprised me from someone that didn’t have individual digits, she unwrapped my medical bindings, from the bandages to the crude cut blue cloth. I shifted uncomfortably as the open air caressed my raw flesh. “By my stripes, what did this? You’ve got radiation blisters all around this burn. Some of them have popped.” It seemed Zinfandel had slipped into full doctor mode.

“To be fair, I did drop a hospital on it afterwards.” Nearby, I heard Hammer snort a little of his stew.

“Mhm, that’s nice. And what about all these?” Gesturing with a hoof she encompassed some of my more recent gashes. “Did you let a ghoul chew on you?”

“Umm… kinda I guess?” With a ‘tsk tsk’ she set to work on me. From the pouches she applied salves to the various burns, scrapes, cuts, and bites that peppered me like a plague. At first it stung like a bitch, but eventually the medicine began to soak in and took the edge off. At least until she got to one of my back legs.

“Ghost, did you get shot and then use a healing potion with the bullet still inside?”

“Umm… yes?” It must be a rule that to become a medic you had to be able to make your patient feel bad about not following the proper procedure.

“Ugh! You can get lead poisoning, infection, blood vessel rupture or worse!” Damn, feeling guilty already.

“I was gonna get it out eventually…” I said rather lamely.

“Well, the bullet has to come out. Do you have any med-x?”

“I’ve got some in pill form, will that work?” Using my PipBuck I sifted through the various junk I had collected and handed the half-empty bottle to the zebra. She dumped the whole thing into a little bowl and ground it with the tip of a hoof along with a few sprinkles of something until the concoction was a thick paste. Zinfandel applied it liberally to the puckered flesh that had closed around the bullet. In a moment the whole area was distinctly numb.

Then she pulled out a scalpel and forceps. Suddenly very aware of the fact I was trusting a near total stranger with sharp implements to perform minor surgery on me, I closed my eyes and attempted high level algebra. Trust the zebra medic. Yes, trust the mare you only a little while ago knocked out with her own gun.

You can be quiet now analytical part of my brain.

“Just hold still, okay?” Yeah, definitely not thinking about her cutting and digging around in my – shut up brain. It didn’t hurt, but I could still generally feel her reopening the path the bullet had travelled into my calf muscle.

Mmm, synthetic division. Yep, that was her bumping against the bone. Shut up medical knowledge! You’re not helping! Nor was I thinking about the sucking sound of her pulling the chunk of lead out. Nope, not hearing that.

“That’s one; you’ve got another further up.” Oh great. The zebra felt a little higher and I quickly covered myself with my claws, suddenly very self-conscious and not a little embarrassed.

“Nothing wrong right there.” Having grown up with clothing as the norm, I was acutely aware of my bare state. I was confident in the dark, but never exposed or while under scrutiny. My friends had given me the will to go after mares above my station, without them I was just a lone griffin mechanic.

I had never made close friends easily, finding it easier to just go with the flow.

“I’m just checking for any more injury, don’t worry.” I felt my face flush a little that had nothing to do with my burns. After a little more prodding she applied the numbing crème to the other area of ballistic trauma. One more uncomfortable session of flesh digging later she pulled the last bit of lead out of me.

She moved around behind me and applied the rest of the numbing poultice to the base of my wings. With a sigh of pleasure, my feathery appendages unconsciously spread themselves in relief and stood at relaxed attention. Zinfandel made a ‘hm’ sound.

“Why are your wings doing that?” Oh shit, what! I never thought I would live the moment where I wished I had my bindings. It didn’t help that the striped mare proceeded to treat the bullet hole in my right wing. An involuntary moan of pleasure escaped me. I clamped my beak shut and held it that way with a claw as I really started blushing.

“Ha! Wingboner!” poked the pale blue unicorn.

“So, that’s what it’s called.” To my great dismay the zebra giggled.

“And what would you know about it, Hammer?” I snapped back. He snickered and floated a magazine to me. ‘Wingboner Magazine’ had a pegasi mare bent over quite provocatively. The sight served only to stiffen my involuntary external sign of excitement further. Of course I was immensely offended by the sight! That was why I stuffed into my bags for later.

“Boys and their perverted pony poses,” commented Zinfandel. “You’re good to go. I just need to rewrap you. And since I don’t have any new bandages, I’m going to have to boil your old ones.” My relief turned to aggravation as Hammer and the zebra began arguing over use of the fire.

“My stew isn’t done.”

“And I care, why? Looks like you could use a checkup too.”

“Fuck off, stripy bitch.”

“You really are a useless sack of shit, who knew?” They glared at each other over the pot.

“How about I shove my sledge up your ass?”

“A coltcuddler like you has no tact.” I whistled in my head. That was below the belt.

“You wanna say that again, zebra scum?”

“I would, but I’d just be stating a fact.”

The two of them looked ready to tackle each other across the camp when I stepped in. Their arguing was making my head throb. The rhyming wasn’t helping either.

“How about I just start another fire?” Without waiting I grabbed the remains of a wrecked and rotting couch and quickly had another burning stack. Fortunately Zinfandel had her own small pot with which she set some water to boil. I was sure that between the two of them there was enough friction that it would be heated in no time.

To pass the time I flipped through the erotic mag the unicorn had tossed me. Mm, Ashes like. For all my newfound hate for the avian ponies I had to admit, the feathers definitely added a new level of sexy. Next to a pinup of a mare with everything proudly on display there was an insert for a griffiness special edition of the publication.

Note to self: Ponies know how to put out some quality smut.

For a few minutes at least the two were quiet as they tended to their respective brews. After a few minutes Zinfandel came back over to me with a pile of clean bandages and wrapped me back up.

“I soaked these in some healing additives that will make you drowsy. Don’t worry, that’s just the medicine working. You should feel better in the morning.” I nodded my understanding, gathered my things, and hopped up to a protruding ledge.

It wasn’t that I didn’t trust them… Well okay maybe a little distrust. Something just felt right about sleeping higher up, comforting, safer.

“I’m not sleepin’ with her around!” Griped Hammer with an accusatory hoof pointing at the banded mare.

I rolled my eyes and gestured dismissively.

“You two work it out; I’m going to sleep without a doubt.” Fuck, now I was doing it. “Just scream if the ghouls come to eat us.” They continued to bicker below while I made myself comfortable. Unsuccessfully I stifled a yawn as the zebra remedy soaked into my wounds. Curling up, I used my vest and bags as a pillow.

And with no further ado, Luna wrapped me in the quiet nothing of dreamless slumber.

***

For the first time in what felt like days I woke up to relative peace. No ghouls, no crazed slaver ponies, no gunfire, no hellish fires wanting to eat me alive. Only the faint crackle of innocent campfires and what I ascertained to be Hammer snoring softly. Peering down I smiled in faint amusement, seeing both unicorn and zebra having fallen asleep watching the other from across the camp.

I shook off the layer of ash that had fallen on me as I slept.

With a thorough cracking of joints I rose to my feet and tested my limbs. Ah, it was much easier to breathe and stretch my wings. It was still hard to move my talons dexterously; then again at least they hurt less. The rest coupled with some real medical attention had done me wonders. I could have used another few days of the same treatment, nevertheless at the moment; things were starting to look better. Prudently, I put on my battered vest, and jumped down from my nesting spot.

As far as I could tell it was morning, being sort of lighter than it had been. I added more wood to the glowing coals and shook the two awake. Grumbling, they rubbed the sleep out of their eyes and glowered evilly at one another. The tension was thick enough to cut and serve on toast.

“I’m going to scout ahead, you two wait here… or something.” I announced without preamble. It would be judicious to at least survey the school before charging in guns blazing.

The air above the city was starting to clear. I could actually see more than fifty feet in front of me and only a few specks of ash still lazily drifted down. There was no feeling like flying. Knowing that there are no walls, no ceiling. Just over a week ago I could only have dreamed of this feeling, this unfettered flight. Ah, if only I could go as high as I wanted.

I soared over buildings, cutting a route straight to the edge of the city.

***

Southvale Elementary was honestly just another broken building among a sea of decrepit architecture. What it did have was an open yard littered with chunks of rubble in front of it, providing the defenders with a clear field of view that could easily be turned into a killing ground. That’s what I’d do.

Flying carefully, I circled around, noting the pair of ponies at the front gate pretending to be guarding while they played some kind of dice game. At least I had one thing going for me, in a world with pegasi long gone nopony thought to look up anymore. At the back of the school was an old playground and some back doors. Score.

If we could get in, and back out without getting drawn into anything major, that would be ideal. Maybe it was just my newfound aversion to being shot talking. With this in mind, I flew back to camp.

***

Normally, I would have been the last one awake. In truth, I was eager to be done with this blighted city and all the memories it held. Death and the dead alike wafted through the streets and down the sidewalks. My wings ached for the wide open spaces.

A balm for the grief still gnawing at my bones.

Focus!

Hammer and Zinfandel were still waking up so I just paced and fidgeted, flicking my lighter. Finding this highly unproductive, I sat down and organized the disparate junk I’d collected. This hardly took any time at all due to my Pipbuck having sorted it already (Really? How hard were lunch boxes and sensor modules to find? Boy could I use a smoke). There was one thing though that I had nearly forgotten about.

It was the zebra assault weapon I had recovered. At the time I had grabbed it because it was the most intact. Damn this thing was long! Briefly I wondered how it had fit in my saddlebags… Hm, well there was that one time I found a broom stuffed in a toolbox so I suppose it wasn’t too strange.

I visually tuned out the unknowable zebra attachments and just focused on the normal parts of the gun. Shit, the entire bolt and most of the receiving mechanism was trashed. The firing pin could use replacing too. There was still a magazine jammed in that I had to pry loose. Jeez, what was this thing chambered for? With a screwdriver I carefully worked the bent cartridge out and made sure no round was left in the breach.

Oh my feathers, the box mag had .308 rifle bullets! I couldn’t help it, I recalled the damage my bolt-action rifle had done and drooled a little. Eagerly, I unscrewed the barrel and sighted down it. Yep, that was unbent, and the rest of the gun seemed alright as well. The stock was solid, and the trigger seemed in order. There was no salvaging the receiver though. It would need fresh parts if the automatic rifle were ever to fire again.

I pictured the matte black firearm intact and felt my wings trying to stand at attention once more.

There was still the enigmatic nature of the zebra components though. The long cylindrical contraption on top looked to be a scope, but when I looked through it there was nothing to see. Fiddling with the knobs and dials did nothing. The biggest mystery though was the series of transistor-like protrusions that ran down the length of the barrel, connected by various wires that had come loose in several places.

Fortunately I had a zebra near at hand.

“Hey Zinfandel, what does this stuff do?” She yawned and looked at the rifle cradled in my lap. A pained look crossed her features. Pangs of guilt flitted through me, making me realize that it was a rather callous thing to do seeing as I had looted it off one of her dead squad mates.

“That, is a variable magnification scope with low-light vision enhancement.” One point of success to me. “And that,” she swept a hoof to indicate the other unknown parts. “Is the weapon enhancement mechanism. As the bullet travels down the barrel, it is imbued with whatever effect the enchantment matrix is constructed for. If I remember right, those are cryogenic coils.”

I gave a low whistle, these zebra knew how to make a gun I gave them that.

“And what about this?” I poked a strange bar sticking out parallel to the stock.

“That, is a carrying handle.”

“Oh.” I grinned sheepishly before turning it over in my talons. My smile faded though. “Zinfandel, I know it’s broken, but do you want it? I could fix it up if I had another automatic for parts.” I looked at her seriously. Now it was her turn to smile.

“That thing kicks like a beast, and bullets were never my forte. You keep it, Ghost. Thank you for the offer though.” Quickly though the mare adopted a look of consternation. “Speaking of guns however, can I have mine back now?”

Oops.

Embarrassed and with more apologies, I gave Zinfandel back her energy weapon. To my surprise she gave a little squeal and hugged it. There was a tense moment as she held it up and sighted down the length at hammer. “Pew, pew,” she said before slinging it over her back. I suppose if she had really wanted to kill him she would have done it while he slept.

I was still unsure of this zebra, but she loved her laser rifle, and fondness of ordnance I could understand.

The pale blue unicorn lifted his head (finally, but who was I to judge?) groggily as I packed away the broken gun.

“Mornin’, what’s fer breakfast?”

“Nice bedhead, Hammer.” I stifled a laugh at the pony’s ridiculous mane. With a bit of magic he turned his cowlick into a mohawk.

“Better? Wait, wait, hold on!” Then his white mane was standing in all directions as if electrified. Even Zinfandel tittered a little.

***

Soon after, we set out towards the school. We moved quickly and quietly. I guided us using my PipBuck’s automap function on a route that would hopefully lead us to the back of Southvale. We did run into a few snags along the way though.

There was a detour through an old building according to my map that would save a good half hour of trekking around a collapsed block of the city. Inside it was black as pitch and before I could switch on my light I felt someone tumble into me with a cry. The three of us ended up jumbled together in the dark.

“Ow, wing!” I said as a hoof stepped on some of my feathers.

“Sorry! Watch it.” There were a few more grunts and ‘oofs!’ as ribs were jabbed and limbs tangled. Then there was a particularly high pitched squeak followed by a muffled shout. Finally I managed to reach my PipBuck light and the sudden illumination momentarily blinded me.

I stood to find Hammer and Zinfandel both pointedly not looking at each other. The zebra was blushing so hard she seemed on the verge of spontaneous combustion and the unicorn wore a look of horror as he scraped his tongue with his hooves.

Had his mouth gone where I think it had?

Hammer pulled out of a bottle likely alcoholic, took a hefty swig, swished it, and spat.

I’d take that as a yes.

***

Passing an old, rusted swing set, a breath of wind pushed the timeworn seat and set it creaking. It was a sorrowful note. In that span of an instant, a fragment of what sounded like merry youth seemed to lie beneath the surface of reality. I shook my head to clear it of the phantom and resumed sneaking through the old playground.

For a moment I had heard foals laughing.

Behind me crept my two companions, both still pointedly not making eye contact. It seemed the raiders, or gangers or whoever these ponies were hadn’t anticipated any opposition other than mindless ghouls. There weren’t guards, but the back door was locked. I let out an annoyed grunt and was about to move to another entrance when Zinfandel crouched down and pulled something out of her cloak.

Leaning in with interest, I saw her insert a bobby pin into the lock and turn it with her teeth. She maneuvered the lock into various positions until it opened with a click. I’ll admit, I was impressed, zebra infiltrator indeed.

The striped mare pushed the door open and we slipped through.

Inside was little better than the rest of the city I had explored. The tile was cracked, the walls peeling, and innumerable lockers were twisted or hung open. The corridors ran off in many directions and I wasn’t at all sure which way Ravelin might be. I consulted with Hammer and he had no idea either, just that she must be somewhere in the school.

Straight in seemed as good a direction as any, so that’s where we headed, checking many empty classrooms along the way. After about a half hour, there was still no sign of anypony.

As I rounded a corner, I came beak to nose with a stunned looking pony wearing the standard raider hairdo. It was my own damn fault for not paying close enough attention to my EFS. He was about to cry out when I pecked as hard as I could straight into his left eye. Spitting curses and clutching his bloody socket I grabbed the purple buck and hauled him around the corner.

With a solid headlock I bore the raider to the ground and pinned him there. Opportunity abounded it seemed.

“Where’s Ravelin?” I punctuated my request with a squeeze that made his eyes bulge.

“Go fuck yourself.” Hammer levitated a revolver out and pressed the barrel into the buck’s remaining eye.

“Where is she?” The unicorn drew the firing lever for emphasis. This was a side of Hammer I hadn’t seen even with Zinfandel.

He growled and spat out, “Upstairs,” I could have guessed that one. The raider used my slightly slackened grip and slammed the back of his head into my chin. Stunned, he threw me off and ran back around the corner, screaming that there were intruders. Bullets from Hammer’s gun chased him.

So much for doing this quietly.

The unicorn raced around the wall, cracking off a few more shots. Zinfandel helped me to my feet and together we caught up with Hammer Horn. We three chased after the fleeing pony, the zebra bringing him down with a bolt of magical energy to a leg. The stallion was first to catch up and executed the fallen with a brutal finality as he tried to crawl away.

A trio of hostiles appeared down the hall, the lead opening up with a submachine gun. I hit the deck as a spray of bullets filled the air. Fortunately most of the shots went into the ceiling as the raider couldn’t fully control the recoil. Hammer had the bright idea of tipping one of the sets of lockers onto its side for cover.

I hunkered next to him and motioned for Zinfandel to join us as well. Crouched behind the metal barricade, we returned fire, making our opponents duck and find their own shelter. Bullets sparked and panged against the shield. With a trio of tightly grouped shots from my 10mm I downed submachine pony while they reloaded. Another disintegrated into pink goo from a lucky magical death beam as they leaned out behind a door.

With a crazed cry the last pony standing leapt over our cover in a single bound, knife poised to slit Zinfandel’s throat. Mid-jump, a sledgehammer impacted the stallion with enough force to send him into the overhead light fixture. If he wasn’t dead at that point, the stomach-turning crunch when he hit the locker blockade head first sealed the deal.

The zebra nodded in gratitude, and Hammer returned it. Maybe the roots of hatred went deep, but at that moment, we were in this together, and would get out alive by watching each other’s backs. There was a lesson in there somewhere I’m sure.

As I walked by, I grabbed the submachine gun, bullet hose though it may have been. Goddesses, had looting my enemies really become enjoyable? The appalled feeling may have lingered too, if I hadn’t found three additional clips for the spray and pray firearm.

I saw Hammer and Zinfandel searching their respective kills as well.

Weapons out, we found the staircase the trio had originated from. Hammer led the way, floating his sledge. I followed, pistol held ready while Zinfandel brought up the rear. It was a little strange to see anyone other than a griffin walking on their hind legs, but the zebra managed to do it with little apparent effort.

The top of the stairs was clear, so we pushed on. There were only a few more empty classrooms and equally empty offices. Just as I started to grow worried that somewhere we had taken a wrong turn, we reached a door that my EFS painted with two red bars… and a green! There were heated voices coming from the room marked ‘Principal’.

“On three.” I whispered as the unicorn and zebra took positions beside the door.

“One.” My muscles tensed, and Hammer raised his sledge.

“Two.” Zinfandel brought her blocky weapon up to her chest.

“Three!” I threw open the door and engaged SATS.

In the grip of temporal targeting spell, I pulped the head of the pony waving the shotgun around. He didn’t even have time to look my way. There was enough charge to fire twice at the other’s head as well, a hulking brute of a unicorn. The pistol rounds hit his spiked metal helm and deflected harmlessly aside. As the spell faded and my backup pushed in behind me, the massive stallion ducked behind the desk and came back up with a mare. He had his forelegs crossed in front of her, holding the struggling brown earth pony by the neck.

She had an odd V shape for a cutie mark I noted.

The dull green buck wore power hooves on all four appendages, his front two sparking menacingly close to Ravelin’s face. He was covered from head to hoof in articulated, interlocking, polished steel armor. An interesting level of craftsmanship had gone into it, probably custom.

“Let ‘er go.” Hammer said at my shoulder.

“You stop right there or I’ll snap her like a toothpick,” commanded the cowardly bastard. Backing away to a side door with his hostage held close, he fixed me with a level stare down the sights of my gun and the guns of my fellows. For the span of several tense seconds, our weapons followed him out the emergency exit. Come on SATS, recharge faster! The massively armored brute kicked the door shut in our collective faces.

What hurt the worst was the pleading look Ravelin had given me as tears streamed from her soft green eyes. I slammed into the door at lightning speed to no avail; it had been jammed closed.

“Fuck!” I railed. Full of impotent rage I rounded on Hammer. “Why didn’t you tell me she was pregnant?!” More than even her tears had been the distinctly rounded nature of her belly. There was no mistaking the sight of a mare with her foaling only a few weeks at most away.

“What did it matter? That was Feral Hoof, one of Ragtag’s. We can’t let him get her back to The Jag!” He snapped back. Zinfandel barged past both of us and started to pick the exit door. I hovered right next to her, after a little fiddling she shook her head in defeat.

“It is no good; it is blocked from the other side.” With a shout Hammer slammed his blunt weapon against the offending blockage. Despite his frightening strength, it dented, but budged hardly an inch.

“Ghost, we gotta circle back around, there must be a way past where we can catch ‘em.” A quick consultation of my automap crushed that hope. We would have to go all the way back to our original entry and go around the whole school.

No! This was Cinder all over again! Not only had I failed my own sister, I was about to fail someone else’s too. Not again, not again! We were so close! In strangled helplessness I slammed my fist against the closest wall.

… Wait.

Maybe.

Just, maybe.

I rapped my claw twice more against the brick, feeling what only a griffin with a pedigree in engineering who had lived his whole live surrounded by stone barriers could feel. For all the sturdiness of the door, the rest of the architecture didn’t measure up. Ugh, if only I had some shaped explosives.

Or a wrecking ball in unicorn form!

“Hammer!” I patted the wall. “Hit this. Hit this as hard as you can. Harder than anything you’ve hit before in your life!” The light blue stallion looked how I felt. He wasn’t about to let Ravelin be dragged away. With a shout, he smashed his weapon against the brick. Dust from pulverized brick puffed around the head of the sledge.

“Again!” I cried in encouragement. Horn ablaze in arcane energies, the unicorn wound up and struck the cracked divide once more. With a groan, a teetering section of the wall fell in, landing with a deafening crash. Loose blocks tumbled around the opening with clacks.

To my surprise it was Zinfandel through the breach first, the hood of her cloak pushed back. “Over here!” She called back to Hammer and I as we leapt through the formerly intact wall. The zebra ran full pelt to another closed portal further on. “I just saw this one shut.” Ravelin must have been putting up quite a fight, slowing down her captor.

The zebra set about picking the lock once more as I watched on, practically vibrating with the need to hurry. She cursed under her breath when two of her bobby pins broke. I was about to ask Hammer to repeat his wall trick when the banded mare cried out in success. She threw the door open and rolled through. I was hot on her tail and took in the sight before me in a blink.

The door led out to a walkway with a railing set at the top of a set of bleachers cascading down to an old gymnasium. Feral Hoof continued to drag a kicking and cursing Ravelin across the old indoor hoofball court to an exit at the far end. He spotted us and shouted at the group of ponies milling about a group of bedrolls and a campfire.

“Kill ‘em!” I was acutely aware of five pairs of angry eyes turning to look our way. Shots stuttered up, making me duck. Zinfandel and I returned fire while our unicorn companion took a ready stance to repel anypony that tried to charge up the bleachers. I emptied the clip in my pistol and didn’t bother to reload, switching instead to my newly acquired submachine gun. It was light enough to be fired in a single talon, but two would be more accurate.

I gave the trigger a quick squeeze. A third of the entire clip was emptied out, peppering the raiders down below with a storm of hot lead. None of my shots made contact yet it definitely sent the wiser among them scrambling. The zebra next to me picked her targets more carefully, sending selective beams of searing death and earning first blood with a well-placed hit.

We had a deadly advantage with our elevated position, however we were still stuck in a time consuming firefight. Feral Hoof had used the delay and had almost made it to the door. In that moment, I made an incredibly rash, and very stupid decision.

I charged.

With a shout and a flap, I soared down the bleachers and took a firing stance. Two blurts of rapid-fire perforated a pair of ponies. They jerked and twitched as blood filled the air. With a weapon like that, I really didn’t have to aim, just point it in their general direction. A sledge in a blue glow narrowly missed a raider coming to my left that signaled Hammer had joined the fray. Multi-colored magical laser strikes brought the spear-wielder down.

“You stole my kill!” The unicorn shouted with indignation.

“Too slow,” taunted the zebra from the balcony.

Something powerful struck my vest, nearly spinning me around and putting painful pressure on my bandaged torso. I reloaded and returned the favor to the offending pistol-mare. With the last raider down, I pursued Feral out the door.

The exit opened to the large field situated in front of the school. The bruiser of a stallion saw me behind him and struggled to toss Ravelin over his back. Flailing, the mare didn’t make it easy. Feral Hoof tossed her on the ground. She let out a cry and curled protectively around her belly as he made to kick her. That was when I ploughed into him.

Ouch. Future note to self: tackling a pony with more metal than morals is a painful ordeal.

Together we tumbled a few feet, Feral struggling to right himself in all that gear. A few shots from Zinfandel’s rifle actually reflected away harmlessly! Hammer aimed a strike at the pony’s head. The brute deflected the blow with his crackling power hooves, sending the blunt weapon spinning away. While distracted, I used the chance to leap from behind and stab my knuckle blades towards his ribs.

There was a loud ping, followed by a snap as the sharpened steel jutting from my left fist broke about half way down. Dumbfounded, I was left holding the pieces. Not fooled easily, the stallion whipped around, forcing me to dance back out of reach.

“Hammer! Zinfandel! Get her out of here!” I gestured to Ravelin, still curled up in the dead grass and ducked another sparking hoof. “Head out of the city, I’ll find you.” My unicorn companion nodded and wrapped the pregnant mare in a telekinetic glow, lifting her gently. The zebra loosed a few more shots at Feral and slung her rifle over a shoulder. She drew a pistol and ran to deal with the pair who had been guarding the gates.

Heh, she had had a spare gun hidden the whole time.

Ragtag’s lieutenant saw the blue unicorn grab his captive and his own horn lit up, trying to wrestle with the other’s magic. For a moment, it seemed the green stallion would win out over the smaller cobalt one. At least until I lifted Hammer’s hammer and swung it with all my might into Feral’s head. I had the mallet, and his noggin was the croquet ball. The sound was like a bell as his metal clad skull bounced off the ground.

Shit, that thing was heavy, and I tossed it back to its rightful owner. My respect for Hammer increased as he caught the weighty weapon effortlessly while still carrying Ravelin. A soft cry came from a zebra throat and my attention was wrested to Zinfandel as she struggled to deal with the last guard.

I was just about to fly to her aid when Feral Hoof came back up screaming, kicking at me in apoplectic rage. Blood flew from his snout. He caught me off guard and managed to land a glancing blow to my forelimb. Before then I hadn’t understood the full force and function of power hooves. The magical discharge was both electrically and kinetically enhanced I discovered as my left leg went completely numb in flaring, muscle seizing pain.

Hammer Horn moved to help but I waved him away and pointed to Zinfandel. “Go help her! Get them both out!” Fortunately the unicorn didn’t argue and galloped away with a quick nod. My view was suddenly obscured by Feral Hoof pivoting in front of me.

What in the hells was he-

Both of his rear legs shot out fast enough for my eyes to widen and for a single adrenaline fueled thought to flicker by me.

Fuck.

I wasn’t really aware of the impact itself.

As I soared through the air by a force other than my wings, I will admit there was perhaps one other consideration that occurred. What I wouldn’t give for a set of those things. Just because I was about to confront certain doom didn’t mean I couldn’t admire a fine piece of weaponry.

Oh look, the ground.

Rolling, and catching every rock and bump along the way, I came to rest. First I tried to stand. My legs disagreed. For a moment I argued with them, trying to convince them of the necessity of movement. Stubborn legs, obey your master!

Where was I again?

Right, imminent death.

Blinded by his anger at my assault on his head, Feral Hoof decided I was a better target than my companions. That was perfect except that he was about to crush me like a griffin sized bug. I had enough sense left to roll out of the way and take to the air. He had other ideas.

His magic wrapped around my tail and yanked me back to earth. I let out a surprised squawk as the force contradicted my direction and momentum. Scrambling to get out of the way I narrowly avoided becoming power hoof paste. I did my best to counter attack and my reward was another broken knuckle duster.

The dirty green unicorn roared in inarticulate bloodlust and charged me again.

There was a time for honorable combat, for hoof against talon. Now was not one of those times. I had obligations and had made promises that I would follow. With a fresh clip, I aimed my ten millimeter submachine gun and held the trigger down fully. In about two seconds, it clacked on empty.

Feral Hoof screamed in pain and staggered, a few rounds having caught weak points and one scoring across his face, popping one eye like a grape. In the time it took me to reload he downed a healing potion and injected three different needles into his leg.

That wasn’t fair.

Every wound closed and he laughed with renewed vigor as the chems did their work. His eye even grew back! I hosed him down again, but the injuries fixed themselves faster than I could inflict them. He waded through the storm of lead and swatted me like a cat would a troublesome mouse.

I had hurt him, and now he was going to play with me before the killing blow. Okay, it was now time for a tactical retreat. If I could get out of range of his magic I may perhaps just fly away! I had lost sight of Hammer, Ravelin, and Zinfandel so all I had to do was break away.

Fuckfuckfuck! My mind was filled with a continuous tirade of expletives as I ran full pelt in the opposite direction. At random, I picked a side street and dodged between rusted automatic carriages, trying to shake my opponent’s line of sight. Already my strength was flagging, my every move slowing. I ducked behind a small personal wagon and tried to catch my breath. Peeking through the broken windows there was no sign of Feral Hoof.

A growl from behind was my only warning. With scant inches to spare I jumped over the wagon, Hoof crumpling the door to the vehicle instead of my face. Mother fucker was toying with me! Maybe my rifle with armor piercing rounds would have enough power to punch through the metal clad bastard.

As I ran, I spotted my salvation.

Sending a quiet prayer skyward to Luna, Celestia, or whatever divine being may be listening, I flew straight forward as fast as my wings would carry me. Feral Hoof was yelling and laughing right behind me and didn’t notice the pit. Glancing back over my shoulder, I watched him tumble to the bottom of the previously fire filled chasm that had split the street.

For once, Ghoul City proved to be my savior.

Unsurprisingly, the bastard survived his little misstep and tried to scramble back up, but the sides were too sheer for him to scale the thirty feet necessary to escape. I hovered high above, well out of range of his telekinetic grasp, and gave him my best shit-eating grin. With a flippant salute I flew off in the direction my companions had gone.

I was alive, and he was stuck in a crater.

And you know what? I was okay with that.

***

I found them on a road heading vaguely north east out of the city. The air outside the urban corrosion was so very clear. I felt like I could see for miles.

Hammer spotted me first and waved his front hooves frantically to get my attention. Maybe I would have taken more time to enjoy the elevated view I had if there weren’t more pressing matters. There is no feeling like flying in the open sky, nothing comparable. The subject could fill a hundred books and still those without wings would never understand.

I landed with a little tired effort on the old asphalt road and folded my feathery appendages. The blue unicorn was bleeding from a gash across his forehead but he grinned at me nonetheless.

“Still alive I see. You take care of Feral Hoof?” I shook my head and told him what happened. Hammer laughed, “Serves him right.”

“How’s Ravelin?” Hammer Horn’s good mood faltered and he gestured to where Zinfandel was tending to the expecting mare. She was propped against a chunk of concrete, packed with a few blankets one of them had managed to find.

Through a force of will that made me wish for half her strength, Ravelin smiled weakly up at me.

“So this is the griffin I’ve heard so much about. Thank you, for saving me and my child.” The brown mare had a lovely golden mane, lustrous even in through the dust.

“It’s no big deal; Hammer was the one who roped me into it.” I didn’t feel right taking credit for the rescue. If I had really done a good job she wouldn’t have been dragged at power hoof point through the school. “Are you holding up alright?”

“Thanks to your zebra friend, I’m in good hooves.” Zinfandel seemed just as uncomfortable with the praise and busied herself with wrapping up one of the mare’s legs.

“She got hit by one of the guards while we ran. I got the bullet out and she should recover. They worked her over pretty bad, and she’s malnourished, but the baby is fine as far as I can tell.” The striped medic looked up at me. “She’s in no state to be travelling though. There’s no way she would make it all the way back to Rust Town in her condition.”

“We can’t stay here, Ragtag is sure to have ponies coming to collect her and move her to the next spot.” added Hammer.

“I will not be a hostage any longer!” The pregnant mare tried to get to her hooves but Zinfandel held her down. “My foal will not be used as blackmail. He’s been trying to get to Rust Town for years, and through me he can get to my sister.” I gave her a questioning look when she settled down. “She’s the mayor of Rust Town.”

Ah yes, Hammer had mentioned that now that I recalled.

“Can’t stay here, and she can’t travel on her own.” I gave it some thought. “What about a wagon?” Zinfandel frowned.

“I don’t want to move her at all, but… if we have to then yes, that would be best.” I nodded.

“On my way over I spotted some further down the road.” With a general consensus reached, we set out, Ravelin once more cradled in silver magic. There were a lot of ifs in the plan, but it was better than waiting there or splitting up to go for help.

Outside of the city I was again struck by just how BIG the world was. The buildings dwindled away near the outskirts and gave way to scraggly vegetation and the long road. There was a sign marred by graffiti, and still legible was ‘Now Leaving Baltimare’.

Sure enough, there was an abandoned convoy of military wagons. I brushed away some dirt and saw M.A.S. stamped in faded purple lettering across one. I turned to look back at the city. They must have been leaving as the bombs fell.

A massive red, bubble like shield flowed up from the center of the metropolis. In horror I watched a glowing green light travelling at supersonic speeds impact the top of the shield. Huge plumes of emerald fire writhed from the point of impact, beating at the barrier. The balefire would not be denied however and it spread to cover the crimson magic, suffusing into it. Cracks spread from the detonation area and with a deafening sound the shield fragmented. Glowing shards, the size of city blocks rained upon Baltimare.

And the red fires burned…

I shook my head to clear it, feeling a throbbing migraine starting to encroach. That must have been something left over from Synthesis, or the fire spirit. There was a pony skeleton in the driver’s seat of the vehicle. Poor soul had probably been caught in the radiation backwash from the explosion.

“Hey, what’s the deal with these things? There’s no place to hitch up.” stated Hammer, quizzically trying to locate the struts for a pony to attach themselves. The convoy was made of boxy, gunmetal things. Each had four thick doors that could be opened for shields, four heavy rubber tires, and a top hatch that could have a pintle gun mounted.

“That’s because these are self-propelled. With the advent of internal arcane matrix engines, the military was able to put locomotive power into a smaller package. It just didn’t make sense to have ponies rushing headlong into enemy fire in front of the armored vehicle. I’m guessing these are Workhorses. Developed by the MWT to serve multiple roles as general purpose medium armored cavalry support, troop and hardware transport.”

All three of them gave me looks. “What? I like technological histories.”

“So, finding a wagon is a bust then. There is no way any of these things are still running.” Now it was my turn to grin.

“Not true, Zinny.” The glower the zebra gave me of my use of nick name could have curdled milk. Respectfully I opened the door to the vehicle and pulled out the skeleton. After a little fiddling I found the right lever to open the hood of the engine housing. “If anything, it makes this much easier, for you see…” I scanned the inside of military hardware, comparing it to my own knowledge of Stable 57’s generator.

“Aha!” I cried in triumph and pointed to a fist sized emerald wrapped in a gold fixture. Even Ravelin peeked over my shoulder from Hammer’s back in interest. “That’s an auto-repair talisman. They made big ones to put in tanks. You could blow them into pieces and as long as the repair talisman had juice it would bring the whole thing back together like new. They were so successful they were installed in pretty much all big hunks of military hardware.”

“So does that mean that all of these should have repair talismans?” asked the zebra.

“They should. And if one of them has one that still works that means all the power in it hasn’t been used up because the vehicle is in operational condition and the engine should start.” Together we checked the other four vehicles. I held out a small hope of finding some military tech. Sadly, they had sat there for two hundred years’ worth of scavengers to pick them over so it was a vain wish.

It wasn’t until I popped open the hood of the last Workhorse that I finally found a repair talisman with a little feeble glow. Murmuring sweet nothings to the spirit of the machine I sat down behind what I guessed was the steering wheel. It had a trio of hoof sized holes so even earth ponies could operate it. After a little searching I found the key still in the ignition switch. Who would want to take the key to something broken after all?

Yes, I knew the mechanisms of self-propelled military wagons. That’s what I got for being bored between work orders in the part of my Stable with only technical books to read.

I twisted the key, listening as the engine started to turn over, almost began to rev up, and then die with a pathetic cough. Oh come on, come on, come on. I rotated the key again. Nothing. Once out I found the source of the problem. The Talisman had stopped glowing.

“Shit! Start, you piece of garbage!” I kicked a tire in frustration.

“Hey, wouldn’t it be cool if we found a skywagon? Cause you’re a griffin Ghost, you could just fly us around!” said Hammer excitedly. I snorted at the thought.

“Yeah, let me build us a rocket to the moon while I’m at it. I’ll personally give my technician’s license to anypony who can fix a skywagon. That doesn’t help us right now though. I need a way to recharge the damn thing or find a new one.”

“Hey, Ghost, what about there?” I followed Zinfandel’s pointing hoof to a building set off the main road with a big sign. ‘Crooked Axle’s Garage’ and as ever my PipBuck gave an omniscient little chirp and added it to my map. Hey, it was worth a shot. Ravelin was loaded into the back of the Workhorse with all the cushioning material we had so she could rest. Together, Hammer and I pushed the not-quite-functioning vehicle towards the shop.

I put on the brakes outside the closed entrance to the repair bay, my sore legs grateful that it hadn’t been far.

With a pistol drawn, I walked around and opened the front door. My EFS was clear, but better safe than sorry. Inside was a waiting room with a counter and an old register. Behind the counter was an old safe that had been cleaned out and two doors. One led to the garage area proper while the other was locked. Why hit the safe and not the door? Another mystery of the wasteland I supposed. I called for Zinfandel who set to work on the tumblers while I opened the big sliding shutter so Hammer could move the Workhorse inside.

After a minute or two the zebra came into the workshop. “The door is unlocked, looks like a storeroom of some kind. I saw spare tires and the like.” She then climbed into the back of the transport to check on Ravelin. I gestured for Hammer Horn to come with.

The back of the shop was cramped with metal shelves lined with various spare engine parts, tools, and rubber tires of different sizes. I told the blue unicorn what we were looking for and together we searched. As we went I made sure to grab any items that would help me uncouple the old talisman or maybe recharge it. There was a promising portable generator in the corner but the little fuel needle was in the red.

In the very back was a tiny office just big enough for both of us to squeeze into. On the desk was a glowing terminal. Practically holding my breath I flicked it on.

Fuck.

Password protected of course. Futilely, I chose random phrases until it locked me out and refused further tampering. I was about ready to put a bullet through the damn thing when I noticed a small pile of packages in the corner. On top was a clipboard with a shipping manifest. Right beneath was a tiny box wrapped in brown paper. Inside, glowing strong, was a fresh emerald wrapped in shining gold filigree.

My joy was infectious and Hammer let out a whoop of victory. We hurried back and I set about detaching the dead repair gem from the heart of the complicated system of pistons and gears. It would take a little while, but soon we would be leaving in style.

Zinny jumped from the back of the Workhorse and promptly started arguing with Hammer. It seemed saving each other’s skins had lessened, but not eliminated the animosity each held for the other.

I tried to ignore the noise, I did. But they were spoiling my enjoyment of a fine piece of arcano-tech so I suggested they go check around the building. They ignored me until I hit them both in the head with well-aimed wrenches. Still bickering and now rubbing sore spots, the pair headed outside. I let out a sigh of relief at the quiet their absence left.

“Do they always argue like that?” Ravelin leaned her head out one of the rear windows and smiled at me. A little surprised, I nearly hit my beak against the housing I was trying to decouple.

“For as long as I’ve known them.” The golden haired mare giggled.

“Nice throw by the way, they're lucky it wasn’t anything heavier.”

“It comes from practice. Tossing uncooperative parts across the room alleviates stress after all.” Ravelin laughed aloud and I found myself grinning too. “So, have you picked out a name?”

“If it’s a girl, Redoubt, a boy, Rampart. It’s a bit of a family tradition. That’s what Barbed Wire would have wanted.”

“Is he…?”

“Yes, he was the father. Ragtag’s underlings killed him when they caught me.” She said in a mournful tone. Even with the somber note, the conversation was pleasant. It felt good to talk as I fixed the big machine.

“I understand. I’ve lost family too: My father Soot, my sister Cinder. My mother Blazing Glory is somewhere out there I hope though. I actually wanted to go to Rust Town to try and find her. Hammer said he’d take me there if I helped him save you.”

“Blazing Glory? She’s your mom, really? I met her a long time ago.” My mind came to a screeching halt as I lifted the old repair talisman out of its housing. I put it aside and took a deep breath to calm down.

“You met her? You actually met her? Alive?”

“I only saw her once a few years ago, you should ask Sheriff Dusky he- Hnnh!” She cried out in pain.

“Ravelin, what’s wrong?” I ran around the side and opened the door. The mare was lying curled on her side, eyes closed and jaw clenched tight. I touched her brow and found it slick with sweat.

“It’s coming!”

Oh no. No, not now.

I rushed to the other side of the wheeled vehicle and opened the opposite door. Touching a claw to the blankets between her legs I found them awash with thick fluid. Oh fuck, her water had broken. All the stress and shock had pushed her into premature contractions.

“Zinfandel!” I shouted at the top of my lungs. The zebra and unicorn rushed in before I even had time to call again.

“Ghost! We’ve got a serious problem.” said Hammer.

“I’ve got a bigger one. Ravelin is going into labor. The baby is coming now!”

“What?!” cried the striped mare as she pushed past me to tend the mother-to-be. Before I could follow her the unicorn grabbed my shoulder with a hoof.

“Ya know how I said there’d probably be another group comin' to move Ravelin to their next base?”

“Let me guess, they’re here.”

A voice boomed from outside.

“Listen up you cunts! You’ve got exactly one minute t’hand the bitch over t’us before we come get 'er ourselves!” To punctuate the speaker’s point a few shots pinged off the metal garage door. Well, at least they wanted their mark alive.

“Ayep.” I gave him my hunting rifle and the few spare rounds of ammo I had for it.

“Hold ‘em off. I just need to get the new talisman in place.” The unicorn nodded and ran behind the counter in the front room. That taken care of I grabbed the new emerald, giving the magical device a quick kiss for luck and put it in the empty slot.

“C’mon girl, work for me.” I fiddled with a few connections, trying to get the Workhorse to accept the new part and for the matrix in the gemstone to recognize the structure of the housing. “Come on you goddess damned piece of shit! So help me I will fuck you up five ways to next week if you don’t get your worthless, horn fucking, low-down, bastard-child-of-a-toaster ass in gear!” Ravelin let out a blood-curdling cry of pain.

There was a loud electrical pop as I put the last control arm for the talisman into place and a glow enveloped various pieces of the engine. It never ceased to amaze me how cursing the ever living fuck out of something more often than not gave it that little extra kick. “Who’s a good talisman, yes you are.” I crooned to the inanimate object.

In the next room over I heard Hammer shoot a few times with the bolt-action rifle. The fusillade of return fire forced him back into the garage. I was about to turn the key once more when a thought struck me.

“Shit! We still need a magic source! And I don’t know how to drive this damn thing!”

“Move over, I can do it.” At first I thought Hammer was kidding, but his look said otherwise.

I moved over.

He passed the rifle back to me and climbed into the driver’s seat. His horn lit up and I quietly hoped that my roughshod replacement of the repair talisman had been enough. With a putter, a cough, then a roar, the two hundred year old MWT Workhorse revved up to speed.

When the old ponies of the war built something, they built it to last.

“Hold on.” The unicorn warned us. He threw the gears into reverse with a noisy grind. In the back Zinfandel cradled Ravelin tightly. With the sound of an angry dragon, the ancient vehicle ploughed through the garage door, tearing it clean off. I held on for dear life as the suspension compensated for the rough ride.

Hm, wasn’t there a safety feature I was missing?

Any musing I might have had was interrupted by the smattering of small arms fire that impacted the armor plates. I was also pleasantly surprise to find that the talisman had replaced the reinforced glass windshield and windows. Hammer spun the wheel quickly, and shifted gears again. With a lurch we shot forward. The unicorn’s features were screwed into intense concentration as he steered the heavy transport.

Ravelin whimpered in fear and pain as the zebra beside her tried to offer comfort.

A green buck with a rifle set in a battle saddle jumped into the road in front of us, firing at the oncoming motor vehicle. Several tons of hurtling metal turned him into a speed bump and a red bar dropped off my EFS. Once we were on the actual road, things got a lot smoother. I popped out of the top hatch and checked on our pursuers.

There were three of them, somehow keeping pace with the racing Workhorse, galloping madly.

I was desperately low on ammo and patience. So it was with great pleasure that through SATS I shot at the leading yellow mare three times. Twice I missed for it was a gamble at only thirty percent chance to hit. The last round was a little off and punctured her leg instead of her torso. At her speed, when her leg went out she was sent cartwheeling into a neck-breaking tumble and lay still.

That left two.

Sadly, my bladed knuckles were virtually destroyed from age and use. The affixed knives were all broken or bent, on one the palm bumper was crumpled and the other was cracked down the middle. I mourned their loss, and hoped that my teacher would forgive me for they had saved my life undoubtedly more than once. Bare claws were not optimal armaments though.

All I had left was a few clips for my smaller pistols which I was not eager to waste. From an almost forgotten pocket I found a long combat knife belonging to a dead slaver named Serrated. Ah, such memories of near death. Training for me in knives had mostly been about defending from them, but I would make do.

What I also had was an axe. The long hardwood handle, and heavy sharpened wedge was solid and reassuring. It seemed like a leftover from someone else's life, yet it was real all the same. Shrugging off my saddlebags made me realize just how much stuff I had collected. Freed from that much excess weight made me feel light as a feather.

Thus armed I launched myself into the sky, catching the air in my wide pinions. Circling high above I banked sharply and streaked down, a vengeful griffin comet. My chosen target was the raider pony who hadn’t followed my path upward. The pink-maned mare was oblivious until I brought the blade wedge down upon her back, sinking the sharpened steel block through her shabby armor to sever her spine.

The impact of the blow made my claws tremble.

With a scream, her back legs suddenly nonfunctional, the cotton candy haired raider skidded into the dirt. I stayed balanced carefully with my wings and my grip on the axe. Her front hooves pawed pitifully at the air as she mewled in terror and confusion. I tried to pull the weapon loose; making her scream, but it was stuck fast in the bone. A shout to my left made me turn and confront the mare’s partner, a charcoal stallion who reared and snorted in anger.

The Workhorse was quickly driving away, but I could catch up easily with my wings.

He had a sawed off, double barreled shotgun pointed my way. We stared at one another as I drew twelve inches of razor steel. For just a moment we held each other in a staring contest. Within that single breath of timelessness, a microscopic eternity stretched. Right as I hit SATS, he fired. Now throwing a knife into a small, moving target is nearly impossible without lots of practice. With the Stable-Tec Assisted Targeting Spell however, it was laughably easy. Many boring hours of knife throwing games had prepared me well.

Aftereffects from the time spell dragged the edges of my mind, nearly letting me count the pellets as they bit into my unprotected legs. Ow, ow, fuck I hate buckshot. I was guessing it was twelve-gauge. Shit, I knew what shell the gun used by being shot with it, which bode ill for my experiences.

The blade flew straight, and it flew true, turning end over end twice before sinking nearly half way into the dark coated buck’s right eye. He fell over with a dull thud, his remaining eye blank, devoid of inner light. Spinal cord still split, the mare crawled to the black stallion and whimpered pitifully.

The sight broke through my battle haze.

I knew it wasn’t my fault that they had attacked us, had tried to recapture Ravelin, but I still felt guilty. Ugh! Come on Ashes, they were ponies! Ponies don’t deserve your pity. No, I was Ghost now, ghost of Stable 57. Did I want Ghost to be a heartless monster though? Did I want to become like those ponies who had beaten me, and spat it my face?

Honor.

Act with honor.

What was the honorable thing to do now? I asked myself and no easy answer came. The handle of the axe still jutted from the mare's back as she prodded at the coal black unicorn and cried. She was beyond help with an injury like that. I limped to her, placed the barrel of a pistol to the back of her head, and pulled the trigger. The sound of the shot faded away quickly into the open waste.

I did not know this filly, did not know her story or her life. I knew that I had ended it though. Had she some feelings for the dark unicorn? Or had she perhaps suffered regret in her last moments?

“I’m sorry.” I whispered, and meant it.

From the corner of my eye I caught sight of one last raider in the distance. He slowed to a trot as he neared me and stopped a fair distance away. There was a wet sucking sound as I finally pulled the metal wedge from the dead mare’s back and turned to him. The leader watched me as I stood with my bloody weapons over his fellows. A battle saddle with two shotguns was strapped to his back, but he held his body at a neutral angle.

“Oy, griffin!” He shouted at me. “Do you know who’s prisoner yer takin’?” Nothing witty or snide came to my tongue so I remained silent. “Ragtag’d give you a king’s ransom fer that filly ye have. No doubt ‘bout it.” Again I didn’t answer, daring him to make a move towards me. “Well, ain’t cha gonna say somethin’?”

I gestured to the dead. “I think enough has been said already.” or perhaps, not enough.

The leader tossed his head with a whiny.

“Ah warn you, cross Ragtag and he’ll bring the sky down on yer head he will.” Warned the stallion before he galloped back the way he’d come. I collected the spoils of my victory and flew back to the Workhorse. Weary, in body, and in soul, there was still work to be done.

A part of me took in the momentous emptiness of the wasteland I soared over while the rest only focus on catching the speeding vehicle. Carefully, I landed on the roof and crawled back in through the open hatch. The cries reached my hearing even outside.

Hammer remained focused on the road, grimly determined not to look back.

“Are we clear?” Was all he asked. I told him yes.

“Ghost, help me here.” Zinfandel said between the writhing mare's open legs. Ravelin was deep in the throes of her labor, panting raggedly between contractions. For a moment I feared the zebra would ask me to take her place. “Get behind her and prop her up. Support her back so she can bear down better.” The zebra flicked a quick look up at me and I did as she instructed. As gently as I could, I helped lift Ravelin into a better angle by putting myself between her and the door. She was utterly soaked through with sweat as I felt her shaking and pushing against me.

“Gods, this isn’t helping, we need to pull over somewhere.” Again she looked to me.

“Can’t, not yet, we don’t know how many more of them are after us right now. I didn’t kill them all.”

“Then this is going to be very interesting.” Ravelin shrieked in pain such as I had never heard, never imagined hearing. The clench of her joints briefly cut off circulation to my limbs supporting her. I had minor medical knowledge, enough at least to get by on my own. Childbirth was entirely past my depth.

Should there have been that much blood?

Zinfandel was soaked to the elbows, the white of her stripes tinted pink with the mixed fluid. “Alright, I need you to push. Can you do that for me?” Ravelin shook her head frantically, crying out in agony.

“I can’t! I can’t, no more!” She whimpered and grit her teeth.

“Come on, sweety, just a little more. You can do it.” encouraged the zebra. I squeezed the mare tightly, hoping to offer reassurance with constant mutterings of how strong she was, how brave she was. A lot of it was nonsense and probably didn’t help at all, yet I kept on.

“Deep breath, and, push!” Ravelin yelled and tightened around her swollen belly for a few seconds. Then she went slack and moaned in exertion.

“Push!” The mare tensed again, screaming for longer than I imagined possible. There was a wet, almost tearing sound and thick noises from the rush of birthing fluids.

Then the squalling of a new-born foal.

The baby was covered in copious afterbirth, and beautiful beyond words. It seemed almost impossible, that fragile little life.

“It’s a colt, a beautiful, healthy, baby colt.” said Zinfandel. Still supported by me, Ravelin reached out and cradled her child.

“You did it! A foal! A colt too.” I congratulated the mare.

“Hello, Rampart, I’m your momma.” Still weak, the filly smiled down at the little crying bundle cradled in her front legs. Rampart had his mother’s golden mane and a tan coat. “You’re going to be very handsome when you’re older.” The baby slowly stopped squalling and opened his wide green eyes for the first time. Ravelin nuzzled her foal with the immensity of love only a mother could ever have.

“Hush now, quiet now, it’s time to lay your sleepy head. Hush now, quiet now, it’s time to go to bed.” She softly sang and shut her eyes, still smiling. Rampart blinked twice and drifted off to slumber.

Ravelin relaxed against me.

Something about her seemed wrong, so I shook her gently. No response. Another shake. I called her name. Nothing.

She wasn’t breathing.

“Zinfandel!” I shouted. The zebra had been watching carefully too.

“Lay her down and take the foal!” Again, I did as instructed, gathering up Rampart and moving out of the way. Zinny put an ear to her chest. “She’s gone into cardiac arrest.” I could only watch, numb with horror, holding the babe close. The zebra put two hoofs to her sternum and pressed down, hard and quick.

“One, two, three.” The medic put a hoof to her nose and put her lips to the mare’s own. Ravelin’s chest lifted with Zinfandel’s breath. “One, two, three.” She went through the resuscitation cycle again, and then a third time. Then she pulled a syringe from her belt and thumped it into her patient’s chest. I winced at the impact and the length of the needle.

It wasn’t possible, she had been so strong, been through and survived so much. It wasn’t fair for Ravelin to die now. Rampart shouldn’t have to live without a mother, without ever knowing his parents. Come on Ravelin, live! Live for your child.

Three more times Zinfandel tried. No life stirred in the brown mare. She started again, and I saw the tears spilling down her cheeks. I knew then It was too late.

“Zinny… She’s gone.” I reached a talon to pull her away, however the zebra was in hysterics.

“No! I can do this! One, two, three.” She breathed again into the dead mare.

“One, two, three.” Breath.

“One, two, three…”

Level Up.

Perk Gained: Arcane Engineer – You’ve got the magic touch. +15 to repair skill, increased chance of successfully fixing items requiring magical matrixes or talismans.

(Author’s note: Whew! Dayum! Finally done! I deeply apologize for any kind of unnecessarily long wait for this chapter, many crazy things and stuff. Okay, I think this is my most nail-biting chapter yet. Let me know what you think!)

Chapter 8: The Badlands

Chapter 8: The Badlands

“I will show you fear in a handful of dust.”

“Zinfandel!”

The zebra jerked in surprise at my forceful tone. Her eyes were wide and bloodshot as her tears continued to pour. “There’s nothing more you can do.” Both of us looked down at the dead mare. Ravelin seemed so peaceful in death, serene even. She had died to bring new life into this world.

Rampart had woken up and was crying in my arms. With a heavy sniff, the banded female held out her hooves to me.

“Here, let me hold him for a bit.” I passed the foal to her carefully. She looked down at him and smiled sadly, rocking the colt gently. She took one of the blankets not totally sodden with fluid and wiped the blood off Ravelin’s teats. Then the zebra set the colt on his mother’s belly and the child naturally began to suckle.

At first I was appalled. “What are you doing?” I demanded.

“Let him drink her milk while it’s still warm. Let her give him that much at least.” Any argument I may have had about the foal nursing from his dead mother died in my throat. She was right. I didn’t know if the zebra could make a substitute formula for Rampart and could only hope that Ravelin’s sister would be able to manage something.

Not a little disquieted, I climbed over into the passenger seat.

“Hey, do you have any cigarettes, Hammer?” Wordlessly, the Unicorn floated a fresh pack over to me. I wiped off the blood with muttered thanks. As I was about to put one in my beak, a bump forced my digits closed and broke the tobacco stick in half. Nonplussed, I got a fresh one but didn’t light it.

Numb, my emotions, my spirit, were numb to the core. It wasn’t that I didn’t feel sad, or mourn Ravelin, it was just too much. No tears came, Zinfandel was shedding enough and I didn’t want to add to her misery by being sad too. A void had opened in my chest where my heart used to be that drank in everything. All my thoughts and feelings poured into that chasm, yet not even that was enough to fill it.

At that moment, I just let my mind go blank and dwelled on my physical senses. The bumps in the road the Workhorse drove over, the sound of the tires on the gravel and pavement, the seat beneath my flank, the smell and feel of the cigarette in my beak, the dull throb of my latest injuries, and the sight of the wasteland ahead.

Clouds, dark and brooding, formed a massive storm front. The air was thick and only a dull wind blew ahead of the encroaching rain. I could smell the moisture and the ionization in the atmosphere. Maybe it was my heritage as a creature of the sky that allowed me to sense these things. Some instinct buried in my genetics that even two hundred years of living below ground had been unable to quell.

Whatever it was, I could tell that the storm would be fierce and unforgiving.

“Looks like rain.” Said Hammer, his voice cracking at his own pent up feelings, mirroring my own conclusion. In a way that was almost prescient, fat drops began plunking against the windshield to our vehicle. Partly because the same part of me that warned of the danger of the storm now urged me rather fervently to seek shelter and partly because I didn’t think Hammer Horn was up to driving in such conditions, I suggested we pull over.

There was a broken piece of highway overpass that had collapsed against its support column and formed a natural lean-to not far off the side of the road that looked promising. A sheet of water followed by a gust of buffeting wind hit our vehicle right before we pulled into the sheltering shadow of the ruined viaduct. I breathed a sigh of relief I didn’t know I’d been holding.

At least the storm was something natural, something understandable in this backwards world. However frightening, however primal and untamed the forces may be, it was comforting somehow to know that some things never changed. As dangerous as it was, I could not help but be fascinated by the storm. Wider and wider my gaze became, trying to encompass the whole and being unable.

Reading it and experiencing it were two very different hydra heads.

I stepped out of the Workhorse and looked around. Hammer cut the engine and did the same. After I felt we were safe I set about finding something combustible. There was no lack of junk that would make good kindling.

Discovery wasn’t really an issue. Anypony, raider or otherwise wouldn’t be looking for us in this, and the water would wash away any tracks.

Zinfandel climbed out as well, cradling the again sleeping Rampart. The rain picked up and beat a loud rhythm against everything, drowning out all thoughts with its white noise. Hammer set up his cooking pot and the zebra just stared into the fire.

Oddly enough, I felt a strange burst of fidgety energy. It took me a moment to pin down the source of the feeling. Ah, yes of course. Ravelin still needed to be put to rest. Everything was too wet for a pyre, and honestly I didn’t want the smell to permeate the camp. So, finding a point a small distance away, I began to dig. At first I used a rock to break up the hard ground and soon Hammer came to help me. Together we labored until there was a shallow grave.

I climbed back into the Workhorse and carried the mare. She seemed so light, so weightless. Zinfandel watched from the fire, cradling the babe, and watched me lay Ravelin into the depression. Respectfully, I crossed her front legs above her still swollen belly and covered her with a blanket. That done I piled the dirt back up and covered her in a mound of broken concrete, piece by piece so scavengers wouldn’t get to her.

I think it’s what she would have wanted, even though it was unmarked. I hoped that being an earth pony, she would desire to return to whatever spirit remained of the land. Much as I had for Cinder, I prayed to whatever deity still had mercy that the late mare would find peace.

Looking out at the pouring rain, I felt the dirt, the grit, and the grime, grind into my joints. The urge to scrub myself raw scratched at my mind. I never knew it could feel so good to strip naked. Unwrapping myself was an annoying affair, but equally liberating.

“I’m going to take a shower.” I announced. Hammer mumbled something and poured some of the raider swill into his skillet without looking up. Zinfandel reached across the fire and grabbed the neck of the bottle in her mouth and knocked back half of it. The two started to argue.

Just as long as they kept it down, I didn’t care.

There was a point on the broken highway above that formed sort of a sluiceway around a large shattered piece of road that jutted up like a wall. Water poured down it, forming a small waterfall that struck a perpendicular chunk of rubble. My PipBuck said the precipitation wasn’t radioactive at least.

The rain was lukewarm, and felt so very good.

I just stood and closed my eyes, letting the liquid pound off my back and fill my hearing with its rush. I just let go and let it wash away everything. My haunches found a comfortable spot and I let my head droop, surrendering myself to the torrent. All the blood, mine and others, was swept away. There was even still a little grease in my crest feathers from the day I escape the Stable and that too was soon gone.

It felt purifying. Flowing so smoothly, it slipped between every feather, every toe and talon. Until then I did not know what it meant to be clean because I hadn’t known what it meant to be truly dirty. Maybe soap would have helped, yet all the soap in the world could replace an honest to Celestia rain shower.

If it were just a little warmer, I might have even dozed off in that aqueous heaven.

Five minutes passed, then ten, then fifteen, and some of the more congealed gunk was finally starting to come loose.

“Hey, Ghost.” Sweet Celestia on my hatchingday cake!

“Oh, Zinny, you nearly scared the feathers off me.” I had been so relaxed the zebra had rounded the convenient privacy wall and taken me by surprise. She giggled. It was the most feminine thing I’d ever heard the zebra utter.

That’s when I actually stopped and really looked at her. She was naked. And very curvaceous I couldn’t help but notice. Without her cloak, without her gun, and divested of the packs and pouches she had worn around her waist, the natural figure of the mare was obvious. Her bulky gear had obscured the slimness of her waist and the width of her hips. Exotic didn’t even begin to cover it.

Now, being a male, all of this was filed neatly away in the lustful part of my brain as casually as can be before my chivalrous nature made me avert my eyes in modesty. Not before I caught the gleam in her gaze however. She sauntered towards me.

“I was wondering if you could wash my back for me?” She asked sweetly before stepping into the stream of water.

Again, being a male, I had a biological propensity for missing subtle cues from females, but when one practically bends over in front of me… ohh my… that was her hips rubbing against my leg. Those lovely, curvy hips. Yes, foreplay, I could dig that.

If I were to hazard a guess at this lucky turn of events, I would have to conclude that the zebra wanted physical comfort, the touch of another living thing. And somehow I doubted she would seek it from Hammer, so that left me. And honestly, though I would not take advantage of a mare in a weak moment, I was in a fragile mindset too.

All my thoughts were wiped away at the urges welling up within. To forget myself in physical union, with a zebra no less was enough to fill a part of that void. To give in to something so simple, so… intimate would erase some of the pain.

So I reared back and began to wash, or rather sensually rub her striped back. I smoothed the tense muscle knots I found. Having individually articulated digits, I often surprised hooved mares with the sensations I could provoke.

“Oh, Ghost.” Zinfandel moaned softly under my ministrations. I smiled to myself in triumph. It had… been a while I will admit. Had things taken a different turn, I would have scored with Honey Cup back in my Stable, and before then… Well, the thing with Ireena had put me off my game.

I knew I shouldn’t have, but the appetites, the urges, the lusts of the physical body were something that didn’t know shame or humility. Much like a starvation can drive the proudest soul to beggary, so too does the pursuit of coitus drive males to any length. It was a steady progression. Devoid of sex, first comes tension, feelings of lightness or heaviness. Then the body begins to hum with need, vibrating with that urge. Soon, if it’s dwelled on the mind almost reverts to a more primal state, ready to annihilate any obstacle between itself and gratification.

It’s so easy to surrender to those erotic pangs and let all rational thought drown in the instinctual carnal pursuit of pleasure. She turned to face me, breathing hotly and inching closer. The zebra was much shorter than I, and had to lean her neck back for to look at me. Closer and closer she came, her lips nearly to my beak, and I caught a faint fragrance.

To my surprise she did not follow through with her motion to kiss me and instead leaned past, and vomited.

Well… damn.

With a sigh, I wrapped a forelimb around her for support and pulled the mane out of her face as she heaved. The aroma I had just barely detected was that of the alcohol, now coming back up the way it had gone down. Yes, above and before all else, I am a gentlegriffin, studied and versed in the fine arts of romance and proper etiquette. So, when a fine lady who was in the process of throwing herself upon your mercy suddenly takes ill, you do the polite thing and keep the hair out of the way as she throws up and do not mention just how truly foul it smells.

I waited until she was done heaving, made sure to wash any lingering sick from her muzzle and slung her over my back. “Uhn...” She moaned in nausea.

“C’mon drinky zebra, let’s get you tucked in.” I walked back to the camp and set her down close to the fire.

“You’re a good friend, Ghost.” Her voice was slightly slurred.

“Yeah,” I said as I tucked Rampart close to her to keep them both a little warmer. Almost immediately, she was out like a light. I plopped myself down and tossed more wood onto the fire. Hammer floated a bowl of something over to me. It was filled with a thick, unidentifiable brown sludge.

“What is it?”

“Slop,” Said Hammer, a faint hint of amusement in his tone. I scooped a little out. It jiggled.

“What’s in it?”

“Slop,” he said again, the smile clear in his voice. Experimentally, I nibbled at the strange gelatinous concoction. When it didn’t hiss at me I took a larger, tentative bite. Not bad.

“So, Hammer, what made you leave home for all this?” I said between mouthfuls, gesturing to our surroundings.

“Well, my home situation wasn’t exactly pleasant. My parents had certain expectations of me. I’m not the oldest, so I was supposed to sort of take care of the farm while my older brothers ran the family business. Figured there was more to life than moving rocks from one field to another trying to cultivate gemstones. Ravelin had gone missing and her sister made me an offer I couldn’t refuse ya know?” His voice drooped somberly for a moment, but the perky unicorn’s tone upshifted. “Out here I can do what I really like: Cookin’!” He exclaimed happily, brandishing a large spoon in a magic grip.

“I get to see things I never imagined before. I was kinda sheltered ya know.”

“Where’d you learn how to drive then?” The pale blue buck squirmed a little.

“Well… Uhh… that is umm, my folks made sure that I had a good education just in case my two older brothers died or something I had the knowhow to pick up the slack.” He said evasively and quickly changed the subject. “What about you? How come ya left yer Stable?”

Because I was tired of being a slave and opportunity fell in my lap.

“I don’t really wanna talk about it.” And I meant it. It felt like a part of my life I’d rather never think about again, rather bury beneath my new life. I’d rather just let Ashes to Ashes die and become Ghost. Ghost didn’t have a sister, he didn’t have a sire or dam. He was just Ghost.

“But, what about that whole ‘branding’ thing? Is that why?” I felt something inside me like a caged beast wanting to get out.

“I was a slave, okay?” I blurted, and once the flow started, I couldn’t stop it. “All the griffins in Stable 57 are. Once a griffin comes of age they’re branded, so they know who owns them. Who fucking owns them! They made us wear bindings that strapped down our wings.” With a shudder I had to reach back and feel my feathers to reassure myself the horrible harness wasn’t there. “We couldn’t fly without permission. We couldn’t do anything without permission. We were worked to the bone so they didn’t have to. I just got lucky. Lucky enough to escape.”

I stuck a broken piece of wood into the fire and played with the burning embers. “It wasn’t always like that though. In the Overmare’s terminal there were records of what really happened, how a pony noble years and years ago killed the griffin who was supposed to co-manage the Stable and made it look like a suicide. Made it seem like the griffins couldn’t be trusted.” It was a rather abridged version, but that was the gist of it.

“I only figured it out by accident though; I was fixing the Overmare’s terminal and found everything. She walked in on me and nearly killed me for finding the other system, buried in the Stable network.”

“Shit dude, I had no idea. What’d you do?” I looked up at the unicorn.

“I broke her horn off and made her apologize.” Hammer Horn stared at me in horror and reached up to protectively cover his own appendage.

“You don’t do anything half-way. Didn’t you say you were lookin’ fer yer mom though?”

“Yeah, she got out a few years ago, long before Cinder and I did.”

“Who’s Cinder?”

…Shit, I said her name didn’t I?

“My… sister. She died. So did my father. I guess in a way my mom is all I have left.” I laughed a little, quietly reliving jumping through the closing Stable door, and standing in front of a burning pyre. No, you stay dead Ashes, you burned with your sister. “I don’t even know if she’s still alive, just that she went to Rust Town.”

“Whoa man, that’s harsh.” Okay, Hammer had had his questions, and I had spilled way too much already, so I turned the conversation back around on the stallion.

“So, what’s with the zebra hate? It doesn’t sound like something you believe, but something you’ve been made to believe.” If I knew anything, it was hate.

“What makes you say that?” He said defensively. There was a difference between honest to Celestia, soul searing natural born hate, and hate that had been conditioned. Years of living it as a griffin and seeing it in pony nobles had taught me that. “Why shouldn’t I hate zebras?” Perhaps it had been a bit of a shot in the dark, but Hammer’s uncertain undertone cinched my suspicion.

“Because you and Zinfandel would have killed each other already for one thing. Have you even met a zebra before?”

“Well, I’ve seen ‘em, but never talked with one. It’s just what my dad would always say. He would go on and on about ‘em, how they started the war, how they butchered children and other, less flattering things.” Was that a little parental resentment I detected? His look turned serious and he shifted the conversation once again.

“What really happened in the MAS building, Ghost? What were the zebras after? How come you can see memory orbs without a recollector? That mark on your ass doesn’t look like a brand; it looks like a genuine cutie mark.”

“Recollector?”

“Yeah, ya wear it on your head and lets non-unicorns look at orbs.”

Honestly, until that point, I had taken Hammer Horn to be a bit dull-witted. He surprised me with the accuracy of his observations. Alicorns and fire spirits flickered through my mind. I matched his gaze with my own.

“I’m not sure, and that’s the truth. There’s a lot that happened down there that there’s no real explanation for. I intend to find out though. Do you mind standing guard while I look these two orbs I found down there?” It wasn’t a real answer, but Hammer was a good sport about it and nodded.

I pulled my saddle bags close and reached inside to-

oooOOOooo

Note to self: remember that the memory orbs are activated by touch. For me at least.

I wasn’t sure I’d ever get used to the very disturbing shock of inhabiting a body that had hooves and other… discrepancies.

This time I was inside a unicorn. Hmm, horns are weird. I wanted to scrunch my brow or shake my head at the strange feeling of the bony appendage poking out of my host’s mane. He reached out a hoof a pushed open a door leading into a small office. Standing behind a desk, drawing diagrams on a large chalkboard was a familiar mousey mare.

My host sauntered up quietly behind her and threw his hooves over her shoulders. She let out the most adorable squeak of fright and turned. Her expression of surprise changed to one of annoyed amusement.

“Oh Hypothesis, you know I hate it when you do that.” She playfully tapped a hoof against his/my shoulder. I mentally recoiled.

I was in that bastard! The colt who betrayed her! Oh, how I wished this wasn’t just a memory, I dearly desired that I could reach out and take control, warn the mare about the stallion who even now was likely thinking her mad.

Synthesis turned back to her board, crammed full of equations, drawings, and arcane diagrams with various notations next to them. Beyond my realm of influence, the stallion sidled next to her and nibbled at the back of her neck.

“But you like when I do this, don’t you?” He continued to softly nip and kiss the soft and fragrant fur of her neck. She giggled and lightheartedly tried to push him away. He was persistent though and soon she was crooning in his embrace.

If I were to rate Hypothesis, he would have to fall somewhere between radroach shedding and dirt, infertile dirt. To so take advantage of a mare, a mare that obviously deeply trusted him and viewed him as more than just a coworker or fellow researcher was reprehensibility of the highest caliber. And then to sell her out as a crack-pot! The nerve.

My fury only grew as he continued his physical advances. They/we bumped against the chalkboard as my host leaned around for a kiss. I felt… a stirring inside the body I rode and revulsion rose in equal measure. It wasn’t fair for one thing, not right after Zinfandel and our little encounter. She tasted sweet, just ever so slightly sweet.

Oh please, goddesses have mercy, don’t let them have sex with me in his memories.

The mare pulled away and sauntered to the doorway where I knew a cot waited. My host hurried after her. The lights were turned off and the two ponies climbed into the soft blankets together.

oooOOOooo

Oh thank you, Luna. Thank you for the little things. I resurfaced from the depths of the orb and made sure nothing was amiss in my mental absence. Zinfandel and Rampart were still snoozing softly together. Good. Hammer had packed away his meal and stared out into the rain, keeping watch. A slight pain jabbed into my frontal lobe and made me wince.

Hypothesis sobbed quietly, in regret. It tainted his steps, his thoughts, his every move was tinged with that mournful feeling. He took out an orb and a note, and set them on the cot that he shared with an amazing mare that he had just thrown away. Only when something is gone, do we realize just how much it really means to us. And too late, did the stallion understand just how big of a role she had played in his happiness.

I shook my head, feeling like there were cobwebs stuck in my skull. What the hell was that? Intuition? My imagination often got the better of me, but that felt just a little too spot on. I set the memory orb I had just viewed aside so I wouldn’t accidently bump it.

What was… what is… what may yet be…

Ow. Ow, ow, ow. I massaged my temples as another flash pierced through my thoughts. Did everything out in the wasteland have to be enigmatic and more often than not extremely painful? Ugh, I had no patience for headaches, whether stress, idiot, or mystery induced.

Too much thinking, not enough acting.

I put a claw back into my bags and rummaged about for the other…

oooOOOooo

At least I was somewhat more prepared that time.

Okay, who and where was I this time?

Hmm… rows of work stations, rocky walls, and giant red crystal. That was easy enough. This must be the orb I found in the safe, so it would stand to reason then, that this is the day Twilight Sparkle visited her ministry in Baltimare.

Now, who was I in? My host walked a few steps forward, checking what appeared to be a graph on a screen set in a large machine whose purpose was unclear.

…

Oh.

I was Synthesis’ memories, and in her body.

HER body.

As much as I enjoyed admiring the female form, and exploring their anatomy, that did not mean I wanted to actually experience it. Things felt distinctly, err… well, I’d rather not go on about the airiness this new sensation bestowed upon my twitching consciousness. Suffice it so say, that once more I was as far from my comfort zone as metaphysically possible.

“Is everything ready? Are we ready?”

Focus Ghost. Important stuff going on.

My host turned and addressed the assembled ponies in their strange, long coats. Her eyes locked on Hypothesis standing in the group and he gave her a reassuring smile.

“We have nothing to worry about everypony. It’s just Twilight Sparkle. So long as we remain confident and show her the amazing progress we’ve made, I have no doubt that she’ll give us the best review of any of her hubs.” I could sense her trembling and the raise in her heartbeat, but her tone remained steady and level. This little mare had guts; I had to give her that.

A stallion burst in through the doors and breathlessly announced that the guest of honor was on her way. Just a moment later, from those same doors walked an older lavender mare flanked by a pair of oddly similar looking unicorns. The streaks of color through her mane and tail were just starting to fade, but there was a definite, ineffable aura about this strange pony.

She was small in all honesty. I didn’t know what to expect from one of the legendary mares, and there was something about this filly, something I couldn’t quite place my mental talon. Perhaps it was the awed hush that descended among the scientists or perhaps the small group of ponies that trailed even further behind, talking quickly and furtively among themselves.

Twilight Sparkle peered around at her surroundings, taking in the workstations and various technical apparatus in at a glance. Then her eyes focused on the ones which I shared and a wide smile broke her serious expression. With a casualness that shocked both I and my host, she trotted quickly up to Synthesis and held out her hoof. Dumbfounded, a hoof rose in my view to meet hers and was shaken politely.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Synthesis, I’ve heard many good things about you and the work you’re doing here. From what I’ve seen so far, this facility is a fine example of how Arcane Science research divisions should be run, a standard that all who strive for science should work toward. I can’t wait to see what you’ve got lined up to show. I’m sure it will be spectacular.” Careful Twilight, you might give poor Synthesis a heart attack, judging by the way dopamine and endorphins were flooding her brain.

It was quite a euphoric sensation.

I could also feel the blood flushing her cheeks. “The pleasure is all ours Miss Sparkle, you do us great honor by personally visiting the Baltimare MAS hub. If you’ll come this way?” My host ushered the ministry mare over to a larger chalkboard upon which was a massive array of equations and technical diagrams focused around the large fire ruby.

“This,” Synthesis swept a hoof to indicate the board. “is a basic outline of our proposed superconductivity functionality and our understanding of its interface with the crystalline structure leading to spell form manifestation.” The little mare was a little out of breath after that explanation. Twilight Sparkle did not seem to mind in the least bit and was staring intently at the board with its myriad of arcane technobabble.

“Fascinating, you’ve managed to isolate Starswirl the Bearded’s principle of magical suspension!” She turned to look at my host. “Would you mind too terribly dear if I add a few things of my own?” Did Synthesis’ loins just spasm a little?

“Oh no! Not at all Miss Sparkle, we have copies of this.”

“Just Twilight is fine, Synthesis.” She said with another warm smile. The purple unicorn levitated a piece of chalk that had been in a holder at the bottom of the board and began to make methodical lines and additional calculations to the board. Behind, both the scientists and Twilight’s entourage had fallen silent to watch the Ministry Mare work.

I stared through my host’s vision, in rapturous awe. I could decipher some of the mathematical equations and inferred the purpose of some of the diagrams from my own experience inside the crystal. What this unicorn was doing though… it defied understanding. She casually flicked through complicated root formulas and magic structures that filled my mind to bursting point. It seemed impossible that simple chalk could contain the level of enlightenment exhibited by this pony.

She wasn’t just Ministry Mare, some simple beurocrat, or organizational figurehead. No, Twilight Sparkle was an extremely gifted, and frighteningly intelligent scientist all her own. Her intellect dwarfed mine as a skyscraper looms over an anthill. There was nothing this unicorn could not solve, no scientific mystery beyond her grasp or understanding.

The lilac mare even hummed happily to herself as she made a few finishing touches here, scrutinized a number there, and underlined a component or two. After another minute she stepped back and set the chalk down, seemingly satisfied with her work.

“Very excellent work, Synthesis, I couldn’t find anything that was really wrong and only a few things that I think could use an improvement. It’s not your fault in the least bit though; you didn’t have access to his archives after all.” There was a tiny hint of arrogance, but mostly contentment in Twilight’s tone. Synthesis stepped forward, running her eyes over the veritable wall of arcane science. “If you make these few adjustments here, here, and there, you should be able to hold a more powerful spell for longer. Shall we move on to the main event then? I’ve been just itching to see these spell manifestations ever since I read your report.” The mare let out a feminine giggle of happiness.

“Of course, right this way.” Synthesis’ voice was a little distant as she took in the altered algorithms. She led the way around to the fire ruby on its ziggurat. There was a whole assemblage of heavy machinery that I didn’t remember being there last time. I got a good view of the giant crystal from the outside before the war, before the chaos and the destruction.

The gold frame around the mighty mineral edifice gleamed and crackled with barely contained energy. Perhaps it was just my imagination, but something seemed to stir, some strange reflection of the light didn’t quite catch right passing through the gem. There was a glowing heart at the center of it that pulsed and glimmered. It was beautiful, it was mighty, and although those around me did not know, it was alive.

My host trotted over to a table with a strange helmet looking device connected by half a dozen very thick cables. “This is our interface unit. It’s pretty simple actually. The receptors transfer the energy of the spell into the frame around the crystal which acts kind of like a localized focus. Instead of it being cast from your horn, the spell is cast from the frame.” She set down the helmet and pointed a hoof to huge bank of matte black cooling fans that also connected via large cables.

“When we turn on the cooling units and run a very specific charge through the fire ruby, we’re able to drop the temperature of the metal and in essence freeze the spell.”

“But you’re not really freezing it, you’re actually speeding it up to such a degree through the superconductive material that we’re able to see the individual partitions of the spell itself.” added Twilight. “The energies of the spell travel at such relativistic velocities that once going such a speed they seem to stand still. It’s perfect! The fire ruby though, that was the real stroke of genius. What else could handle such levels of heat like that except for a fire ruby?”

She chuckled a little sardonically. “It’s no small wonder our ancestors chose this land to settle.” Once again the mare turned to my host. “I didn’t mean to interrupt, please continue.” Synthesis smiled sheepishly.

“You surmised it all quite nicely Miss Spark- err… Twilight. Would you like to see it?”

“By all means,” Her magenta eyes glimmered with the prospect of what was about to occur. My host nodded to Hypothesis who quickly got the team of unicorns into positions. The hum of the cooling towers filled the large chamber and a few electrical sparks jumped from the gold frame to the fire ruby it surrounded as they threw switches and typed commands into terminals. In a surprisingly short amount of time which made me suspect they had had the whole system on standby, one of the unicorns announced they were ready.

Synthesis picked up the helmet with her telekinesis and set it on her head. It was heavy and made breathing a little stuffy. I felt her magic well up and her horn tingled in a moderately pleasant way. I heard a few ponies give out little gasps. She pulled the helmet back off and set it on the table.

“I’d recognize that anywhere.” Twilight said, stepping up to a glowing mote of light. All around the giant crystal was aglow with tiny points of suspended light. Tiny traceries of light tighed the little glowing orbs together like gossamer string. A whole constellation of lights floated in the air, giving off their golden glow of my host’s magic.

It was truly a sight to behold as the ruby throbbed with the heat sunk into it and the golden framework frosted over and vapor misted the air from the metal beams. If I was to hazard a guess, there had to be at least two hundred individual points of dainty luminescence no bigger than a talon. The string connecting many of the orbs glittered like glass as they caught the light from the ruby.

“This is a lift spell isn’t it?” She turned back to the floating spell. “Turning a page, levitating a book. Something all unicorns know. Ah, there’s the direction, and there! I recognize force of the magic, everything! Every little part of a spell, down to the tinniest of details. It’s magnificent.” Twilight Sparkle praised. If Synthesis could blush any harder she’d likely catch fire.

The floating constellations were indecipherable to me, but as the lavender mare pointed out certain aspects and named them, I began to see the patterns, the relative position of some, the connections others had, and even the subtle difference in intensity. Synthesis walked beside the Ministry Mare and actually touched one of the orbs! I was expecting it to burn, or maybe be extremely cold, but there was just a slight tingling around her hoof as she carefully bumped the point of light.

Serenely, the little light moved upwards and sent a little pulse through the connections with the rest. A few immediately corresponding luminescent orbs changed position as well.

“And there I altered the size of the levitation field from a pencil, to a clipboard.” Twilight Sparkle actually looked impressed and more than that, fascinated.

“I can see the other parts are in fact harmonic with the set and altered parameters. It’s fascinating. What other spells have you tried! Oh, oh, I simply must attempt one of my own. This could usher in a new age of arcane understanding! This is like a microscope but for spells, spells too fleeting to truly analyze.”

“Err, well we haven’t really done much past simple things like telekinesis and a few healing spells.” Poor Synthesis stammered.

“I’m sure Fluttershy would love to take a look at those. And Rarity has been trying to get that broadcasting spell working for ages now. Oh! And of course Applejack has been looking for new ways of enchanting gems for talismans. Pinkie and Rainbow Dash are sure to have a use for a new spell or two as well.” She frowned a little at the name ‘Pinkie’ and turned back to the strange pair of unicorns who were diligently taking notes and sending some of the entourage out with scrolls.

I searched my memory quickly and Twilight was of course referring to the other Ministries and the other bearers of those mantles.

“Of course Miss Twilight Sparkle,” Said the stallion.

“We must remind you however,” added the mare.

“That you will soon be late for your-“ Continued the colt.

“-meeting with Princess Luna.” Finished the mare. Seemingly nonplussed by the duo’s odd speech, Twilight nodded before looking back at Synthesis.

“I’m afraid I don’t have much time left, but I would like to see something for myself first if that would be alright?” She sighed, seeming suddenly very tired. The mare I was occupying nodded frantically and walked with the purple unicorn back over to the helmet. With a little help Twilight Sparkle donned the complicated interface and stepped back. The room was still for a moment in anticipation.

They would not be disappointed.

Light practically exploded from the ruby and the superconductive gold. At first I was afraid that something had gone wrong, but the wave of energy resolved itself into spiraling galaxies of those mystical orbs. Instead of a soft gold, these were of a range of indigo, reflecting their caster. Constellations of what must have been a hundred thousand tiny lights practically filled the whole chamber! The air shimmered and hummed with barely restrained forces.

And they were not still either. The motes and their thin threads moved, rotating and spinning, at times crashing into each other and spiraling away again. The gossamer strands throbbed and pulsed with lively energy. I could feel my mare’s jaw wide open, and if I had been in control it would have been hitting the floor.

Whispers and mutterings of wonder flitted through the air along with the lights. Twilight Sparkle took off the helmet and surveyed her work with a wide grin. As she walked through the thick of the lights they moved aside for her and clustered in her wake like a cloak of stars. She paced right up to the fire ruby and stood a just a few steps away. She reached a hoof up as if intending to touch the gem and hesitated.

“You’ve got something miraculous here, Synthesis. And not just the spell manipulation.” She turned back with a wry smile as the lights began to fade. A wave of vapor billowed out as the metal tried to compensate for the massive power surging through it. Clearly the whole mechanism wasn’t quite able to handle the level of power poured into it for long.

The Ministry Mare strode confidently through the mist, mistress of all things scientific and unafraid of the forces at her beck and call. My esteem for this creature, long lost now, was truly monumental. Would this world ever see her like again? Could there ever be hope of a pony coming along in even another thousand generations that equaled Twilight Sparkle?

The way she had reached toward the ruby… did she…? Could she suspect, even from her brief contact, that there was more to the giant crystal than met the eye? If anypony could, then wouldn’t Twilight Sparkle? Then why hadn’t she said anything? And what spell was that which she had cast! It was indescribable.

She walked past Synthesis who I felt was on the verge of an arcane display induce aneurism and gave her a gentle nudge with her flank.

“Keep up the good work; I have faith in your abilities. Make us all proud.” My hostess stammered something that even I couldn’t quite catch. And the lavender unicorn walked out of the chamber with her subordinates trailing close behind.

I felt her cheeks stretch in a smile so wide they hurt and the world went black.

oooOOOooo

Holy throne of Canterlot, I now understood why the ministries had descended on the mousey mare as they had. Surely, they had simply been waiting for an excuse to strip Synthesis of her position and take her to lead their own research projects. Inwardly I cringed. With her success, she had ceased to be an individual and had become a commodity.

I rose up in sudden concern, aware that the memory had probably taken a fair bit of time. I looked around, making sure that everything was alright. Yep, there was Zinny still sleeping off her alcohol with Rampart and Hammer huddled close to the fire. Rain still hammered the earth and distant thunder still rumbled.

The wind carried a chill bite to it and I shuddered as my beak started chattering in the cold. Fuck, cold, cold, cold! I had been lying without as much as a blanket under the collapsed highway section. The blue unicorn looked up at my motion.

“Thank Celestia, I was afraid you’d never come outta that damn thing. It’s your turn for watch, man. It got cold real quick and I’m tired. Did you find anythin’ out in that orb?” I shook my head as I scooted closer to the fire and added a fair stack of broken wood to stoke the flames.

“N-n-nothin’ I couldn’t have g-g-guessed. A f-f-few tidbit-t-ts but that’s r-r-really it.”

“Some of ‘em are kinda useless. Whatever, ah’m goin’ to bed.” The unicorn was obviously a little grumpy from having to stay up in the cold. I watched Zinfandel shudder a little bit under the blanket and a sudden spike of worry for the foal shot through me.

“H-h-hey Hammer, w-w-we need to keep the baby warm. Here, get under the covers with Zinfandel.” I thought it was a pretty good deal. He got to sleep with a good looking mare and keep her and little Rampart warm. He looked at me, then to her, then back to me.

“Ah ain’t cuddlin’ with no damn zebra.” Oh, there was that.

“Look, the two of you together will make sure Rampart stays warm, and you’ll be warmer too. Besides, she’s not gonna wake up, passed out stone drunk.”

“Ah ain’t cuddlin’ with no damn zebra.”

“Cram it mister stubborn! You cuddle that damn zebra!” I pointed firmly with a talon and locked my eyes with his and stared him down. At first he continued to obstinate, but through a combination of cold, concern for the baby, and my own gaze he eventually looked away and grumbled under his breath as he made his way over to the sleeping pair.

With another irritated look at me he huddled close to Zinny without actually touching her and threw his blanket over the both of them without actually getting underneath hers. After only a few minutes his form was rising in a steady rhythm. For a while I just looked into the fire, playing with the piled on pieces of wood as they caught. It felt good to just sit and think, letting information process itself at an easier pace.

I however, am a fickle creature, and am quickly bored without something to do, or at least with the possibility of doing something an option. The rain and the cold made me seriously doubtful that anything was going to attack, but I had a duty to watch over my companions and I was not about to shirk my duty. There were a few things that needed taken care of anyway and now was as good a time as any.

I flicked on my PipBuck light and headed over to the Workhorse to make sure the talisman was still in place and charged. Ah, which reminded me that I now had a radio. With a few clicks the radio station with the oddly upbeat DJ issued from my leg. I kept the volume low and listened happily to the slow old tunes. The smooth voice of the station did not speak up between songs. I guess even the wasteland sleeps sometimes.

In an old tool box below the seat was a faded copy of a pamphlet containing the routine for regular maintenance on the boxy vehicle. It was only a few pages pretty much surmising my belief that so long as the talisman at the heart of the engine had charge the thing would run. There really wasn’t much I could do sadly without the necessary parts or fluids.

A few of my head feathers hung loosely in my face. I blew some air at the rebellious plumage and used the opportunity to slick them back again. A melancholy idea bubbled up within, that I had washed the last of Stable 57 from me. It still felt like I could just turn around and Cinder would be there, that I would wake up and it all just be a dream, a strange dream brought on by too much fiction.

Every time I opened my eyes, I did not see the walls of my Stable nor the smiling face of my sister or the scowling one of my father, just an empty waste. I buried such thoughts by going back to the fire and organizing the stuff I hadn’t dumped into the Workhorse, being careful to pick up the memory orbs with a piece of cloth.

I cleaned the guns I washed the gore from my knife and axe, taking another moment to pine after weapons I felt more confident with. At least with SATS I was a good enough throw with the knife. There was one thing however, that I had not yet done. Something I hadn’t looked at.

The Megaspell Theory book.

I figured that Hypothesis had left it in the safe as he had left the orb on Synthesis’ cot after her relocation. The bombs, the megaspells had heralded the end, so someone other than Synthesis had to have put it there. Some things I somehow felt would remain unknown. Carefully cracking the cover, I began to read.

Chapter 1: Theory

Magic. It resides within all living things, from the horns of the unicorns, the strength of the earth ponies, or the wings of the pegasi. But ponykind is not alone in the blessing, the gift of magic. From the most troublesome parasprite, to the most ancient dragon, magic is an integral part of what breathes life into our world, without which there would likely be no life.

Through the advancement of our understanding of magic and the underlying principles that governs it, we have been able to make innovations in leaps and bounds in the recent century. Unheard of modernization has sprouted from our drive to comprehend, and master the forces around us.

Without understanding, without progress, we would still be in the dark ages.

A megaspell can refer to two very distinct things. It can refer to the end result, the greatly enhanced spell effects. Or, the vessel that amplifies or contains the amplified spell form itself. Now these frozen spells can take shape either as a chamber or structure that needs to be actively charged through different stimuli or required conditions. These are often huge edifices requiring careful calibration and a team of masterfully skilled and highly trained unicorns.

Or, the spell can be essentially cast and contained for later use. As our understanding and mastery of the megaspell concept we have been able to put more potent spells in ever smaller vessels. This storage allows for portability, espionage, battlefield application, and installment into a variety of delivery systems.

The first known field test was that of a healing megaspell, ignited on the front lines by Ministry Mare Fluttershy and select Ministry of Peace operatives to observe the effects. It was beyond successful, healing every wound, life-threatening and otherwise. There are even reports of those who had only just passed being revived, many of whom are still alive today. The radius of the effects was so great that it in fact crossed over into zebra lines as well.

Whether this was by design is unknown, megaspells still being very early in development and their yield still difficult to calculate.

Ever since the leak of the megaspell plans to the zebras, it has be construed that the zebras have in fact been able to fully reverse engineer the forms for holding their own, backwards alchemical reactions, seemingly capable of emulating the general concept of exponential amplification found in our own.

Chapter 2: The Self-Sustaining Reaction

Underlying the very nature of the megaspell, is the theory that any spell of any sort, with the right materials can be amplified. This has given rise to the belief that it is in fact possible to create a self-sustaining reaction. A closed loop cycle of continuously gyrating energies and complementary breakdowns followed by constructions of matter and magical power.

It would require a unique synthetic medium coupled with either a singular or matrix of synergistic spells simply to ignite. Then, once ignited there would have to be a containment or suspension structure around the reaction. And to top it all off, a control mechanism of some kind would have to be capable of safely manipulating output and catalyst regulation to insure the reaction did not fizzle or grow beyond safety margins.

This is the holy grail of megaspells, in theory capable of generating infinite power, a unique, controllable spell that once ignited would be possible of not only self-replenishment, but what we have come to understand as a ‘fusion’ reaction. This is process we understand as occurring within a very unique celestial body.

The sun.

Ever has ponykind and unicorns especially tried to grasp even a sliver of the power as wielded by our fair lady, Princess Celestia.

As of the publication of this compilation of study on the subject of megaspells however, it remains a mystery as to whether such a thing is possible at all. After all, what spell, what material could possibly compare to the power, even in megaspell form, of the very sun?

Somehow, that struck me as ironically sacrilegious.

***

After a few hours the rain had petered off to a drizzle and eventually stopped. In the faraway distance I saw a shaft or two of sun break through the cloud layer for brief moments before vanishing. The rain should have brought clear skies, but the forecast was only ever overcast out here. The thought that I had traded once ceiling for another once again was brought to my attention.

Zinfandel actually woke up first, rubbing her undoubtedly throbbing head and giving out a little shriek when she noticed who was sleeping with her. That woke up Rampart who began squalling. The zebra picked up the crying babe and began trying to rock him and rub her head at the same time. Hammer followed the two of them into wakefulness shortly after and had his own gripes to voice about being woken up as he had.

I stifled a yawn and waited. Taking faint amusement from watching the pair. The megaspell book had been a fair bit of interesting intellectual posturing and not a small amount of advanced math and magic formulas that were beyond me, requiring a much higher level of education than I possessed.

The zebra set to brewing something which I assumed would be breakfast for Rampart and set to arguing with Hammer, calling him something in her tongue which was probably unflattering. The two quipped back and forth with various accusations and less than civil name calling. The babe was swaddled in one of our spare blankets and the stripped mare dripped some of her brew into his mouth and soon he was content again.

I didn’t want to wait for Hammer to cook us a full morning meal so we set out.

Once out on the road again, the mood seemed to brighten a bit. Even though Celestia’s grace was hidden, it still warmed the air. This was a thirsty land, and the standing puddles of water were soon gone. After an hour Hammer and I were talking amicably again while Zinfandel giggled and crooned over Rampart who made little burbling noises of his own.

“…and that’s when the brahmin exploded.” I gave him an incredulous look I knew he couldn’t see.

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope, out of the blue, bang! Oh, it was everywhere.” I laughed until my sides hurt. Soon we would be to our destination. According to Hammer we were only about two miles or so away. After everything, escaping my Stable I was finally going to find some real civilization. I looked out at the landscape speeding by thought I saw something.

“Hey, what’s that over there?” I pointed. Hammer had to keep his eyes on the road so Zinfandel looked.

“Can’t you see, Ghost?” She asked.

“Uh, well, it’s kinda fuzzy is all.” She looked back at me.

“Ghost, do you normally wear glasses?”

“No, I don’t need glasses, I can see just fine. Things that far away are supposed to be blurry right?” She gave me the doctor look again. “What?” She sighed and wordlessly hoofed me a delicate set of wire-frame lenses. I opened them and set the spectacles on my beak.

Wow, okay maybe I do need some corrective lenses. Everything was suddenly much sharper, like I had been seeing things further than twenty feet away in a lower resolution. I looked back where I saw the suspicious looking smudges and spotted ponies moving.

It looked like it was already over. Five were dead, three normal looking ponies and two of their attackers. They were feral, like beasts. These must be raiders, their hides covered in a mishmash of gear, their manes spiked into crude warhawks and other styles were enjoying the spoils of their conquest, namely the one surviving mare. I could see one moving between her legs as the two others held her down over a rock.

“Oh shit, Hammer, turn the Workhorse to the right! Raiders, but there’s a survivor. We gotta help her!” Neither of my companions moved.

“Ghost, there’s nothing you can do. It’s best to just move along.” Zinfandel said dejectedly.

“For once, I gotta agree with her, Ghost. It ain’t our business.” Hammer never took his eyes off the road in front of him. I stared at the two of them.

“What the hell is wrong with you two? They’re raping her!” They were silent and didn't answer my challenge. My tail lashed back and forth in agitation. Rampart began to cry again. Fine, if that's how it was going to be.

“Screw you both, I’m not just gonna sit here and watch.” I donned my vest, grabbed a pistol, my knife, and tossed the glasses back to the banded mare.

“Ghost, wait!” Cried the zebra as I launched out of the top hatch. If they didn’t want to help that was fine. I could handle it on my own. Of all the things that boiled me to the core, that sent me into a fury, few were equal to that of rape. It was a crime that offended my sensibilities. As a gentlegriffin, nothing was more abhorrent.

It was back in the Stable that I first heard talk about it, then witnessed it myself. Oftentimes I had frequented the lesser traversed passages, preferring to avoid congestion and ponies. There was nothing special about that day, nothing particularly different or odd. It was another grey day with grey walls that I came across a pair and their intended target.

They had hauled her down the side passages to have their way with her in private. I came across the bastards and demanded what they were doing. ‘Keep your beak outa this, griffin.’ Was the wrong answer. After beating the two senseless I helped the crying mare to medical to make sure she was alright. The victim was Lily Blossom, daughter of the original Overmare. Her family had fallen in the cutthroat world of upper Stable politics and had since been replaced.

Only now did I see the satirical nature of me, a griffin, saving the descendant of the original Overmare of Stable 57 from other ponies. Of course, Lily Blossom had been very grateful and had happily performed for me the very act she was almost forced to do for the other two. Did that make me twisted? I hadn’t solicited it from her, Lily provided it of her own free will. Maybe that’s what separated me, or rather how I separated myself.

Choice, and freedom.

I mentally kicked myself to be free from distraction and descended like a lightning bolt of retribution. With only a thump to betray my landing, I alighted behind the trio, pistol in one talon, knife in the other. The mare alternated between screaming and crying. One of them spotted me quickly enough to turn and got several ten millimeter bullets to the chest and neck. I shifted aim and gunned the other one down as well.

These ponies were like animals, slavering and howling, driven by base urges and insane. Ghouls acted with more reason. I closed the distance with the one who had been busy between the minty green mare’s legs. As he turned, cursing and spitting, I wrenched his head back by the mane and drew every inch of razor steel across his throat. Blood hemorrhaged from his severed arteries and remorselessly I dropped the raider like the piece of garbage that he was.

Up close, the raiders were even worse. They stank of shit and death, the ragged patches in their fur and yellow eyes showing disease and pestilence. I put away my weapons and went to the mare who had curled up into a protective ball, hugging her fluffy bright blue tail to herself.

“Are you okay?” stupid question, Ghost. Of course she wasn’t alright. She looked at me in fear, pupils contracting sharply.

“Please don’t kill me!” There was blood and other things flowing weakly from between her legs, and my expression softened in sympathy.

“I’m not going to hurt you. I swear I mean you no harm. Here,” I offered her a talon, which of course she flinched away from. I held my ground patiently, even managed to smile a little, and slowly the mare uncurled herself. Her eyes flashed to something behind me as the last raider screamed and galloped at me with a club.

Before he took two more steps I drew my gun and emptied the rest of its clip. Two to the chest, two to the neck, and my shots aimed at his head missed. Somehow, whether through bloodlust or some kind of drug, the stallion kept charging. I leapt forward with a beat of my wings and snapped a kick firmly into the side of his head. With our combined velocities that made for a strike that sent the raider tumbling to gurgle the last of his lifeblood through the holes in his gullet. My paw throbbed lightly as I landed.

The mare looked at me with a mix of fear from my display, and hope at the possibility of salvation.

“I’m heading to Rust Town and we can take you there if you’d like.” I said, trying to keep my voice steady after the rush of combat. The Workhorse had turned around and was heading back. The mare nodded. I smiled and stretched out my talon again and this time she took it. I helped the traumatized filly to her hooves.

“Rust Town or bust.”

Level Up.

Perk Gained: Quick Draw - Weapon drawing and holstering is now 50% faster.

Trait Discovered: Four Eyed Griffin - Whoops! Too much time in a dark room with a bright terminal has damaged your eyesight, but you didn’t realize until now! +2 to Perception while wearing glasses but Perception lowered by 1 when not wearing corrective eye-wear.

(Author’s notes: Okay, I know this chapter is VERY late, but I have been obscenely busy! (I know I know) And rest assured that I will endeavor to make the next one not quite so late (and it’s going to be a fair bit longer) but it may be a little delayed as well. College finals for me are imminently approaching so school will have to bear the brunt of my attentions for a little while. Tell me what you guys think! I love comments, praise or criticism.)

Chapter 9: Rust Town

Chapter 9: Rust Town

“The roads are the dustiest, the winds are the gustiest, the gates are the rustiest…”

In the Stable, my Stable, I understood freedom as an abstract. It was an ideal, a dream, a hope, a burning desire. I knew that I wanted it, had read descriptions of it, and conceptualized the reality and what it meant, but never experienced it. What did it mean to be free?

Well, it meant many things.

To one who’s never tasted apples, how do you tell them of the crunch of the skin, the juicy sweetness of the soft inside? Telling is one thing, experiencing it is another. I would daydream for hours of the open sky. Nothing prepared me for the reality of its massive expanse. It was an ocean of air.

Just because I had never experienced true freedom until now, did not mean that I was unaware of it before, did not mean that I had not yearned for it and purchased it with my blood and the blood of my blood. My mother had known it, my father had given his life for it, and my sister had died while living it. As a creature of the zephyr, freedom, flight, was instilled with every beat of my heart, every rustle of my feathers.

Freedom for me could be summarized by two things: The sky, and my wings. Freedom was the ability to go flying in that layer between the earth and the stars, to close my eyes and feel the wind in my fur and feathers, knowing that a thousand feet was between me and the ground. In the cradle of Luna’s blessed firmament nothing could hold me back; nothing could tell me what to do or where to go.

I pitied those who could not fly, who could not soar as I could. When I flew in that wasteland sky, even with pegasi clouds blocking my view of the sun, everything was alright. It was a world without rules, without borders or boundaries except the ones I chose to acknowledge.

At the same time, I had seen the flipside of freedom, that of lawlessness, of slaving and raiding. Those without such a code may see it as restrictive, but my honor liberated me. It freed my mind from torment in so many ways. It gave me stability in the wildest of circumstances, hushed the plagues of living. Yes, the wasteland was brutal, it was harsh and bloody, and yet for me it was the most wonderful thing.

The promise of sovereign reign over myself had coaxed me from the safety of my Stable. Perhaps I did miss certain inhabitants of the shelter, the food, the routine and the predictability provided by the underground bunker. It was an inveterate existence.

On the outside I had been burned, stabbed, shot, bitten by zombie ponies, and suffered other terrible injuries and loss after over a week. I had witnessed death, birth, and rape.

But I was free.

I won’t lie; I did take a certain smug satisfaction in having saved the mare from the raiders. I was right, they were wrong. The decision had been mine, not an order, nor a mandate by some uncaring pony master. I had wanted to perform an act of my own volition and followed through.

With all the grace of a great metal beast, the Workhorse skidded to a halt, engine growling as it idled. I helped the tan-furred mare over to the waiting vehicle. Her back legs weren’t working very well so she leaned a lot of her weight on me. I didn’t mind.

Zinfandel jumped from the back and trotted towards us. She took in the sight of the mare with her abused form and bright blue tail matted with numerous fluids and helped me support the traumatized pony. At first, the tan filly flinched away from the zebra in fear. She pressed weakly against me.

“It’s okay, Zinny’s a medic, she can help.” I reassured the mare.

“That is right; you are going to be just fine. What is your name sweetie?” Zinfandel asked kindly.

“M-merry.” The tan and turquoise pony shuddered. Together we helped Merry climb up into the Workhorse. I took my place in the passenger seat once more to give the two a little privacy as the zebra inspected the violated mare’s feminine places.

I had already stripped the dead of anything valuable so we were ready to go. Hammer looked at me like he wanted to smile but hadn’t quite decided whether or not to yet.

“Why’d ya do it, Ghost?” The stallion asked as he shifted the vehicle back into gear and swung it towards the road.

“Because it was the right thing to do.” I stated stiffly, still a little pissed off.

“Yeah, it was the right thing. Remind me t’join you next time, can’t have you takin’ all the credit for rescuin’ mares now can I?” He grinned wryly.

“I wouldn’t mind a little help next time.” Although from the perspective of my honor, such casual dismissal of other’s plights was incomprehensible, I could separate myself. My honor demanded I help, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t understand where Hammer and Zinfandel had been coming from. From the viewpoint of ponies who had lived their lives in the wasteland, self-preservation came first. And while I could understand such a stance, I would try my best to never take it at the expense of innocents.

I would do better than the ponies of my Stable.

***

A few miles later, I beheld the awesome fortress that was Rust Town.

Two huge embattlements flanked the main gate in the distance. The walls were at least twenty feet high of slopped metal topped with razor wire. Countless slabs of overlapping steel formed slightly angled bulwarks. Almost all of it was various shades of red and copper from oxidization with disparate patches of newer looking plating. Piles of shredded metal lay at the bottom of the walls, forming nasty deterrents to any kind of assault.

And that was only one side of the stronghold.

Then, at the top I spotted something that looked like a massive cannon. Grumbling to myself about my damaged eyesight I poked at Zinfandel until she gave me the glasses I had used earlier. I looked once more and…

Wow.

Celestia’s golden ass, they had field guns mounted on the walls! Several sizable howitzers were in fortified emplacements in each of the bastions. Briefly I considered the limitations of such fixed guns and their inability to unleash their payload on an enemy that got too close. My pondering was answered when I saw the huge double barrels of a tank turret rotating to track the Workhorse.

In a way it made sense, being so close to the old battle lines between the equestrian mainland and the zebras. Countless war remains littered the landscape just waiting to be refurbished. They didn’t need the whole tank, just its turret and rotating mechanism. I had no doubt that enough ordinance was pointed our way to turn us into just another crater alongside the numerous others dotting the roadway.

As we got closer to the gates we passed other caravans coming or going from the town. I climbed up on top of the Workhorse to get a better view. A few groups of merchant ponies led double-headed pack animals laden down with huge bags while steely-eyed guards with heavy weapons walked alongside their charges. Many stopped to stare at our vehicle with its large, boxy profile and thick tires. I drank in the sights of actual living ponies who were not out to kill me, just going about their peaceful business.

There was even a pair of zebras on the road with hooded cloaks pulled high. And… holy Canterlot, was that a minotaur? I struggled not to gawp openly at the massive biped.

The great gate of Rust Town was a huge slab of metal held aloft by thick cables attached to what looked like a crane. I marveled at yet another ingenious defense mechanism. In an emergency, doubtless the whole thing could be released, slamming closed in seconds. It looked so thick that blasting through it would likely demolish the whole gatehouse before toppling the wedge of the door. The idea of passing beneath a chunk of dangling metal that heavy was a little nerve wracking.

There was a thin ditch spanned by layered scrap that, if closed, the gate would surely crash through, further reinforcing it by providing a trench to lock the sliding wall in place. This was without taking into account the numerous gun slits and what looked like machine gun nests set alongside the top of the gatehouse. Armed guards patrolled the walls and checked ponies coming into the town.

As marvelous as all this was, I had to wonder what kind of threats this settlement faced to necessitate all that firepower.

Hammer brought us slowly to a halt in the queue of merchants waiting to be admitted. After not too long of creeping forward, a trio of guards came and inspected us. One observed at me on top before scanning beneath the Workhorse while another looked in at Zinfandel and Merry. The third was talking with Hammer Horn. They all wore tan long-coats and many sported battlesaddles.

“State your business.” The fact that we were riding in a mechanical vehicle didn’t seem to be an issue so long as we weren’t planning anything raider-like I guess.

“Mayor Citadel is expecting us. We have news about her sister.” The stallion with the wide-brimmed hat leaned closer and peered through the windows.

“I don’t see Ravelin, what kinda shit’re you tryin’ t’pull?” He demanded.

“She… didn’t make it. But her son did.” On cue, Rampart let out a needy squall. I heard Zinfandel mutter something softly to the crying babe. The pony’s hatted head turned sharply at the sound and he seemed to digest this news.

“I’ll send word ahead that you’re coming.” The gate guard stepped back and waved us on. “Go on through, and be careful where you steer that thing.” The unicorn revved the engine and very ungracefully jerked us under the gate and into Rust Town proper.

“Hey, why does this sound like the opening to a joke? ‘A unicorn, zebra, and griffin drive into a town…’ Doesn’t that sound like something I’d say?” asked Hammer.

“Only because your head is full of rocks you stupid stallion.” jibbed Zinfandel.

“Do they always do this?” asked Merry as I dropped down through the hatch.

“For as long as I’ve known ‘em.” I answered. As we passed through the gate we followed a road through a buffer zone between the wall and the first few buildings of the town. Much of it was fenced off into areas of sickly yellow grass where clusters of those weird double-headed cow things wandered about.

“Look, uh, thank you and everything. I-I-I don’t really have anything of value to give you but…” Merry started, examining her hooves rather than look me in the eye.

“Hey, don’t worry about it. I never expected you to pay or anything.”

“Can you let me out here then?”

“Are you sure? We can take you anywhere you need to go, it’s no problem.” I didn’t want to leave the mare just anywhere, no matter how safe Rust Town was.

“No, I’m sure. I need to meet up with the rest of my caravan; they should have made it here already. Again, thank you.” Her tone was skittish and I really couldn’t blame her for wanting to put the raider attack and everything about it behind her. Without any preamble the mare crept edgily out of the vehicle, smiled weakly once, and turned to gallop away.

She had been free to leave at any point she wished. It wounded me somewhat to have her flee so soon, however it was not my place to dictate terms of her rescue. Merry was master of her own destiny and person, I had merely helped defend that right, and the comfort I took from that well outweighed any offense I may have taken from her abrupt departure.

“Do you think she will be alright on her own?” Zinfandel asked in Merry’s passing wake.

“She must be part of a caravan group, so there should be ponies she knows to help her more. We got her here safely, so she’s a helluva lot better off than where she was.” Put in Hammer. A moment of quiet passed between the three of us. Rampart was sleeping again, contentedly swaddled in a bundle of soft blankets, seemingly immune to the sounds of the Workhorse.

“Hey, kid!” Hammer called out to a dark brown colt past one of the fences. The earth pony froze and turned sharply. At the sight of my unicorn companion the young pony’s eyes widened in fear. “Moo.” He stated simply. In response the colt jerked around abruptly and galloped away. The unicorn fell back into his seat, guffawing.

“Hammer, what the hell was that about? ‘Moo?’ Really?” asked Zinfandel. I was wondering the same thing myself. The light blue stallion chuckled a little more and managed to compose himself.

“Alright, alright, story time. So, before I set out to Ghoul City, I had to get a few provisions, right? Didn’t have a cap to my name though so I did a few odd jobs around town to earn some cash. So there was this farmer whose brahmin kept complaining of being ‘attacked’ at night. So, I camp out, waiting to see if I can catch whoever’s doin’ it, and what they’re doin’. Well, I sit around for a few hours and nothin’s happened so I kinda fall asleep. Now, I wake up to one of the brahmin mooin’ her brains out. Top of her lungs, bellowin’ about somethin’ attacking her. So I rush up and light up my horn and what do I find?” Hammer Horn paused for dramatic effect.

“I find the farmer’s son, screwin’ the brahmin, screwin’ her real hard. I’ve never seen somepony go at like that!” I can’t help it, the image in my head was too hilarious. Zinfandel and I were in stitches. “But that’s not all! So here I am, standin’ with the light right on him and he looks me, dead in the face, and keeps going! Then, he speeds up a little and I can only guess that he finishes and he yells ‘Moo!’ at the top of his lungs!” Oh, oh my sides… they hurt. The light-heartedness helped dispel some of the melancholy I felt.

“Heh, so the farmer’s son pays me double to keep it between us. Best hundred caps I ever made in my life.”

We continued further into the town proper. I stared in wonder at all the different ponies. Blue jumpsuits got real old, really fast. Out here, there were individuals of many colors, of many styles, some in regular clothes, and some not wearing any clothes at all! Several stopped and stared at the passing vehicle as it trundled slowly down the main street. Stalls lined the road as ponies hawked their wares. Storefronts advertised different services, and the smell of cooking food wafted above the hum of conversation.

Hammer drove the Workhorse all the way to the center of the town, parking it in front of a large, heavily fortified building. I guessed that this was town hall. It was a solid two stories taller than all the surrounding buildings, holding a commanding view of the whole town. What really interested me though was the fountain.

Standing on a plinth was the larger than life statue of a rearing earth pony with a hammer in its mouth. From around the rear hooves of the pony poured crystal clear water. It flowed out into a wide pool surrounded by a raised stone lip. Numerous flesh and blood ponies surrounded it, dipping water skins, buckets, or just their muzzles into the gorgeously vibrant liquid. How rich did a town have to be to afford a water talisman used so freely?

Feeble green grass and weeds struggled to grow in the stunted sunlight in the dirt around the fountain. I even spotted a trio of brightly colored foals playing near the fountain’s edge. The sight brought a smile to my beak. This town was alive, breathing, with honest folks flowing through the arteries of the place, pumping life into an otherwise dead region.

Hammer killed the engine and jumped out.

“I’m gonna go tell ‘em we’re here. Sit tight a minute, okay?” I nodded and the blue buck trotted up the stone steps, spoke a moment with the pair guarding the entrance, and marched off into the hall. The rather large edifice probably used to be a courthouse or something of that nature. The old stone façade was cracked, but had been polished and still had some of its shine. It would make sense for Rust Town to have been built on the bones of some pre-war town.

The whole place had been aptly named, most of the buildings consisting of rather crudely constructed houses of ancient metal. Red dust coated the cracked pavement, and although it seemed a sign of decay, there was abundant, vibrant life among the hoof-raised architecture.

“Hey Ghost, may I ask you a question?” Zinfandel surprised me by leaning between the seats, gazing at the town center. I had been lost in my aqueous ruminations.

“Sure, go ahead.”

“Is it really alright for me to be travelling with you?” She looked… guilty?

“Of course it’s alright. Who else is gonna patch up my bullet holes?” I asked in jest, but she had a worried look as she chewed her lower lip.

“I am a zebra. Does that not bother you?”

“Does it bother you that I’m a griffin?” I countered.

“Well, uh, no… no, why would it?” She stammered. It was rather cute.

“It didn’t seem to matter yesterday, in the rain.”

“Oh! Oh dear, that… I am so sorry about that. It was a mistake.” She noticed my wince and hurt look. “No! Not a mistake. Argh, Caesar curse this pony tongue. I did not mean to imply- oh!” She groaned in frustration. I forgive her wordage with a sigh.

“Look, I don’t care if you’re striped or not, Zinny. You helped Hammer and I rescue Ravelin, and tried your damndest to save her. You and Hammer were the first ones I met out of my Stable that didn’t try to kill me. We’ve fought together. I hope that kinda makes us… friends.” It felt weird to say those words, yet anything else would taste of a lie.

“Only my brother would to call me ‘Zinny’.” The sadness in her voice made me instantly regret using the shortened nickname.

“Sorry, I won’t use it.”

“It is fine, it just reminds me of him, that is all.” I could tell it was a painful subject, so I didn’t press the matter. “I do not mind calling you a friend, Ghost; the unicorn however, is another matter.” I chuckled softly at that. Right on cue, Hammer stuck his head out of the doors to the hall and gestured for us to come inside.

“Come on,” I said to the mare and jerked my head in the direction of the governmental center. Zinfandel insisted that I be the one to carry Rampart. I had no problem with that, the little tyke wasn’t hard to carry in one forelimb. I was used to walking on two paws and a talon. Up the steps and through the doors we went.

The interior of the courthouse was about what I imagined, a series of benches leading to a raised judge’s seat. Tall windows were set into the walls and eight girthy stone pillars held up the high roof. A balcony encircled three-fourths of the top, providing a higher perch for observing the proceedings. I imagined this place full of yammering voices during town meetings with a wisp of a smile. Hammer led us around the empty hall to an office behind the judge bench.

A cream colored mare with a wavy gold mane tied back in a bun, a professional looking suit, and a gavel for a cutie mark paced anxiously in front of a large desk. At the sight of the sleeping bundle in the crook of my leg, she let out a gasp and rushed to inspect the foal. She peered down at little Rampart, still sleeping obliviously away. The mare clearly had tears in her eyes as she held out her hooves.

“May I?” She asked in a shaky voice.

“Of course,” I responded, and carefully gave the babe to his aunt. Hammer stood by smiling, while Zinny looked rather uncomfortable, and we waited patiently in silence.

“I… I can’t thank you enough. All of you. I know that Ravelin…” She nearly choked on the words. “Died while… giving birth. There’s no reason for me to doubt that. She was just… my only sister. But you saved her, and saved her foal, and for that I am eternally grateful.” The mare took her place behind the desk, rocking the foal gently in her front legs. My heart lifted somewhat, to know that I had helped do this, that now Rampart would have a brighter future with his family.

“I am Mayor Citadel, leader of this little town. Ah, I see you have a zebra with you.” Zinfandel visibly tensed. “Relax, soldier of Caesar, zebras are welcome in Rust Town so long as they abide by our rules.”

“It’s a pleasure, Miss Mayor. Zinfandel helped rescue Ravelin too, and delivered her foal.” I was quick to add.

“Then it seems I owe you thanks in addition to welcome.” She said magnanimously before turning to me. “And I’ve heard a great deal of things about you, Mister Ghost.” I shifted a little, unused to being addressed so respectfully. “Hammer tells me that it was mostly by your doing that my nephew is with me now.

I held up my talons to forestall her. “Oh no, I just went along for the ride. I never would have even known about it if Hammer hadn’t asked for my help. I just wanted to get here.”

“And he never would have succeeded without your help. Ragtag has been trying to take over this town for years now. The bastard knows he can’t take us head on so he kidnapped Ravelin to try and force me to surrender. Even if I had wanted to, there was no way I would have handed the keys to my town to that bastard. He would have just killed her slower if I had.” Ah, all the guns suddenly made a lot more sense. That piqued my curiosity though.

“This town is incredible, where did you get the idea to use the old field guns?” I asked Citadel.

“That was my father, Castle. He pretty much built this whole town himself. It was his idea to polish up the old guns that were buried around here and make fortifications. No force has ever taken this town. We’re free from anypony’s rule but our own. We’re not exactly an independent nation, but we do provide refuge for the surrounding settlements just by being here. Red-eye would love to get ahold of this place too. Fortunately he’s too busy up in Fillydelphia.”

“Please, peruse the market, take some rest, all of you will be welcome here. I’ll inform the guard that you’re all free to come and go as you please. The gates of Rust Town will be forever open to you. Feel free to sleep here tonight.” I inclined my head.

“That’s very generous ma’am, you’re too kind. I think we may just take you up on that. We’ve got quite a bit of junk to sell and supplies to buy, is there anywhere you can recommend?” She blushed a little at my flattery, yet it was genuine.

“Oh, just head on over to Warehouse’s Warehouse. She’s got one of the best selections in town. Tell her I sent you and she’ll deal with you fair.” Oh shit, almost forgot.

“Umm, before she died, your sister mentioned that you had met my mother, Blazing Glory.” Citadel’s eyes searched me for a moment.

“So you’re her son? Amazing, I never would have guessed, but now that you mention it, you have her eyes. Come back in a few hours, I’ll have Rampart settled by then. Sherriff Dusky can tell you more than I could, my memory isn’t as good as his. Is that agreeable?” I bowed slightly, very eager to learn anything about my mother, but I would be patient. There were things to be done and I had to talk things over with my companions as well.

“That’d be fine. Thank you, Mayor Citadel.” I took my leave with one more respectful nod, Hammer and Zinfandel wordlessly following me. We all piled into the Workhorse and headed off to where Hammer said the market and shops were.

“Okay you two, you don’t have to follow me around anymore. I know I said I’d help you both with your things if you helped me find Blazing Glory, but you don’t have to follow me anymore.” The light blue unicorn looked at me as if I was crazy.

“You kiddin’? I said I’d help, and help is what I’m gonna do. If your mom is half as awesome as you are, that’d be a griffin I’d wanna meet. Besides, someone’s gotta watch your back from this zebra here.” Zinfandel shot him a dirty look and chipped in her own opinion.

“You still have to come with me before my people and vouch for what you found. I am not about to go back on my word so I can run back home with my tail between my legs. You two would both be dead without me around. I cannot imagine the trouble you would both get into without me to pull your noses out of the radscorpion nest. Hmph, the nerve.” The zebra looked at me from the back seats.

“I’m with you, Ghost.”

“I was with him first.” That… sounded rather wrong Hammer.

“He did not want to go with you, you brick-headed unicorn! Ghost asked me to come with.”

“Oh yeah? Well-“

“Please fillies, there’s enough Ghost to go around.” Hammer abruptly shut his mouth and Zinfandel blushed rather furiously. The unicorn quieted likely for being caught bickering like a foal, and the zebra for our earlier encounter, not all of which I was sure she remembered.

I was surprised by their willingness to stay by my side. I would be a liar if I said it didn’t fill me with a small wisp of joy, a small uplift to my spirit. Maybe they weren’t quite my friends yet, maybe they were. Either way, I was glad to know that I’d have two stalwart companions with me to face the danger of the wasteland. They had stood shoulder to shoulder with me so far, through fire and death.

“You ever think about havin’ foals, Hammer?” Recent events had strange things on my mind.

“Me? Naw, I’m an eligible bachelor and I intend to stay that way for a while. I’m Celestia’s gift to fillies after all.” I snorted humorously at his response as he posed himself in a peacock-like manor. Zinfandel refrained from commenting and contented herself with a quiet laugh.

“Oh! The Fast ‘n Nasty!” Hammer jerked the wheel of our vehicle abruptly around and took us to a screeching halt. Cursing, I just barely managed to hang on and avoid bashing my brains out against the windshield. We had stopped in front of a single story shop with a bright neon sign that read exactly as the unicorn had proclaimed. Several ponies who had narrowly avoided being run over were spouting a few choice words as well.

The buck jumped out of the Workhorse gleefully before galloping inside.

“There should be enough juice left in ‘er for a few hours! Meet ya back at town hall!”

“Wait!” I cried after the receding stallion’s backside. Grumbling, I plopped back down in my seat. Zinfandel climbed behind the steering wheel of the massive chunk of locomotion.

“You know how to drive this damn thing?” She nodded.

“As a Remnants Infiltrator I am trained in the use and operation of enemy vehicles and tactics.”

“Take ‘er away then miss Infiltrator. Preferable towards the market… area.” I indicated a general direction with a wave of my claw, double checking it against the little pointer in my PipBuck’s automap. I had stopped wondering how the little device knew to mark locations back in Ghoul City.

With a deep seated satisfaction, I pulled a fresh cigarette from the pack Hammer had given me and lit it up. I inhaled deeply, the tiny ember at the end of the sweetly scented stick glowing bright. I blew a lungful of smoke out of the vehicle’s open window, enjoying the simple feeling.

***

We pulled up to a large, squat building with an oddly rounded construction. It wasn’t square at all, just one big arch, like someone had taken a long tube, cut it in half, and stuck it in the ground. As with the rest of the buildings, it was a patchwork thing of new and old rusted sheets. I surveyed the mishmash of gear I had collected and picked up as much of it as I could carry. After some strain and consideration, I decided it would be a better idea to do it in several trips. Hopefully this would net a fair sum of caps for supplies and maybe some new weapons and barding.

“Zinny, you wanna come inside?” I asked the zebra.

“Thank you, no, I shall remain here and guard our vehicle. I need to convert my rifle to use pony crystal cartridges anyway.” The banded mare wrinkled her nose at having to deal with doubtlessly inferior pony surplus, but she had a look that worried me. The zebra had taken Ravelin’s death very hard, and she seemed to be bottling quite a bit of that up. I didn’t want to leave the filly alone with her thoughts for too long, but all this stuff wasn’t doing much good crammed in the back of the Workhorse.

“I’ll be right inside if you need me.” She smiled weakly.

“Do not worry, Ghost, I can take care of myself.” I nodded and headed into Warehouse’s Warehouse. A tiny bell rang when I opened the door. The inside of the store was filled with countless shelves, standing and set against the walls. All manner of items hung or filled the rather large building. It wasn’t very wide, but inside I could see it extended for quite a ways. There were a few other ponies perusing through the wares. A mare gasped from behind a long counter to my right.

Sweet Celestia!

My heart leapt into my throat for a moment as the neon blue filly exclaimed in surprise. And ponies complained about me sneaking up on them. I had been so caught up in looking at all the stuff and other patrons that she just about scared the feathers off me.

“A customer!” I took a wary step back towards the door at her almost manic tone. “Wait what’s your rush, what’s your hurry?” She reached out a hoof to me, her ear-to-ear smile catching me somewhat off guard. “You gave me such a fright, half a minute I thought you were a ghost.”

“Well, that’s my name…” She actually leapt over her counter and came right up to me, quite inside my personal space. “Um…” Her mane was such a bright purple my eyes almost stung as the light caught in it. An old set of jeweler’s magnifiers sat on her head and a simply brown shirt girdled her torso.

“Ghost is your name! Wow. Wait, wait! Don’t tell me, you’re here because you heard this was the best shop in town and you’ve got stuff to sell Mister Ghost! Griffin mercenaries are always welcome in Warehouse’s Warehouse.” She was a little full of herself, but in a confident, almost endearing sort of way. The mare eyed the bulging packs across my back with a greedy glint in her eye.

“Yeah, sure. Mayor Citadel recommended this place, said to say that she sent me, that you’d deal fair. And I’m not a mercenary.”

“You sure? You’re a griffin.” I rolled my eyes in as exaggerated a fashion I could manage. “Right she was. The name’s Warehouse, and I got everything you ever might need right here.” Warehouse moved back behind her counter and set her front hooves upon the old surface, a pre-war register next to her. “So what can I do for you?”

“Well for starters,” I heaved my packs onto her counter. “I’d like to know how much I can get for all this.” Warehouse eagerly dove into the loot, sifting through and separating everything into piles. Really, out of all of it, I kept the long serrated knife and a ten millimeter pistol for myself. They were what I was confident with, and hopefully she would have more bullets in stock.

It hurt to have to add my broken knuckle dusters and the caravan shotgun to the pile. They had served me well, and it was a shame to sell them, but really they weren’t useful anymore. The mare set aside the many hunting rifles I had collected, checked the action of the ten millimeter submachine gun, tested the blade of the fire axe, and otherwise examined the quality and the nature of the goods I had brought her.

While she was tallying weapons and quoting prices on a floating clipboard I excused myself to grab the rest of the gear out of the Workhorse and check on Zinfandel. She was busy working on her laser rifle and gave me a quick acknowledging nod and a friendly smile. I smiled back and hauled the rest of my spoils into the Warehouse.

The unicorn proprietor continued to tally items and amounts on her clipboard as I waited patiently for her to finish. After a few minutes of happy humming, she presented the compiled list of goods and what she was willing to buy them for. I scanned the list with a critical eye. Some of the amounts honestly surprised me, and looked rather familiar. Of course! I checked my PipBuck against the prices.

So that’s what that number column meant. It seemed the marvelous piece of hardware attached to my leg had endless uses and functions. I wonder how it calculated the conversion into caps? The sum total was just below seven thousand caps. Combined with the actual loose caps I had picked up, I had a fair sum to work with, and there were a fair few things I needed.

“Do you mind if I grab a few things before we finish the sale? I’d hate to be counting caps back and forth all day.” Warehouse practically glowed with the prospect of the coming transaction and put all my traded gear into a large crate for later sorting I assumed.

“Of course, pick out what you’d like and I’ll just subtract it from your total.” I nodded my thanks and perused the shelves. I snatched a few containers of motor oil, coolant, and other assorted parts for the Workhorse. Next was a good looking set of reinforced leather barding, complete with multiple pockets, pouches, and a nice looking quick-draw chest holster. The now thoroughly torn up bullet-proof vest needed replacing.

There were a few magical energy cartridges that looked about the right size for Zinfandel’s rifle that I added to the pile, and a couple larger spark batteries that should work as backup power for the Workhorse. Then I found something that really made me happy. It was in a small black case and had a significant price tag attached for something so small.

It was a silencer for my ten millimeter pistol.

Aw hells yes. I made sure to add some spare ammo for said pistol as well. The price made me feel a little guilty for spending so much, but I could only imagine the usefulness of such a modification.

“Is that a tail sheath?” I asked suddenly.

“Is it?” Warehouse asked as she wandered over to where I stood. I picked up the thin leather tube with its trio of thick buckles and recognized it. The leather was old and worn, but still strong. It was really a simple thing, a slab of tanned hide, buckles, and an adjustable bracket for a weapon.

“Yeah, it is. You slip it over the end of your tail and you can put spike, blades, or weights to add power to your tail strikes.” I held up my tail and demonstrated a few quick swishes. Experimentally, I slid the long serrated knife into the brackets and was happy to learn it fit perfectly.

“Cool! How do you know that?” She said quizzically.

“I’m a practitioner of the Iron Talon. Lots of griffin fighting styles use tail-based hits or weapons. The goal of any griffin style is to use every part of the body for different purposes. The tail can be used as a whip, and a grappling tool, wrapping around your opponent’s leg and tripping them, or neck and choking them. Talons for slashing and striking, paws for kicking or mauling, beak for quick, unexpected strikes, and even wings for overawing, or knocking prey over.” I went through a few rapid motions with the blade hidden in the tuft of my lion tail to demonstrate.

“There’re even things for putting blades on your wings. Get ‘em sharp enough and you can decapitate with one pass. The roots of pretty much every griffin combat art are based in aerial combat, letting you use every part of your body freely.” Practice with my tail had mostly been with just a weighted sack or bits of scrap metal to simulate having a blade. Another liberating rush spiked my brain at having more real, deadly ways to put my skills to the test.

Griffins had a long, colored history of combat. Unlike our equestrian counterparts, the griffin kingdom had often fought amongst itself or neighbors, testing their mettle and fighting prowess. It was considered an honorable profession to be a soldier. The ancient city-states that made up the griffin kingdom had often clashed with the old pegasus tribes.

To my eternal frustration, for everything I found or was told of old griffin wars and conflict there was never a shred of contemporary (and by that I mean two-hundred years ago contemporary) records concerning the griffin’s involvement in the great pony-zebra war. Even master Grimm had only the barest of knowledge regarding the subject. The only thing anyone I asked could agree on was that Rainbow Dash had gone before the griffin council seeking their aid. What happened after, or even at what point in the war this transpired, remained a mystery. To me at least.

Perhaps in her travels, my mother had found out. I couldn’t help but wonder.

“Do you have any other things like this? Claw weapons or anything?” Warehouse shook her head.

“Tell ya what though, next time I get in a good griffin weapon I’ll set it aside for you. Being a griffin in a mostly pony world was hard sometimes. The tail sheath was the first griffin weapon I had found. There was nothing to replace my broken knuckle dusters, but a tail sheath was almost as good.

Focus Ghost. What else did you need? Grudgingly, I put a pair of prescription flight goggles onto the counter.

“What’re you, a near-sighted griffin?” I just mumbled something offensive and sifted through my mental shopping list.

Alas, her stock of lunchboxes and explosives was rather low at the moment.

Two items still needed addressing. First, I put the pieces of the broken automatic rifle on her counter.

“How much would it cost to fix this?” Warehouse picked up the pieces, looking them over with her curious magnifiers. She gave a low whistle.

“It’s pretty trashed, though I can see why you’d want this one fixed. Not often you find zebra enhancements on a gun like this. Lucky for you though, I have a spare. She turned to a large case mounted on the wall behind her and unlocked it with a key, opening the opaque glass doors and floating out a plainer looking automatic rifle.

“Tell ya what. I’ll fix it for five thousand caps.” I felt my wallet twinge in pain. “Or, I can just sell you the bits you need for two thousand.” Whew, that was a little better.

“Let’s go with that second option then.” I said with a slightly nervous smile.

“That’s fine, wouldn’t be making that offer though if I didn’t know what you’d done for the Mayor, savin’ her nephew an’ all.” She appraised my surprised look with a sly grin. “Word travels fast round here. You did a good thing for this town. It was a real tragedy when Ravelin got ponynapped.” I nodded solemnly.

“Do you mind if I use your workbench?” Warehouse grinned.

“I’d be insulted if ya didn’t.” I made sure to add a generous pile of appropriately sized rifle bullets to my order as well.

“Oh, and one last thing. I was wondering if you knew what this is.” I pulled out a large, glowing bullet. If anypony knew what it was I suspected I was in the right place. I held the heavy thing up for Warehouse to look at. Her eyes widened and her mouth hung open a little. Was she… drooling? She caught the look I was giving her and composed herself.

“Oh dear, you bring all kinds of fun toys. Where ever did you find that?”

“Well, for starters I was hoping you could tell me what it is. Judging by your reaction, it’s something valuable.”

“You don’t know?” She looked at me as if I had suddenly sprouted antennae. I rolled my eyes and shrugged.

“I was hoping you could tell me.” She held out her hoof and reluctantly, I placed the phosphorescent round onto it. Warhouse lowered the jeweler’s magnifier over her eye and examined it carefully.

“This, my fine feathered friend, is a point five oh caliber depleted balefire round, manufactured and distributed by the Ministry of Wartime Technology.”

“Balefire? As in the necromantic dragon’s breath the zebras used?” She looked up at me and shook a hoof.

“Ah, see that’s a common mistake. Balefire wasn’t a purely zebra weapon. Sure, they used it the most because it was a readily available alchemical ingredient of some potency, but ponies used balefire too. Depleted balefire is a byproduct of distilling the dragon’s breath. You’d get hundreds of pounds of the stuff from making balefire bombs. Kind of like a solid waste. Well, you shoot this thing, and the force of the impact will crack the bullet open and cause enough of a kick to ignite the latent balefire.”

I was liking this.

“It’s not dangerous is it?” Didn’t want balefire blowing up in my face after all.

“No, no, quite stable,” Warehouse said as she continued to examine the bullet, poking at the glowing green band above the casing. “It takes the impact of being fired to really get the reaction going. Once it goes though, you’d best get outa the way.”

“So, is the pyrophoric reaction self-sustaining?”

“Excuse me? Pyro-wha?” Again, I rolled my eyes.

“You know, ignition upon exposure to the air.”

“Oh! Yes, nature 'o the beast. Balefire is necromantic and very lively. The more it consumes, the more it’ll burn. Shoot a pony in the hoof, the balefire’ll spread until the poor soul is nothin’ but ash. Fortunately for most of us livin’ now, these are pretty much impossible to find. Sure, they were used a bit in the old war, but however much of it was made, nearly all of it was used. Neither will you find it in anything smaller than this, that’s all they ever made it in.”

“So what gun would I need to fire it?” Warehouse rummaged in the large mounted case again and struggled to levitate out the largest rifle I had ever seen in my life. With a small gasp she set the rifle down on the counter, nearly knocking the register off in the process.

“You’d need an anti-machine rifle. It’s really the only thing they chambered point five oh for.” The damn gun was longer than I was tall. I remembered such a firearm in From Muskets to Machine Guns, near the very end as a glimpse into the future of projectile weapons.

“Okay, so how much would one of these cost me?” As highly impractical as it would be, and for as much special training that I lacked, a small gun crazy part of me still wanted it.

“This baby’ll run you fifteen thousand caps.” I don’t know why I expected anything less from a gun that could probably blow me in half. I picked up the replacement parts for my zebra automatic and headed over to the work bench set into a little repair nook next to her. While I was working with the battered, broken gun, I struck up a little conversation with the trade mare.

It felt good to just have a nice talk with somepony. No jobs, no pressing mission or impending doom. She was pretty easy on the eyes too, as long as you didn’t stare too hard at her ridiculously bright mane.

“How do you know so much about this stuff?” Warehouse looked at me sidelong with a smile and handed back the balefire bullet. I pocketed the thing, not wanting to sell it for reasons even I didn’t know.

“You’re in Rust Town, Ghostie, guns and bullets are our way of life. We’re peaceful folk really, s’long as you’re peaceful in return. Besides, you seen all the old military outposts ‘round here? Sure, there was a whole heap o’death and doom when the bombs started droppin’ at the front lines. But don’t think that just cause the world was endin’ around ‘em that the ponies and zebras didn’t go at it one last time. All the bombs were aimed at cities, not actually at the lines.”

“And how do you know all that?” I asked as I tinkered a bit with the connection to the loading mechanism.

“Didn’t the mayor tell you?” I shook my head. Warehouse moved back behind her counter and propped her elbows up on it. “Not everypony who’s around now is a descendent of a Stable, some actually managed to survive the irradiated land in military bunkers. They were the first to really start populating the wasteland as their food and supplies ran out. A few scattered tribes even managed to scratch enough to live on up in some of the mountains where the radiation wasn’t so bad. Most went cannibal, but some stayed sane. The result of all those souls thrown into the wastes eventually came together into what you see now.

“Those were dark times though, before civilization resurfaced. When the snow wasn’t saturated with deadly radiation anymore, the first ponies ventured out into the open again. It was savage, brutal. They’d kill each other over a rotten piece of meat. Cannibals, the first raiders, and worse besides were everywhere. You were lucky if it was a slaver instead of a cannibal tribe that got you. The tribes would hold ponies hostage, harvesting them piece by piece while they were still alive. If you were a slave, at least you had some intrinsic value above how much labor could be carved from your hide.

“Like I said though, the towns started springin’ up one by one, bastions for the pony folk who didn’t feel like eatin’ each other. In time, they started talkin’ to each other, formin’ trade routes and the like. Yet, for every town, there surfaced a raider nest, or slaver camp. Then old Castle, Celestia rest his soul, started Rust Town. This little slice of security is the first and last defense against those who would rape or enslave what good ponies are left. Red Eye be damned, we got the future right here, entrenched behind our guns and walls.”

For once in my life, I felt lucky to have lived in a Stable.

I lifted up the now fixed rifle, sighting down the irons of it, admiring the heft and the solidity of the piece. There was no telling if the zebra enchantment still held charge or what needed to be done to activate it, so really it was just an aesthetic. The bolt drew back smooth and the firing pin slid into place with a healthy click. Experimentally, I sighted down the long barrel, checking all the sights before hoisting the gun easily by its handle. Magical or not, it was a nice piece of deadly hardware.

“You want a bayonet for that?” I chuckled, and handed over another small stack of caps. She floated me the long thin blade. It only took a moment to tighten the bayonet into place. I gave a few jabs at the air to get a feel for it.

“You sure you’re not a merc?”

Warehouse and I concluded our business on agreeable terms, me with fresh gear, many things to think about, and her with a whole heap of random weapons and other items to fill her little store with. My pockets still had a good heap of caps for any more expenses along the way. I gave the brightly colored mare one last smile and a flippant little salute. She giggled and again promised to keep her eye out for any special griffin weapons for me.

Zinfandel jumped a little when I opened the back door and deposited my new gear, being careful not to poke anything with my new bayonet. The fresh leather barding felt good against my hide, the burns on my chest mostly healed. While I wouldn’t like to admit the level of improvement my perception got from my new goggles, they did help hold the crest feathers out of my eyes.

I hopped back into the passenger seat, the Workhorse rocking a little bit with my weight.

“You finish with your rifle?” She nodded and returned to looking dejectedly over the steering wheel at nothing in particular. I held out a small sack with a generous helping of fresh magic power packs in it. Zinfandel curiously opened it up and gave a small squeak of delight.

“You sure know how to make a girl happy.” My mind had fun with the implications of that statement.

“I have my moments. So are you going to tell me what’s wrong, or do I have to guess?”

“Nothing is wrong.” The look on her face said otherwise.

I wasn’t an expert on mares. No one can be experts on mares except for other mares; it’s one of the great mysteries of the universe. Any male claiming otherwise is full of himself, or a liar. However, I did better than most, and one essential skills was understanding when a mare said one thing, and meant another.

“C’mon Zinny, what’s eating you? I can tell.” She made a noncommittal noise and refused to look at me. “Look, Ravelin dying… that wasn’t your fault. It was my fault if anything. If I had been able to get to her faster, or maybe if I knew a bit more about medicine like you do I could have been more of a help. I don’t know, if I had just… done something differently.” Zinfandel sighed.

“No, you should not blame yourself, Ghost. I should have provided better care. I should have known better. There are zebra medicine shamans who can bring you back from the brink of death with the simplest of powders or brews! Back during the war, there were such things, lost now.” Her voice dipped into melancholy.

“So are we going to fight over whose fault it was, or are you going to tell me what else is wrong?” She chewed her bottom lip a little anxiously, looking at me, then at the automatic rifle.

So that’s what it was.

“I got this from a dead zebra, down below the MAS facility. They were your squad right? Were you… close to any of them?”

“Well yes, of course.” She caught my look. “I! I mean, no. Not like that. Not close like that. Just, leave it alone, Ghost.” She warned.

“Are you sure?” I pushed, but sometimes you needed a push.

“Leave it be.” Now her tone was weary instead of threatening. And sometimes you need to wait for the opportune moment to push. This was not that moment.

“You know I’m here if you ever wanna talk about it, okay? I’m not the best conversationalist, but I can listen.” Zinny would open up to me if she wanted to, or she wouldn’t. That was her choice, and I respected it.

***

By the time we had dragged Hammer from the ‘Fast ‘N Nasty’ it was time to meet back with the mayor and the Sherriff. He pouted a little that I picked something up for Zinfandel and not him.

“Well, maybe next time you can come with instead of flying off into some random bar… thing.” Hammer took an affronted look.

“I’ll have you know the Fast ‘N Nasty is the finest culinary establishment in nearly all the wasteland! Ya can’t find anything finer, roasted, barbequed, broiled, and baked. From radroach, to radhog, to radscorpion, to uhh… rad… food. Y’know what I’m sayin’.”

“Uh-huh.” Was all I responded with. At least I didn’t have to suffer through the two of them arguing over who should drive the Workhorse for very long as the town hall was nicely centered in the middle of town. We pulled up, disembarked, and I left the two of them to sort out driving rights, privileges, and seating arrangements. That would keep them occupied for an hour, if not two.

One of the guards at the front doors actually saluted me!

I awkwardly tried to mimic the gesture and failed somewhat miserably. I was good for a tipsy half-salute every now and then, but this really threw me off. Fortunately, if the colt noticed my discrepancy he didn’t show it and said that the mayor was expecting me.

There was another pony in Citadel’s office along with the Mayor. He was a slightly off-white, older stallion. His mane was starting to grey at the roots, and a wide mustache curled from his muzzle. The signature duster hung about his hearty frame and a large hat sat easily on his head.

“Hey there, I’m the sheriff of this town. Just call me Dusky.” I shook the offered hoof. The earth pony had a friendly smile and I felt a little more at ease.

“Pleasure,” I replied.

“Sheriff, this is the son of Blazing Glory.” Citadel swept an earthy hoof to indicate me. The mustached stallion’s eyes widened.

“Yer the son ‘o Blazing Glory? She talked about havin’ kits, back in ‘er Stable. Never thought I’d get to meet one.” He stepped back to take a good look at me. “It’s a pleasure t’meet ya, yer mom was the best damned griffins I ever had th’pleasure of knowin’.”

“How did you know her?” At that moment, I felt as though I could close my eyes and she’d be there. There was a hole in my heart, that had only one occupant left alive to fill it.

“She set me up as sheriff a long time ago now. Old Castle was in a bad way, had built up this town from nuthin’ and was watchin’ it slip into lawlessness. That’s when yer mom came, asked what she could do t’help. She didn’t ask fer nothin’, jus’ found me, listened to my crazy idea ‘bout a dedicated peace keepin’ force, an’ helped make it happen.”

The lawpony walked behind Citadel’s desk and gently took a framed picture off the wall. He came back around and held it out for me. I took the wood-mounted photograph carefully. Dusky pointed a hoof to the first figure on the right.

“There’s me, a few years younger. Between me an’ Castle is yer mom, then beside him is Citadel an’ ‘er sister Ravelin. Shame ‘bout her, always liked the little filly.” Sure enough, there was a slightly younger Ravelin and Citadel next to their father, a burly tan earth pony with one of the kindest grins I’ve ever seen. And between him and the sheriff was…

Blazing Glory, my mother.

Cinder took after her more than I did with bright red feathers, a large crest, and tan fur. She was a modest sized griffiness, and so stood shoulder to shoulder with the largest pony beside her. A happy smile was on her face for the picture, clearly infected by Castle’s good cheer. A simple set of leather armor covered her torso, and I could spot the butt of a gun in a holster by her side.

I laid a claw tenderly next to her image, framing it with my talons.

My mother had always been a beauty. Even with a little of wasteland dust, her splendor was all the greater without the wing bindings of our Stable. She had made our lives brighter. Soot had never really smiled much after she had left. Cinder became the only source of smiles for the both of us.

Seeing her brought on a deluge of memories, of happier times: Sitting in the soft grass of an orchard after a festival. Her bright smile. The soft smell of her down. Nuzzling into her neck when I was smaller, wanting affection. Of her laughter at some antic Cinder or I had gotten into. And more besides.

I felt my throat tighten, and struggled to choke down my nostalgia. It was a bittersweet thing. Somehow, I got the feeling then, that if she was dead that I would know it. Some undefinable assurance that she was out there, somewhere, pressed itself upon me and redoubled my determination to find her.

My pride in being of her blood swelled within me. Not only had she lived, bringing a group of escapees with her, but she had helped Rust Town! It was like I was following in her wake, walking down the same path. And maybe, if I kept on that path, I’d find her.

I looked up at the sheriff and asked the million bit question.

“Do you know where she is now?” The stallion shook his head sadly and I felt the ember of my hope smothered just a little.

“Sorry kiddo, ‘avn’t seen ‘er in… Celestia, not since that picture was taken.” I looked down at the image again. It made me realize I didn’t have any pictures of my family. The last portrait we had was back in the Stable of when Blazing Glory had still been there.

“Whelp,” he announced as he adjusted one of his holstered six-shooters. “I gotta get back to th’walls. Tell ya what though, I’ll keep my ears peeled. Folk come through our gates all th’time with tales abroad. Never know what we might hear. Mayor,” He tipped his hat respectfully to Citadel and clopped heavily out of the office with one last smile to me.

I held the picture frame a little bit longer before setting it reverently back onto the desk. The mare reached across and carefully hoofed the picture back onto her mantle. Part of me wanted to take it, but I consoled myself with the knowledge that when I found her I wouldn’t need a still frame.

And yet… that still left me without a lead.

I had come to Rust Town because that’s where the trail went, that’s where the clue had pointed me. In the town there had been other signs, living ponies who had seen her, talked to her! I could have scarcely hoped for more concrete evidence than that. And now the path was cold.

Blazing Glory had come to Rust Town, helped Castle and Dusky… and then what? For a delirious moment, my anchors in the real world were unmoored and a horrible question rang through my head. What do I do now? What else was there to do? I guess I could just pick a direction and start flying, asking every living thing along the way if they had every met or heard of my mother.

The Mayor got up from behind her desk with Rampart in a carrying bag on her side.

“Walk with me, Ghost. We have some things to discuss.” I followed, if only because I had nothing else to do. The mare led me past restored colonnades and up cracked marble stairs to the roof of the courthouse. It held a commanding view of the whole town, being about level with the large wall a good distance away.

With my vision correcting flight goggles I was able to get an interesting view into the insides of the town’s heavy fortifications. Ponies in their signature long coats moved to and fro at a calm but hurried pace. Several were shouting orders and directing others with wave of their hooves to one of the massive ravelin emplacements. At a signal, three of the mounted field guns opened up. The boom echoed through the air.

Even braced for it as I was, it still came as a shock at the fury unleashed by the heavy pieces. A few feeble crackles of gunfire came from outside the walls before the double barrels of the turreted tank cannon voiced its own deadly roar. The gunfire was silent.

Below me, I saw the townsfolk just going about their business as usual, no more nonplussed at the sound of cannons as I was in my Stable with the hum of the power generators.

“There’s a joke, y’know, about Rust Town. ‘Every drill is a live fire drill.’ And it’s true.” She chuckled. “Every pony we train to be a member of the Peacekeepers is expected to use live ammunition in every training drill. It’s harsh, but there isn’t room for foul-ups out here. Which is related to why I wished to speak with you, Ghost.

“This town has a few vital resources that make it the target for every raider, ganger, and scumbag with a greedy heart. We have clean water for one, and not just water talismans either. Our wells drill down to an actual rad free aquifer. Another blessing left behind by my father. I don’t think I need to tell you the value of a clean water tap out here in the wasteland. It’s beyond priceless. The wasteland and the badlands around us are a thirsty land. Sure, the rain is pure, treated by those pegasus bastards, but once it hits the ground it’s just as bad as all the rest.

“You may have noticed all the trade, caravans and the like running into the town. That’s because we’re located at a sort of crossroads. We’re smack in the middle of the easiest point of transit between the zebra continent, the equestrian mainland, and hoofington. Unless you’ve got a boat, we’re the biggest stop for everything you might need between any of those three places. Prospectors looking to strike it rich in the hoof almost all stop by here at some point before heading down into hoofington proper. Ghoul city is another popular point for scavenging, if you make it back alive from all the ghouls that is. Really, many come here planning on jumping off to the hoof, then hear all the stories of the few who actually come back and decide to just settle down.

“Then of course, there’re our guns, and our walls. You don’t see raiders and their ilk setting up shop like we do, but the moment good, honest ponies decide to make a stand, everyone else wants a piece of the pie they didn’t help make. Too many bastards and assholes out there wanting to take what doesn’t belong to ‘em just because they want it because it’s better than what they got. There’re a lot of military depots and bunkers around here that survived the end.

“That means weapons caches and ammo dumps ripe for the scavenging. We’ve stripped the majority of the ones close to here. You aren’t going to find a bigger arsenal in a hundred miles than Rust Town. Every scum-sucking shit-gargling mother-fucking son of a whore what calls themselves a ganger would fuck their own grandmother to get their hooves on a third of the bang sticks we’ve collected.” Citadel’s tone had deteriorated into a rather heated drawl as she spoke. Damn, I didn’t want to get between this mare and any target she set her sights on. From what I’d seen these ponies were devoted to their mayor, and she to them.

“So what’s with the anti-air guns?” I pointed to several emplacements that were pointed straight up, recognizing the flak cannons from my prodigious reading.

“Oh, that’s so Ragtag doesn’t get close to us with that damn airship of his.” Airship? Airship?!

“He has an airship?” I asked incredulously.

“Yes, the Ave Maria. He doesn’t dare get in a hundred miles of Rust Town. That’s why he’s always been so desperate to find some way to take over this town without attacking it head on. With control of Rust Town, he’d have an unassailable fortress. He could terrorize and enslave the entire region. Nothing could stop him with land and air superiority.”

“I thought the pegasi didn’t let anything in their airspace. Why don’t they zap him right outta the sky?”

“Oh, he keeps it low enough that they don’t really care. The pagasi haven’t shown themselves in years. They’ve happily kept their feathered asses out of our business, and I like it that way personally.”

“So how did all this get started? You’ve got a prime location, good scavenging areas, and fresh water.”

“My father, Castle. Our mother died in a raider attack many years ago and my father wanted a safe place for his foals, somewhere we could grow up without fear. So, he gathered a bunch of other ponies who felt the same way and convinced them that making a fortified town here was a good idea. Rust Town started out as a slaver nest that had grown up near the well. Of course they were too stupid to realize that they could drill for more and still not tap out the aquifer.

“Castle and the rest drove ‘em out with two salvaged artillery pieces. It demolished quite a few buildings, but my dad figured that he could build better ones. After all the slavers were cleared out he set up every pony he could find with jobs building the wall. There used to be a giant pile of wrecked tanks and zebra robots piled up in the middle of town where that fountain is now. It started off small, only a few feet high, but it grew.

“I’m not half the mayor my father was. He was kind, charismatic, a hard worker, and a genius architect. It was his idea to refurbish the artillery and the tank cannons for use defending us, and him who found the ponies with the know-how in order to make it work.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, how did…”

“He die?” She sighed deeply and had a look I knew myself. “My father would never ask anypony to do anything he himself wasn’t willing to do. He helped operate the artillery that cleared out the raiders. He worked side by side with the ones who helped build the walls, was with the groups that cut apart old tanks for armor. And whenever we were attacked, he would go to the armory, grab a gun, and help hold the walls himself. That’s why there’s a statue of him in front of town hall, because he built this town up from nothing with his blood and sweat, and died defending it.”

Wow, that was quite a shadow to live under. I could see why Citadel carried the burden of her leadership so heavily. Whenever anyone looked at her, they would see her father the hero. I understood that too, albeit in a slightly different way. When my father would look at me, he would be reminded of Blazing Glory, but without my sister’s glow to alleviate some of the pain.

“I’m sorry, I tend to tell our history to anyone who sits around long enough.”

“No, no please, it’s quite alright. I… I am from a Stable.” I held up my PipBuck and gave it a little shake. “The whole outside world is a new thing to me. I lost…” I caught myself before I launched into my own sob story again and cleared my throat. “The outside… Well, I wanted to get out here for so long, and now that I’m out, it’s more… and less, than what I expected. My Stable door opened right out into Ghoul City. I’ve seen a lot of bad things there, and since. Any information you have is useful. Besides, this place is really cool, I can tell you that much.” I said with a smile.

“Your mother helped make this place as safe as it is now. For that reason, and because you rescued my sister, and my nephew, I want to ask you something. It’s not required or anything, I just thought you’d maybe want to help.”

“Sure, what d’you need?”

“You’ll be compensated I promise. Discounts at all the stores, eternal gratitude of the people of Rust Town…” The mayor began rambling.

“Miss Mayor, I’ll help, with or without compensation.” Though compensation is always nice.

“Oh! Do excuse me. You’re a lot like your mother; she helped my father without a second thought. Celestia guides us in mysterious ways. First the father and the mother, and now the daughter and the son.” The connection was not lost on me, and still it was odd to hear it stated aloud.

“Before he died, Castle always dreamed of having this artillery piece he saw in an old Equestrian army manual mounted up here on the roof. He spent quite a few caps on expeditions and data mining excursions to try and locate a possibly working model of the gun. We think there should be one left in a bunker not too far from here, but we’ve never been able to really get into it.”

“Why not?”

“Well, for one thing, it’s in the middle of Steel Ranger territory. Castle was working on a salvaging treaty with them for rights to send a team in. We’d get the artillery piece, and they’d get anything else. Of course, Elder Druid was as stubborn as a mule about it, but was slowly coming around. After my father died though, Druid wasn’t willing to negotiate with anyone else. Honestly, we’d just say fuck it and go get it ourselves, but the armory is surrounded by still active army robots that’re hostile to everything.”

“And you want me to go get it?” She must have heard the disbelief in my tone I couldn’t completely mask. I wouldn’t lie, charging headlong into Steel Ranger territory filled with hostile robots did not strike me as a fun outing. The temptation was definitely there however, to retrieve a nice shiny piece of death-dealing hardware.

Another part of me wanted to do it to help Rust Town, and its mayor. These were good, honest ponies, so unlike the bastard ones that inhabited my home. It didn’t take a wasteland veteran to see just how rare places like Rust Town were.

“It’s not as simple as smashing your way through the robots. Even if you did manage to do that, you’d still need the keys and the passcodes that only the Steel Rangers have to get into the bunker. That’s why the negotiations were so important. Getting the artillery back here is the easy part. It’s portable, folds up nice and neat, and has a tow hitch that’ll hook up to your truck… er… thing. At least with you having one of your own you won’t have to barter use of a Steel Ranger transport to do it with.”

“That sounds like quite a tall order.” I was trying to think of ways to accomplish this mission, and kept hitting dead ends, usually involving death. I did not know the Steel Rangers, and they were quite an unknown other than they commanded troves of pre-war tech. There was no way to tell if they’d just shoot me without some way to send an intermediary or if they were friendly at all! I began to see why Castle’s dream had died with him.

Looking at it realistically, it was a little crazy that I was considering it so easily. Negotiating with hostile forces with enough firepower from the stories to turn me into a griffin flavored smear? Sounded like lots of fun. When I thought of declining her though, that gaping lost feeling returned with a vengeance. My rationale was that it would help her, the town, and keep me from going crazy without a solid direction to fly to.

“I know, I know, and I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t think it would really do this town some good. Raiders and gangers would think twice before getting in a dozen miles of our town! And also, there’s Red-Eye. Word is that he’s building an army, an army to reunite the wasteland. Hmph, my ass. He’s just another slaver lord with delusions of grandeur.” Her tone turned somber.

“But he might actually be able to do it. Half the Talon griffins have already sided with him. If we’re to survive something like that, we need better ways to defend ourselves. Well, more ways at least. If we’re to be fighting two bastards like that, I wanna be able to smash them to pieces before they even catch sight of our walls. Will you help?”

“It may take me a while to get everything together like you say I’ll have to, but yes, I’ll do it. If the opportunity for negotiations with the Steel Rangers presents itself, I’ll jump right on it. No promises when I’ll actually be able to get it here though.”

“So long as it’s before Red-Eye or Ragtag come banging down our door, it’ll be right on time.”

***

Citadel and I were discussing the information she did have before the negotiations fell through with the Steel Rangers when one of the sentries poked his head inside the office.

“Uh, ma’am, there’s somepony here to see Mister Ghost. You want me to uh, send him in?” Citadel looked just as surprised as I felt. Who knew me? Who would know where I was?

“Did you check him for weapons, Stake?” The guard nodded.

“Yes ma’am, all clear.”

“Very well, send him in.” Stake nodded again and disappeared. Citadel and I exchanged worried glances. The door opened all the way and the mysterious stallion strode in. He was an earth pony with a scraggly mane and colored a slightly darker blue than Hammer Horn. The pony wore nothing other than a simple set of combat armor, and a mask.

His masked face turned to me. The facade was bone white, several cracks breaking the solid surface and covered the top of the stallion’s face. His blue eyes were surrounded in black, giving him a sunken, skull-like visage. It went all the way from his mane, with holes for his ears, down to his nose, leaving his grin and too-white teeth showing, furthering the macabre appearance.

Mask, eyes, grin…

Blood, everywhere was blood. It rained, it flowed, it dripped from his mouth, his eyes, his mask. Blood and viscera and gore.

He was standing on a pile of bones, screaming in rage against the sky. Blood soaked him. He bathed in it, waded through it. Crimson saturated him. It soaked his fur and tainted his very hide. I saw him tearing out a mare’s guts with his teeth. Death stalked behind this pony, waiting for the next deluge of bodies. Every one of his steps cracked a skull that formed the road beneath his hooves.

The reaper held this stallion in a tangled skein of shattered lives, a web of suffering and malign will. But for the life of me I could not tell which was puppet, and which was puppeteer.

This lone soul had slain so many, their spirits shrieked around him, tearing at the thin veil of life. And he laughed at them, laughing in a manic way as he killed, and killed, and killed. There was no end to his lust for battle. Such carnal yearning could drink an ocean of violence and still not be sated. And Zealot was so very good at it.

There was another side to it. However insatiable this pony was, there was weariness, paradoxically coupled with a biding will to go on.

I watched three of his legs being broken by a raider with a bat only for him to beat the pony to death with the remaining hoof. In another instant he was holding his own intestines in after having a knife drawn across his belly. That stallion was chopped in pieces while he screamed.

Atrocity after atrocity was inflicted upon and by this individual, and still he carried on. No matter how grievous the injury or unthinkable the act, he just kept going. With broken bones, with lacerations, after impalement, burning, shooting, stabbing, and things that chilled me to the core to imagine.

And he was… tired of it? How could one soul crave so much and feel so little? So much death, and it all blurred together. After wading through that life of carnage and becoming it, what else was there?

What was greater than that?

Whether I wanted that question fulfilled or not, the answer came.

However great the endless thirst within him, however overwhelming the crushing weight of his sins, something overshadowed it all. Behind him was the silhouette of a darkness. A void that swallowed his petty desires and experiences like drops in a storm.

And I knew fear. Fear for my sanity and my soul.

I was a leaf before the tempest. The scope defied imagining, and for a terrifying moment, I was swallowed by that blackness. The blood was nothing compared to it. All the blood of every creature that had ever lived was a thimbleful to the deep. And in that abyss, something long and serpentine uncoiled. A being resided in that dark that was larger than a mountain, a titanic thing that swam and slithered.

And hated.

With a shuddering, sharp inhalation I opened my eyes. When had I fallen down? Had I passed out? What were these… hallucinations? Visions? A clammy sweat covered me from beak to tail. The source of the horrible vision leered directly over me. I recoiled from the hellish thing.

“You’re awake, excellent, EXCELLENT!” The stallion devolved into fits of laughter. “I knew you were the one! You do not know the joy it brings me to finally meet you. My lady has been anxiously awaiting a single soul to brave those horrid depths and bring back the treasure.” My ‘this is fucking wrong’ meter was doing backflips through my head.

Treasure, all seeking a treasure that was a viper.

“There is no treasure.” I denied reflexively, shaking my head to free it of the clinging visions.

“Oh but there is! The treasure is what you just experienced! You have been touched by the spirit that dwelled in those depths and not only survived, but adapted its gifts. Oh yes, you now bear the treasure in your blood, in your very bones. After so many of her agents- forgive me, I have forgotten myself.” He stepped back and bowed lavishly.

Fanatic, blood-preacher, harbinger of death and the void.

“My name is Zealot, and I am an agent of my lady, Nightmare. She has taken quite the interest in you, Ghost. She’s quite anxiously waiting the time when you meet her. In the meantime however, she has a task for you.” His previously rather manic demeanor had been somewhat tempered, however I could sense his rather disturbing amusement beneath the surface of his words. Zealot spoke in slow, deliberate, almost sibilant tones.

‘Lady Nightmare’? Any relation to Nightmare Moon, I wonder. Whether it was a link to the dark side of the goddess of the night or not, a sense of foreboding weighed behind that title.

“Not interested.” Anything offered by this pony and his macabre mask and oceans of death was tainted.

“Oh? So you don’t want information regarding your mother, Blazing Glory? You look so like her too.”

What. The. Blue. Flying. Fuck?

“You know her? Know where she is?”

“Me personally? No, I have never had the pleasure of making her acquaintance, but I do know where you can find clues as to her whereabouts. My lady has authorized me to share this information with you, free of charge or commitment as a token of her faith in you for having gotten this far.” I didn’t like this. Nothing about him struck me as trustworthy.

“No strings attached? You’ll just tell me? Why?” He chuckled in a deeply unnerving way, in that, ‘I know something you don’t’ way. This ‘Zealot’ had one too many screws loose. From my vision, I knew that this pony was NOT motivated by any kind of earthly desire. That made him dangerous, unpredictable, and unnatural.

A perfect red feather, but is it colored by nature, or by design?

Ow! I wish that too would knock it the fuck off! Fucking shit hurt!

“Because after many years, my lady Nightmare knows a great many things, the location I’m about to give you is only a miniscule morsel of that well of knowledge. Should you choose to accept the job; riches you could scarcely dream of lay in wait. After putting so much time and resources into it, she’s not about to see the one who finally brings her what she wants go empty taloned.

“When so many of her agents died trying to get what you now possess, she seeded the rumors about untold pre-war treasure buried down there. We’ve kept the legend of Ghoul City alive so that the scavengers would never stop looking.” He began pacing around as he talked. “Why, we even tipped off the zebra remnants, and the Steel Rangers! And we see how successful they were, now don’t we? At least, until you came along.”

“And what would I be doing exactly?” I didn’t think I would like the answer.

“Lady Nightmare is a… collector of sorts you might say. Of ponies with particular talents, and of special pre-war items. Many of these items are even out of reach of her agents, I am ashamed to say. However, you have been placed in a very unique position, Ghost. You alone have the abilities to not only obtain these items, but unlock their potential. Individually powerful, but infinitely more so when gathered together.”

Truth, collect and see the truth.

Fuck, ow!

I weighed the options, but in my heart, my mind was already made up.

“Alright, I’ll do it.” I agreed as I clutched my head, dearly wishing for a med-x.

“Wonderful! I knew you wouldn’t let me down. Now as I said before, the lady has taken a particular interest in you and your success. She has seen fit to grant you quite the gift. She picked it out herself, so you should feel quite honored.” The masked pony flung a large steel case up onto Citadel’s desk, making both her and I jump. Zealot flipped the catches of the steel case he had been carrying and opened the top. The stallion stepped back to allow me to examine the contents.

It was a gun, rather short, but with a wide barrel, a solid stock, and four spare magazines.

“This is the twenty-five millimeter Anti-Pony Weapon. It’s a semi-automatic grenade launcher, giving you the death-dealing capability of the grenade machinegun used by the Steel Rangers in a more portable package. Specifically, this package contains a standard magazine capacity of six grenades, a sharp rate of fire, and modest accuracy if you know your trajectories.”

I picked up the weapon, marveling at how light it was. I flipped up the sight, noting its distance markings and stared, open-beaked.

“We’ve been watching you for some time now, Ghost. My lady made sure to emphasize a little sweetener to this particular gift, that of a dozen, that’s two clips full, of incendiary shells. The rest are just explosive.” He chuckled as I admired the gun.

His perpetual rictus grin was really starting to fray my already splintered nerves.

“Perform these tasks, and you will find that my lady is a most benevolent mistress. She is liberal with her gifts, and believe me, they are bountiful indeed.” I quietly pondered what ‘boons’ this Nightmare had seen fit to grant Zealot. He had no apparent weapons on him, and only basic armor. Aside from his mask of course.

“I will await you at the location of the first item to be gathered. Please, take all the time you need. And remember, she is watching.” With one last manic laugh, Zealot showed himself out, leaving the case, and with more questions than answers.

I think the encounter broke my creepy meter. Everything after this would probably be lessened by compare.

I hoped.

“You ever heard of this guy or his ‘Lady Nightmare’ before, Citadel? I’ve still got the creepy crawlies.” The Mayor had stayed silent throughout Zealot’s proposition. I could really use some input now though. She had a grim expression as she looked at the case like her desk had sprouted a cancerous growth.

“Just a few rumors that they’re bogey ponies that steal children in the night. I’ll see what I can dig up about them. When I find anything substantial out, I’ll let you know. Stay the night, you can set out in the morning. And don’t worry about getting in contact with the Steel Rangers right now. Find your mom.”

There wasn’t really anything I could think of to say, so I just nodded dumbly. It was rather late at that point. I re-latched the case with the twenty five millimeter launcher and the ammo before taking my leave.

***

Hammer and Zinfandel had both asked about Zealot after seeing him walk out of the building. I had deflected most of their questions away as they knew about as much as I did, neither having heard of him or his ‘Lady Nightmare’. I left out the bit with my visions.

For me, it just raised so many questions my head hurt to try and contain them all. Hadn’t I sort of had visions like that before? And what was up with the cryptology in them? Was it just a rule of the universe that all prophetic visions had to be in metaphor? I mean, really.

With what light of the overcast day was left, I had swapped out all the fluids and the easier to get to parts in the Workhorse. It wasn’t strictly necessary for it to run, but it would take a lot of the strain off the repair talisman and hopefully make the rig run a little bit more fuel efficiently. And eke a little more mileage out of it as well.

By the time my zebra and unicorn companions had bedded down for the night I still found myself antsy and tense. Also, Hammer snored. Citadel had given us a room on the second story of the courthouse. I wandered aimlessly through the empty halls, just listening to the tiny echo of my steps. Up to the roof, and back down again, unable to quell my restless muscles, tensing and relaxing them as I walked.

None of my calming exercises worked.

There was a light glowing under Citadel’s office door. Was she still up at this hour? I was about to just push on in when I caught myself and knocked softly. She called me in without hesitation, probably expecting a messenger or someone else.

“Ghost! I didn’t expect you to be up at this time of night. Not sleeping well?” Citadel took off the reading glasses and pushed a stray strand of mane behind on of her ears. She had let it down from the tight bun and wasn’t wearing the suit she had been earlier either. She looked at me over her desk which was piled high with paperwork and various reports. The mare looked as tired as I felt. Citadel seemed a lot younger, and a lot older at the same time.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude, Mayor. Do you have a minute to talk?” She shook her head.

“Please, right now I’m not a mayor. I’m just Citadel, if you please.” I grinned at her informality before examining the ceiling in thought and soon found myself talking and unable to stop.

“I dunno, just can’t really sleep. It feels weird to go to sleep in a sort of safe place. I keep closing my eyes only to open them again, expecting something to either be coming to kill me in my bed, or to wake back up in my Stable. This whole thing still seems like a bad dream when I stop and think about it. It’s like if I slow down and stop, something will catch up with me. But what’s chasing me?” Citadel set down her quill, folded her forelegs up onto her desk and set her chin upon the fleshy cushion with a weary sigh. I took a seat across from her, resting my haunches on the cool wood floor.

“Don’t feel bad, Ghost. It’s a common wasteland feeling. You live so close to the edge for so long and it’s hard to think any other way. It’s like there’s a survival switch in our heads that once it’s been on long enough, you can’t go back to living normally. Makes you sleep less, see shadows jumping at you. Takes a while to get used to, but don’t worry.” She smiled at me. “A gun under the pillow helps too.”

“It’s not just that. It’s also that… Zealot guy, and his ‘Lady Nightmare.’ I can’t get it out of my head. I’ve been… having these visions.” Citadel’s face turned concerned.

“I’d heard of weird ponies in masks wandering around. I’ve never heard anything that would indicate they were dangerous, but be careful. I know he said he’d help you find Blazing Glory, and yet something tells me that you can’t trust him. I’ve seen crazies before. A while ago a whole wave of missionaries came through preaching about the true ‘Goddess’ or some other shit like that. They converted a few folks and led ‘em all north on some holy pilgrimage. Never saw them or the ponies who went with ‘em again.” I nodded sagely, well accustomed to rather eccentric religious figures. A certain glowing ghoul came to mind.

“Which reminds me,” Her eyes sharpened in a way that made me feel distinctly like a butterfly pinned to a page. “Blazing Glory said her kit’s name was Ashes to Ashes, not Ghost.” My heart skipped a beat in fear. Wait, why was I afraid about her knowing my real name? Maybe it’s because I hadn’t trusted my companions with it, and maybe because I was afraid of all the baggage that came with that name.

I remained mute, my tired mind coming up with no solid rebuke to the mare’s accusatory statement. This happened a lot. Whenever I had been caught red-taloned doing something I shouldn’t have, I’d freeze up like a kit with a paw in the cookie jar. Whenever I came back with a reply immediately, it always ended up being scathing or acidic, which never went over well with a pony in Stable 57.

To my immense relief, she gave me a searching look before smiling reassuringly.

“Don’t worry, you secret is safe with me. I won’t ask why you decided to use an alias. Maybe the fewer who know who you really are the better. Less chance of those who would want to hurt your family knowing where to look. The wasteland forges all of us differently. Whether you bend, or break depends on your mettle.” Unexpectedly, she walked around her desk and came within a hoofs reach. I suppressed the nervous fidget reflex.

“Y’know, I always kind of fantasized about meeting you. Your mother talked about how handsome you were, and I see now that she was very right.” Oh ho, where are we going with this?

Her now half-lidded eyes were sultry and provocative as she took another step and pressed her chest up against mine. The warm cream fur of her chest brushed softly against my own. Out of the bun, her soft gold mane, like harvest wheat, hung in bouncy curls around her face. The mare surprised me yet again by pressing her muzzle into my fur, nuzzling me gently.

“How long has it been for you?” I asked the filly as I reached up to tentatively stroke a claw down her neck and back.

“I’ve had a crush or two, but I’ve been a little too busy to worry about myself.” The utilitarian way she kept herself made a bit more sense now. She was the image of somepony devoted to her post at the exclusion of all else. “I’ve got quite an itch, and I think you might just be able to help me scratch it.”

Luck be a filly tonight.

“Well ma’am, I am but a humble griffin mechanic. There might be something I can do about that itch though.” Citadel giggled and playfully pushed at me with her hoof. Ha! That one always gets ‘em. I felt my loins stirring with a familiar desire. It was a rousing feeling, that banished the drag of fatigue and made my heart throb with renewed vigor.

I was never too tired for something like this. The moment was almost spoiled by thoughts of Zinfandel, and our little… brush. Yet the zebra seemed not ashamed, but perhaps regretful, and I pushed thoughts of Zinny to the back of my mind.

Citadel brought a hoof under my beak and stroked me there gently.

“You know what else I’ve fantasized about?” I kept my eyes locked on hers.

“Do tell. Maybe I can help you live out a few.” I purred silkily. She leaned in real close and whispered in a husky voice.

“I’ve always wanted to do… Mmm… oh so naughty things in this office.” Oh sweet Celestia. I felt a throb of blood rush to certain extremities at her muttered eroticism.

“I promise, once we’re done, you won’t even remember having that itch.” She leaned back and almost brushed her lips against my beak.

“I can hardly wait.”

Just as we were about to beginning consummating our carnal union, one of the wall cannons boomed, rattling the window in its frame. Both of us jerked in shock. From a crib in the corner, Rampart let out a needy squall. Citadel let out a heavy sigh and pulled away. The mare trotted over to the crib and picked up the crying babe. She gently laid him over a shoulder and shushed the colt.

He put up a fuss and didn’t want to go back to sleep after being so rudely awoken.

I walked over and helped Citadel soothe her nephew. It wasn’t the little guy’s fault that the mood had been shattered. The cool air against my fur that Citadel had been warming was like a bucket of cold water for my arousal. One look at the cream and gold mare told me she felt the same. Soon Rampart was obliviously snoozing away again and the mayor and I took up our previous positions across the desk. I stayed standing however, ready to take my leave.

“I’m sorry, Ghost.” I was quick to reassure her.

“Don’t be sorry, it’s not your fault. There’ll be another time. I just… need to think about some things for a bit.” She nodded.

“I’ll be here, when there’s a next time, okay?” My smile was a little more genuine for the promise in her words.

“Thanks, Citadel, that means a lot.”

***

I donned my barding, my silenced ten millimeter, grabbed some spare clips for it, and nothing else. The rest of my gear and weapons were stowed aboard the Workhorse. Walking around out at night alone, I wanted a little protection at least.

First Zinfandel, and now Citadel. Did I have a bad luck streak? Actually, if I wanted to really look at it, Honey Cup, then Zinny, then Citadel. Damn, I think I did have a streak going. Well, three times the… oh wait, that had been three times. Well… shit. Libido aside, it would have been nice to hold, and be held by, another warm body. Comfort, physical and emotional did sound soothing.

Really, I’m a simple griffin. I enjoy the little things. The taste of a fresh apple, the wind in my feathers, and burying my griffinhood in soft mare nethers were some of my favorites.

It was just… when Rampart started crying, I couldn’t get Cinder out of my head. Dammit, Ashes! You need to just stay dead, stay buried. Mental conflict was unbecoming.

Right then however, I needed to find someplace quiet and not think about anything at all. A tension headache was throbbing in my temples, making my skull throb like it was in a vice. It’s amazing how hard it is sometimes to not think about anything.

Don’t think about the tail you just missed out on. Don’t think about what the hell you were going to do about the creepy stallion who induced nightmarish visions. Don’t think about finding your mother’s bleached bones out in the wastes.

The list went on.

I found a bar that was still open, a simple, seedy place with mismatched tables and only a handful of patrons. A radio played just low enough that I couldn’t make out what the song actually was. The bar itself was old wood, countless spots worn away in the varnish by countless glasses and spilled drinks. Without a word I walked up to it, plopped down, and tossed a dozen caps to onto the countertop.

A gruff, tan colored unicorn scooped up my money.

“What’ll it be?”

“Vodka.” I replied simply. I just wanted a shot or two of something to settle my nerves. The barkeep nodded and magicked a shot glass and a tall bottle. With a grimace I downed the potent liquor. It burned so good.

After one good click, my faithful lighter produced its tiny flame and I pulled out a fresh cigarette from my pocket. Either my taste buds were going numb, or these things were actually starting to get a bit addictive. The strawberry smoke filled my lungs. I still wasn’t the best at it, and nearly choked on the puff. Wisps of grey flowed out of my beak unevenly.

My next inhalation went more smoothly, and a steady stream blew out of my mouth, curling away into the dark interior of the bar. The inside was lit by guttering oil lamps that caused the smoke to flicker with a life of its own, curling away in imagined shadows and shapes of dragons and manticores. The vodka was slowly muddling my thoughts, and making everything just a little tingly around the edges.

I was on my fourth cigarette and second shot when a pony walked up to the bar beside me.

“Hey, griffin, you the one who messed up Ragtag’s stuff down in Ghoul City?” Even in my muddled state, I still had the prescience to put a talon on the butt of the gun in my chest holster.

“What of it?” I wasn’t in the mood. In a sidelong way I examined the green unicorn, noting his caravan guard look. He was a little too tidy to be a ganger.

“Jus’ wanted t’congratulate ‘tcha. ‘Ere, drink’s on me.” The unicorn passed me a metal flask. Figuring it rude to decline, I removed my talon from my gun and took a small swig of the proffered container. Wow, and I thought Battle Brew was strong. I shook my head to try and clear it of the intoxicating daze that wrapped around my mind. With a shaky smile I handed the flask back.

Whoa, the room should not be spinning like that. A wave of intense vertigo made my stomach lurch, doing backflips in my abdomen. I clutched at my middle in pain and suddenly found myself unable to maintain balance.

I barely felt myself hit the floor.

I was faintly aware of being hoisted up and half carried, half dragged in some direction that felt like it kept changing.

And the world faded to black.

Level Up.

Perk Gained: Merc Skills - Just good, honest mercenary skills! You do 25% more damage with 10mm and 12mm pistols and SMGs, hunting rifles, assault and marksman carbines, automatic rifles, frag grenades, grenade launchers, APWs, and combat knives.

(Author’s Notes: I’d like to thank everyone who’s read this far in Ghost’s story! I never imagined getting this far to be perfectly honest. The road hasn’t been easy, filled with writer’s blocks, sandpits, and countless moments of self-doubt, but you, gentle reader, have made it all possible. So, from me to you, thanks. If you found this chapter a little dialogue heavy it’s because there was a lot to talk about. I know that the previous chapters have been rather lacking in good conversation (which I’m hopefully getting better at) so I hope this has been a good improvement. I promised myself that this chapter would just flow out. This was one of my ‘milestones’, so we’ll see how the next one goes.)

(Oh, I also secretly imagine Ghost being rather irate with me for giving him that perk despite all his insistence that he’s not for sale or hire. And credit as always to the glorious Kkat! We are all of us forever indebted for creating such a ripe, dark fruit upon which we may all take succor.)

Chapter 11: Skin to Bone

Fire Ghost Chapter 11: Skin to Bone

“They say you should dig two graves when embarking on a journey of revenge.”

“Hello everypony! It is I, Dj Pon3, comin’ t’you loud and proud from the Equestrian Wasteland! How ya’ll doin’ in post-apocolyptia today? Remember fillies and colts, it’s a wide, weird and dangerous world out there. Not every untouched salvage spot is ripe for the pickin’, y’hear? So exercise caution the next time you go ruin diving out in the middle of nowhere. Because those bones y’find? They’re not always from the war.

“And now, let your senses be stroked by good ol’ Sweetie Bell, singin’ ‘bout those rainy days.”

The melody was slow and sorrowful. It complimented the colorless landscape that rolled by. Hammer, Zinfandel and I had left quickly after our encounter with Hammer’s… handlers. The unicorn had sat in a pensive mood ever since. I felt I knew the pony, had saved his life, and he had returned the favor.

Hammer Horn, or ‘Custard’ as the mare had called him, had family reasons for lying about his name. It wasn’t something I could hold against him. Which was why I wasn’t going to press him. He would open up when he felt comfortable, but it was probably going to be sooner than he might have wanted.

Zinfandel snorted and laughed, beating her hooves against the steering wheel.

“Custard! Pff, haha! Oh, oh my sides. Oh they hurt. Were you trying to be macho with the ‘Hammer’ name?” She cried mirthfully. The Zebra's joy at his expense prompted the pony to defend himself and from there, into his story.

“Okay, so my parents and I did have a bit of a disagreement. I… found out about some of the deals that they’ve made to keep living their comfortable lives. And not just them, the whole family, going all the way back. They… helped smuggle zebra megaspells into pony cities in exchange for amnesty, for protection.” My feelings were somewhat ambivalent about such a revelation. The old war was so distant, separated as it was by time. From an academic standpoint I could understand the betrayal, however it all happened so long ago...

“They trade with Ragtag, with slavers and Red-Eye, and worse. They… we… make ourselves indispensable so that everyone else has no choice but to cow-tow. Well, I shouldn’t say that it’s just my family. It’s sort of a small group of families living in their estates right near the border. One of the servants told me about it and I just couldn’t stomach living there any longer. Not off the blood of old Equestria.” Hammer spoke with conviction that sounded taught. His arguments weren't just points of view, they were affirmations to himself, of his own reasons.

Zinny kept her opinion to herself, still on the tail end of her amusement.

“It wasn’t right, and I was going to grow up and have to do the same thing. So I left. Wasn’t easy either. I’m the scion. Eldest son. Supposed to inherit and go on lying and cheating and stealing. Not with guns and the like, but with favors and words. Might as well be a raider is how I see it. Found a pony in Rust Town who could make me disappear. They got me in touch with the mayor. Finding her sister and bringing her home would have been my payment.”

That did seem like something Citadel would do.

“Tracked her to Ghoul City, following the trail Feral left. Ran into Ghost. The rest you know.” It seemed simple enough, and definitely plausible. Disagreement with a higher power and subsequent decision to relocate. No revelatory vision followed his words, bathing the tale in blood, death, and turmoil.

A few moments passed with only the rumble of the Workhorse and the grumble of the tires over rough sections of gravel and broken road to disrupt it. Mostly empty landscape passed by, framed by an eternally overcast sky. It was relaxing in a strange way. The rocking motion of the seat complimented the hypnotic thrum of the noises of our passage.

A bit of a jauntier tune came on over my radio and I turned up the volume enough for it to fill the interior of the vehicle. (insert convertion into uhhh... a jauntier tune. I'll pick which one later) First Hammer picked up the chorus, singing along with the words. I had heard it myself a few times already, DJ Pon3's selection being rather limited. I joined in with what parts I knew and hummed the parts I didn't. Soon enough, Zinfandel added a feminine touch. Was studying pony radio stations part of Remnant training?

Perhaps it was odd, a griffin, a unicorn, and a zebra singing a two hundred year old song. Yet again, it struck me as the beginning of some cosmic joke. I could hardly wait for the punchline.

In those couple of minutes, I wasn't worried about what the future held. A rather nostalgic warmth blossomed in my chest that had nothing to do with the burn scar. What was this strange feeling? Friendship. Only a few days had really gone by since I had met the intrepid pair, and in that short time we had been through a fair bit. Each day outside my Stable had yielded more danger than my entire life prior.

Through our trials, we had grown close quickly, this young noble playing at adventuring, lost zebra medic and I. Although it didn't necessarily make sense, we three sang together and our bond strengthen through it. Maybe it made me miss Ruby and Blunt, but salved the yearning with immediate comfort. I lived in the moment and it was good.

***

I have seen strange and disturbing things during my time in the wasteland. When I saw the crucified ponies, I felt a chill run down my spine.

Someone had driven steel beams into the ground and strung up hapless ponies. Some had metal stakes driven through their limbs, others tied to the posts by wire. There was artistic variety in the poses. Many of the beams had protruding struts at different angles, allowing the limbs to be positioned differently. They hung in various stages of decay. Most were just bones while some still had a bit of flesh left clinging in strips and tatters. All of them, besides being put on display like pinned butterflies, had thick black X’s painted over their eyes.

It was getting to be late in the day, and the veiled sun cast strange light and even stranger shadows.

With how all their mouths hung open, the painted marks made it seem they were still all screaming their last. The black pits made it seem as if they were fixed on me. All those souls, trapped in pain, all staring at me. If I looked too long, I could have sworn I heard some of them. They scratched at the surface, whispering their final cries.

It was a pit that I almost fell into when the sight of the large building we were approaching brought back other memories. The last time I had gone to a hospital it had not ended well, or been conducive to my health. I doubted this time would be any different.

It was a grandiose but functional structure. My PipBuck dubbed it the Marauder Memorial Hospital. The construction had stood the test of time respectably, showing nothing beyond the usual wear and tear. The crucifixions increased in regularity the closer we got. A veritable thicket of macabre decoration was planted in the dry bed of a large fountain before the main doors.

Zinfandel pulled the Workhorse up the shattered pavilion, maneuvering around steel beams and derelict or overturned medical vehicles. There was a pony shaped blur and begrudgingly, I pulled down my vision adjusting flight goggles. Everything came into much sharper focus. I didn't like wearing them because it was a reminder that as a bird of prey, height of the avian hunting chain, I needed glasses. It was a notion that did not bear consideration for the humiliation that ensued.

Zealot was waiting calmly in front of the hospital entrance, bearing a wide grin. A few greasy locks of his black mane hung over the white mask. The earth stallion wore a strange looking gun in a battle saddle across his side. It was about as long as my automatic rifle with huge coils making up its barrel. And of all things, a sword lay in a scabbard across his back with the hilt in quick reach. The agent of the Lady also wore a suit of combat armor that made my paltry barding seem like rags.

When we were close enough he called out a welcome.

“Ah, my good friend. What a pleasure it is, Ghost, to be working together.” Zealot’s cheerfulness before struck me as rather fanatical, now it just seemed manic. I dismounted the Workhorse and approached. He was very still, but the stallion’s muscles betrayed the eagerness lying beneath his mask. “I trust you still have the gift from my Lady Nightmare? It will prove most useful I think in our coming search.” I raised my brow in suspicion.

“And just what do you expect us to find? For that matter, what are we finding?” I demanded. All the vague allusions were getting on my nerves. Reality seemed stretched thin around this violent pony. His presence was distracting. Around him I could almost taste the blackened aura he wore with glee. And for that matter, how long had he been waiting here around these purposefully displayed dead?

Hammer and Zinfandel joined me to listen in.

“It wouldn’t be any fun if I just told you, now would it? As to what we’re going to be fighting, that’s another matter. There is a creature that lies between us and our prize. It’s known as the 'Flayer’. You’ve already noticed some of its handiwork.” Zealot said with a sweep of a hoof, encompassing the many crucified forms. Beside me, the zebra mare muttered something that sounded like a ward against evil.

Yeah, going into this hospital seemed like a great idea.

“The reason this artifact is not already in the Lady’s possession is similar to why the spirit you touched remained out of her reach. Too many of her agents died in pursuit. She had us bide our time until someone like you came along.”

“How considerate of her,” I replied sardonically.

“Wasn't it though?” He said in rapture. The strange stallion took a moment to bask in his worship, staring blankly into the distance. His head whipped back toward me. “You and your companions must be prepared. Bring the Lady's gift. It will surely prove useful before the end. Join me inside when you're ready to proceed.” Without further explanation, Zealot practically skipped through the shattered glass doors into the dark interior.

“Is it just me, or is that guy a little crazy?” observed Hammer.

“What a brilliant deduction. What is next I wonder? Perhaps some math?” Zinny poked fun at the obvious statement of the unicorn. The two swapped a few barbed quips but both were rather subdued by the still atmosphere. Not to mention the smell.

“Yeah, he's a little... off. I think it goes without saying that this place gives me the creeps. Whatever this Flayer thing is, it doesn't like visitors. Don't load yourselves down with anything unnecessary. Take extra ammo too.” I checked all my weapons: Pistol, rifle, APW, power fists, and tail sheath. Compared to my companion's arms, my ensemble seemed rather excessive. Really, there was no kill quite like overkill.

As always, I would keep an eye out for lunchboxes to hopefully start to replenish my explosive armament.

“You think it'll be safe to leave our stuff out here in the open?” Hammer pointed out. Looking around at the visual deterrent sprouting from the ground, I felt our possessions would be safe for a few hours. Although he was trying not to show it, the unicorn was clearly on edge, his eyes darting to the empty windows staring down at us.

I took no chances, making sure my power gloves were primed and advanced with my automatic rifle out and ready with bayonet attached. Even at the threshold all I could make out were darkened shapes. I checked behind me to make sure my backup was close. Hammer nodded and Zinny just looked determined.

The receiving area of Marauder Memorial was full of moth eaten floor cushions and a long desk that had seen better days. A few swinging doors stood to divide the different sections of the complex. Zealot was waiting patiently at the general care wing. Well, more like pacing patiently. Two more dead ponies were staked to the walls with black painted eyes.

Most of it had been dedicated as a military hospital for more serious injuries coming from the front lines or war wounds that require more than a few days rest in a tent triage. At least that's the impression I got from the clipboard sitting on the curved desk. Hammer was busy poking cushions, chuckling as many of them simply collapsed into dust. Zinny joined me in examining medical records, trying to glean any useful information from what was laying out.

Behind the counter there was a small pile of caps and a few shots of med-x appropriately enough. Hopefully some healing potions wouldn't be too hard to come by. To my knowledge our medic was down to two of the miraculous elixirs plus whatever shamanistic brews she had left. Paltry scavenging done, we joined Zealot at his portal inward.

At the mere sight of us coming, he pushed them open, talking as he went.

“What we want is going to be in the deepest section. This hospital is connected to an underground research complex operated by the Ministry of Peace. They tested a lot of new spells and techniques here. Where better to develop than someplace where it would be needed the most? Naturally, they stockpiled some very powerful items and artifacts. Several of which are quite prevalent to my Lady's interest.” The energenic pony needed no prompting from me to continue his rather one-sided explanation of ancient history.

Zealot lead with a cool confidence that made me consider that he had come this way before. It would certainly explain his eagerness in plumbing the supposedly rich depths.

A ghoul crawled from around a corner, dragging its limp lower half behind it. Before I could even think to raise my gun, an electric sizzle split the air and a white bolt moving almost too fast to see punched through the hairless hide and turned the zombie pony inside out. The gnarled body was quite literally pulled into chunks by the force of the projectile.

I turned to stare at Zealot, who simply kept walking and stepped over the destroyed ghoul with no more concern than if it was just a pile of rocks. If he had that kind of power and ability, what did he need us for? The more I thought about it, the more I questioned whether aiding him was really worth risking my life and the life of my companions.

The three of us exchanged loaded glances.

“Just through this ward here we will find a set of emergency stairs that will lead us down to the research wing.” True to his word, we took another two turns past empty hospital rooms before there was a metal door to two flights of steep concrete stairs that double backed. We hadn't gone all that far really and already my sense of self-preservation was caught between screaming and begging me to leave. A pair of ponies, these missing their skin were poised over the open door, forming an arch. A few small radroaches nibbled on the decomposing meat.

Okay, maybe a little forceful warning of no trespassing was understandable, but really? Corpses posed into an arch above a doorway? Interior design with bodies was where I drew the line.

The lighting in the research area was respectable, if not quite adequate. Down here, the walls had shifted from a pure white sterile aesthetic to more of a utilitarian gray. The floor was made of cracked tiles. The first basement floors had observation rooms with wide windows looking in on beds or examination slabs.

A security robot ambled down the hallway, pausing to look at us. It was a bulky thing on tracks with an illuminated brain case and a barrel chassis. It decided we were intruders and the visible cerebral tissue changed to an angry red hue. Again Zealot's strange gun punched a hole big enough to see through in it. The noise of the robot's destruction must have stirred the hornet's nest however because a small stream of ghouls shambled out of their rooms and began to charge. The earth pony popped the head of one with another bolt of force.

I raised my automatic rifle, and pulled its trigger for the first time. I didn't think to use SATS so I got a real taste. The gun lived up to its name, spitting out a few powerful rounds at high speed. My first burst was fairly dead on, perforating a zombie torso. Brass tumbled and my aim shifted ever so slightly. They were all coming at us in the same direction down a narrow hall. With a slightly longer depression, I washed the stream of lead over two targets. One ghoul went down missing both front legs and the other staggered into a wall with a wet smack and fell.

Zinfandel's searing bolts of magical energy turned one charging abomination into glowing ash while Hammer pulped the only one that got close with a well-aimed swing. The sledgehammer caved in the soft chest cavity before launching the already dead ghoul through an observation window. Zealot decapitated two undead with a single swing of his long, slightly curved sword. I was in awe as the steel carved through flesh and bone like it wasn't even there.

The firefight had occupied the span of less than ten seconds and had been as ferocious as any I had been through.

Although I was disappointed that the elemental effect of the zebra modified rifle had failed to manifest, I was more than pleased with its physical performance. It was difficult to control, and I knew I wasn't taking full advantage of the gun's full capabilities. That just meant I could only get better.

Looking at Zealot I couldn't help but wonder why he really needed our help at all, besides this 'Flayer' thing that had a penchant for poor taste in décor. He hardly paused to take a breath before consulting with some inner sense of direction I wasn't privy to and turned to head down a different corridor. Honestly, his haste was starting to get a little annoying. Scrounging through dead enemies and old cupboards was a rewarding and slightly addicting endeavor.

Just thinking about the agitation made me crave a cigarette. And damn his impatience I was going to have one! My lighter clicked and a little ember glowed in my beak. I filled my lungs and was struck with a certain sense of irony when I consulted my PipBuck to find we were entering the burn study section.

Hammer and Zinny were in the grips of their usual quarrels over every little detail. The background noise was soothing in its own rather annoying way.

I needn't have worried about falling behind because our mad guide had stopped. That in itself did not make my steps and my heart falter. It was the smile he wore, and the vicious curl to his lip. Smiling was not the right word for it. The earth pony had peeled his gums back to bare as many of his teeth as possible, savoring the sight before him. Based on the way his cheek muscles twitched visibly, he hadn't had this much fun in a long time.

When I stepped beside the stilled agent, my own gaze shared his own.

In two rows of four, there stood large vats emanating sickly green luminescence. Along the walls were tall banks of medical equipment showing a wide variety of esoteric readings and measurements. Inside the tanks were just... blob looking things. Dull overgrowth, like fungus hung over the edge of each. A hovering medical bot circled, checking churning tubes to each of the squat cylinders. After a few rotations around the room, ignoring the pair watching it, the automaton stopped in front of one with a lot of strange fungus crawling down the side.

“Oh missus Star Tulip, aren't you looking lovely this morning. You're treatment is going swimmingly if you'll pardon the pun. Uh-oh! It seems the new skin is growing just a little bit off center. Don't worry, this'll take just a moment and won't hurt a bit, I promise.” The floating medical attendant cooed in a synthetic voice. To my immense disgust, the robot revved an attached circular saw up to speed and carved it along the lip of the vat, slicing through the thick protuberant matter that hung there.

The lump of biological matter flopped to the ground with a meaty thwack against the hard floor. The something inside the vat writhed and thrashed briefly in the strange container, splashing a little of the viscous soup out.

From the moment I saw the vats, my mind had started making connections to the burn treatment sign. The medical robot had only confirmed my suspicion. I knew what was in those containers. However, admitting it would make it real. Even so, I had to be sure. I had to know beyond a reasoned shadow of a doubt before I could accept what I already knew was the truth.

Walking across the wet floor, I holstered my rifle and held my PipBuck light up to the glass to peer through the cloudy emerald liquid. A ghoul with blind, milky eyes and a slack, open jaw stared back. I recoiled in horror and lowered my light. The ensconced, radiation changed creature was little more than a bulbous sack of flesh. My cigarette fell and I didn't bother to pick it up.

In my somewhat limited foray into the field of medicine I knew that the treatment of severe burns involved growing new skin from cultured samples of the patient. Was that the purpose of the vats? To encourage new growth for damaged tissue? I shuddered to think of my own burns, and was grateful that the occupant of the container was a ghoul whose mind was too gone to understand.

Turning, I saw my two friends standing at the threshold, their mouths agape and their faces stricken. Next to them, Zealot strode forward and turned his body to the opposite row from where I stood and before I could possibly imagine what he might be doing, the earth pony's weapon spoke. Bright flashes were accompanied by a cacophony of shattering glass. The contents of the broken containers poured out in sloppy deluges. The freed grotesques moaned and gurgled on the floor, unable to move under the weight of their own bodies.

Zealot wasted no time pulping their heads, silencing the mewling cries. Disgusted, I hovered above the thick sludge collecting around the sluggish drains set into the floor, repulsed by the thought of touching it. The earth pony turned and I flitted quickly out of the way.

The heavily armed stallion repeated his methodical destruction and execution, even shooting the medical robot through its body as the custodian tried frantically to attend its dying wards. It all seemed a little excessive. Pointless even.

“That ought to get its attention.” Zealot said with a vehement smile.

“What? Get what's attention?” Hammer demanded, caught between looking at the homicidal stallion and the remains of his work.

“The Flayer.” I finished. Something clicked in my head.

Claws flashing. One of many. Sleepers must not wake, waking must not dream. Skin to bone and bone to skin. On and on, flaying and sewing and skinning and sewing. Carving like an artist with a fleshy canvas. Painting with pain, brushing with knives.

And the agent of the sleeper shall taunt it. Seed the thought of vengeance and rouse with vigor that which should be lethargic. Love once thought impossible stripped like so many layers of muscle.

“You,” I challenged “What have you done? Do you even realize?” Honestly I wasn't sure myself, but I knew it was worthy of severe reprisal. Judging by the blissful look of satisfaction, I'd say he did.

“The Flayer doesn't like being seen without its... covering. Even then it doesn't like the light. So, we have to draw it out. What better way than pissing it off?”

I'm sure the argument would have escalated on my part if a loud, sibilant hiss hadn't bitten the air.

“Oh, fuck.” I whispered. I landed back next to Hammer and Zinny, taking what comfort I could from standing shoulder to shoulder with them. At the far end of the room, where another door stood open, a claw made of long blades reached around and scratched the wall once before retreating.

A bolt from Zealot's gun chased it into the darkness, followed quickly by the pony himself. He galloped without hesitation into the unknown. I don't know where the courage to follow him came from, but it came nonetheless. The same madness must have gripped the two beside me because they kept pace.

The stallion hadn't gone far and had thrown out flares to create a circle of light. I added my own PipBuck light and strengthened the luminescent protection. There was a loud skittering sound that seemed to brush right behind us, only for it to fade. No walls or ceiling were clearly visible from our point. They were too far away for the light to reach and I had to wonder just how big this chamber was. Behind us, the open door shut with a loud metallic bang, making me jump.

The fearless pony stood impassive as a stone, waiting.

I felt an odd tug at one of my back legs and looked down to see I was bleeding from a trio of lines above the ankle. My insides went cold. Whatever had cut me had been so sharp I had barely felt any pain. This was getting too freaky. I tried tracking it on my EFS, but as soon as I caught a glimpse of red it would retreat out of range or turn sharply.

I readied my APW.

“Here it comes,” Zealot said turning in the direction of the approaching skittering sound and spread his legs in a ready stance.

But this was a monster, and I was not a griffin to play fair with monsters.

When I could discern the movement in the inky blackness, I triggered SATS and aimed for center mass with my twenty-five millimeter launcher, queuing up two shots. The first was too high, hitting the far wall behind the beast, however the second sailed straight and true, detonating with enough force to send the still shrouded... thing skidding off its attack run. I raised my gun to fire again however I was shocked when Zealot put a hoof on the barrel and made me lower the weapon.

A rasping laugh emanated from the shape, and the creature stood.

“Hello, Zealot. I missed you.” said the Flayer. Nothing so gruesome should have a voice so buttery and smooth. “It's been a long time now. Two years since you left that pretty thing under my care? I see you brought new toys for me to play with.” It edged closer to our light, but not too close. The stallion did not respond to the Flayer.

“She called for you, Zealot. Even as she bled her last all she could say was your name over and over. She screamed it, she rasped it, and she gurgled and she cried it. Oh it was such sweet music. Her skin was, mm, sumptuous to say the least,” the Flayer purred. “Such a supple hide, so unlike my normal fare.” The creature clucked its tongue in distaste. At least, that's what it sounded like. “It lasted me for quite a while.”

My understanding of the mysterious pony deepened. At some point he had come here before, either with a partner or a larger group and had fled with his objective unfulfilled, leaving behind at least one member. A friend, lover, or family member perhaps. Maybe he and I were not so different after all.

The thing orbited us, teasing around the edge of our protective circle of light. In the shadows pooling beyond our island of phosphorescence, the creature was clearly draped with robes of stitched hide. Its eyes were round pools of iridescent purple. Sometimes The Flayer’s metal claws made tiny sparks as it dragged them across the ground, each sharper than a surgeon’s scalpel with which to ply its fleshy occupation.

The sparks were like tiny lightning bolts and ever so faintly etched sharper detail into my vision. Across the sternum where my explosive round had caught it the macabre leather mantle had been torn. Underneath were visible muscle groups. I could actually see the wet crimson strings slither over The Flayer’s metal bones. For the most part it was equine shaped, except for the vicious instruments tipping its forelimbs.

The acidic green glow from its eyes left afterimages across my vision.

It had no skin of its own. Zealot had said it didn’t like to be seen without being covered. For the monstrosity it was worse than being naked. No wonder it was so protective and covetous over the ghouls trapped in the growth vats. From them it could farm as many yards of skin it needed to cover its massive frame. Most of its coat was sickly brown, but laced throughout were splashes of brighter colors from non-ghoul victims.

“Your… friend was reduced to quivering meat. A lump of dissected tissue. It is simply amazing how all those delicate muscle groups and nerves opened up like a flower. A red, beating, pulsing bloom of beautiful blood vessel traceries and pulses of bioelectric signals. I opened her up and left her that way on one of my racks. She was lovelier that way than when she was so closed up.”

The Flayer stood up on its back two legs and put a claw to its chest, posing like a model on a runway, almost pouting as it showed off the undamaged hem of its ‘dress’. The abomination loomed over us.

“True beauty is on the inside after all.”

Strange things had happened to me, or have been told to me. I could think of few that rivaled this. An artificial fusion of machine and flesh that was obsessed with skinning things to wear connected to a pony that to my knowledge was invincible. That definitely rated as strange. Zealot had kept his cool through the Flayer’s speech, poised too hotly on revenge to be provoked now. After the speech delivered with such deathly proclivity, the agent had a response.

“We have come for the contents of the vault.” That got the Flayer’s attention. It stopped pacing and leered at us intently.

“The dreamer shall not wake. Mother knows best. I would have thought you learned that the last time? Tsk tsk, Zealot. Though you shall try and fail again, I have no doubt you will put forth as valiant an effort as last time. Too bad for your new friends. Maybe you should have told them about what happened to your old ones.”

“Silence.” Zealot spoke with a fury that chilled even my blood. I had felt the danger this stallion held, and although the Flayer’s terror inducing sight and ability bellied challenge, it would doubtlessly be a contest to behold.

He did not wait, aiming and firing with his powerful gun. The Flayer weaved nimbly out of the path of the projectile before Zealot had even triggered it, seeming to follow the trajectory of the muzzle. The release of tension into full combat was both exhilarating and most terrifying. Hammer swung his weapon in a magical grip and put a new hole in the floor where the beast had been. A few magical red beams found their mark but didn’t do any visible damage.

My APW had a little more success. Instead of trying to directly hit the flitting target, I instead tracked its movements and launched successive shots at its feet. The Flayer was unnaturally fast and difficult to predict, but I only had to hit near it to do damage. The blast overpressure was enough to make the metal monster slow and waver long enough for Zealot to draw a fresh bead.

The Flayer must have known somehow and leaped away; letting his shot kiss nothing but air again. For a tense moment, the four of us were back to back, trying to figure out where it would come from next. I could feel Zinfandel shaking and heard Hammer’s heavy breathing. My own heart thundered beneath my ribs in mortal fear.

I looked to Zealot and saw only the steel in his eyes hidden behind his mask, moving intently through the thick air. Although I normally liked the darkness, lack of light only aided our foe. Lacking flares like the earth pony, I loaded a clip of incendiary shells into my APW and listened intently for any sound. There was a tiny whisper of scrabbling against stone and I let loose a shot aimed as best I could.

The dull ‘fwoomp’ of my gifted gun belied its power. The round exploded against another wall across from us, the fiery bits falling to the ground, illuminating another doorway. There was a shrill scream as an edge of the Flayer’s skin cloak caught flame. Somehow I felt it was more an expression of effrontery over further damage to its covering than any real pain.

Strange thoughts came to me in this strange time. There was serenity in such battle. A thoughtlessness that comes over you. There isn’t time to think. Having to think means being slow and being slow means dying. It was the second occasion that had made me wish I had never found those files in the Overmare’s computer. Was being free worth facing such terrible things?

The more I saw of this world outside my underground home, the more I began to think that perhaps the world had died in Balefire. The last few survivors were just stubborn. The ponies and zebras had perfected killing. Had perfected killing so that they didn’t even need to do it themselves anymore. What kind of toll would a weapon like the Flayer take if unleashed?

Weapons…

No! No, not now! I struggled against the encroaching visions, trying not to let them take control. Now was not the time to be drifting off. It was a moment of hesitation, and one moment too many.

The Flayer sailed out of the darkness far from the angle it was last seen, grabbing Hammer as it went. The long claws hooked through the collar of his barding and hauled him along. I turned to the sound of his shout and couldn’t take a shot without risking hitting him. I holstered my explosive gun and readied my power fists, taking flight with a strong bounding leap.

It was fast, but the Flayer couldn’t outrun a griffin in flight. Until I was on the wing, I hadn’t noticed the bladed tail. The appendage lashed at me, cutting across my armor, and sinking deep enough to cut my chest. The distraction was enough for Hammer to reach with his magic and hit the Flayer across the head with his sledge.

Strong as the creature was, I had yet to meet anything that could shake off a blow from the unicorn. Stunned, the beast’s grip loosened enough to release Hammer. Although my strikes lacked technique, I powered hits into the Flayer’s side. The discharge singed the mismatched hides but I didn’t know if I was doing any real damage. My tail sheath seemed to do even less, the blade attached there barely sinking an inch in.

With a warcry, the unicorn threw himself at the creature.

I had to give Hammer credit, standing back and using his sledge was one thing. Tackling the Flayer and trying to wrestle it into submission while bashing it repeatedly with his weapon was another. Using my crackling power fists I gave what assistance I could. The fight was strange, the brightness of my PipBuck casting low luminescence. Everything was either harshly or dully illuminated.

All too casually, the Flayer bucked me, exploding the air from my lungs and sending me skidding along the floor. It backhanded Hammer as he pinned one limb down. With both of us out of the way and the metal flesh mash distracted, one of Zealot’s shots finally connected. The white flash exploded into a haunch and out the other side. The Flayer shrieked and spat curses while it spasmed.

Zinfandel called my attention back to the circle of light. With what thought I had in my breathless state, I grabbed Hammer and started hauling him in the relative direction of safety out of reach of the deadly creature. Wounded and dazed as well, he had enough sense to run with me.

The unicorn mumbled something under his breath, no doubt offensive, although I was a little busy running for my life to catch it. Zinfandel sent a few more crimson bolts over our shoulders and gestured for us to hurry. We reached the circle of flares and the zebra began to check us over. I turned to look back and the Flayer was nowhere to be seen. I had my own set of curses to mark the occasion.

“Alright, Zealot, what do we do now?” Hammer asked what I was thinking. The earth pony was wary and alert, looking all around. I used the opportunity to drink one of our last healing potions.

“I have a plan. We keep together and go through the morgue to the Dry Grotto. From there we can get to the vault. There, we can kill-” Whatever else Zealot may have said, was silenced by the claw that emerged through his sternum with a sickening crunch. His breath audibly caught as he looked down to the blade fingers sticking out of himself.

I froze, unable to comprehend. The Flayer picked him up and turned him around to peer into the eyes of the impaled stallion.

“I see you, little pony.” Zealot, agent of the Lady, went limp around the Flayer's claw. The sight was entrancing. Thought slipped away and reasoning became warm shapeless feeling. The Flayer examined him like a curiosity, as a child might watch an interesting insect. Deeper urges forced me to disregard the paralysis in my muddied thoughts.

“Run.” I breathed, nudging Zinfandel to get her moving. Out of the corner of my vision I could see my two companions watching the Flayer intently. The three of us started moving towards the outlined door. When we were about two dozen feet, raw terror sank its fangs into me and I turned to flee as fast as the wind would take me.

Reaching the door first, I held out my foreleg to see what was in the next room. Seeing walls close by lined with large shelves and with nothing immediately deadly, it seemed safer prospects than what lay behind. Our escape had not gone unnoticed.

Hammer and Zinfandel were almost to the door when the Flayer discarded Zealot’s body and turned towards livelier prey. Although we hadn’t seriously damaged the construct in any debilitating way, the cosmetic patchwork of skin had several tears and fresh holes. Many layers of it flapped loosely in the violence of its motion. For all its artificial nature, it sure knew how to move smoothly.

If I hadn’t been so terrified, I would have been fascinated by the intricacy of the mechanisms.

First the zebra, then the unicorn made it in beside me. Immediately I began to push, but the hugely rusted door barely budged an inch. Hammer, then Zinny threw their own weight beside me. The slab was almost closed when the Flayer hit it, the force knocking all three of us onto our collective asses. The hinges screamed in protest as the metal monster heaved and reached through the opening.

The groping limb made me back away. Knife-fingers flung some of Zealot’s blood over my face. I drew my pistol and pulled the trigger. The bullets caught flesh, and at close range damaged the muscle, ricocheting off solid bone. Some of its own oily fluid poured from the small holes. Withdrawing the arm, the creature resumed slamming itself bodily against the portal.

Together my cohorts fought a tug of war like no other.

“Hammer!” I cried as I pushed my legs to the limit against the ground. “Hit it! Hit the door!” I clenched my eyes and heaved all my weight and strength into pushing, but I was losing ground. Zinny was trying her best. Valiant, yet futile altogether. Then the strongest pony I knew, physically, and magically, threw all his power into one swing of his sledge.

There was an indentation in the metal of the door as it slammed closed into its frame with a shower of rust. Distantly, I heard a thud as the Flayer got a taste of its own medicine in being thrown back off a door. Before it could regain momentum I pulled a large metal locking bar into brackets. No doubt pissed, the Flayer hit the barrier again, denting the solidity of it in a minuscule way.

The Flayer screeched and clawed, metal shrieking against metal.

Even if it wanted to, the murderous creature couldn’t break it. This was a military hospital after all; most of the halls probably had defensive provisions to fend off invaders. For a while after the sounds of the creature venting its rage dissipated, and all I could do was lean against the door, panting in fear and adrenaline. My heart beat a crazy rhythm in my chest. The only sound aside from the blood rushing in my head was the panting of the two lives beside me.

Minutes, hours, or maybe just seconds passed, and my beating life muscle slowed from a million miles an hour. I reached for a cigarette and found my talons shaking too much to grab a single one out of the pack.

“What the fuck. What the fuck, man? The fuck was that thing? How can it do that shit? I hit it. I hit it right in the head. Even metal it shoulda been gone. Shoulda gone down.” Hammer panted and muttered.

“It ripped Zealot apart like he was nothing. How can something so unnatural be so strong?” Zinfandel said distantly.

“What does it matter, he’s dead. Whatever. We need to get the fuck out. Fuck this. Fuck whatever we’re here to find.” Hammer’s voice was edged with hysteria.

“And how do you propose we do that, genius? If you had not yet noticed, the only way out is blocked by the death machine.” The zebra got right up to his face, gesturing angrily at the barred gate.

“Well, maybe if we left you for bait. You’d complain enough to draw it off.” Hammer’s voice rose in volume, challenging the banded mare right back.

“Guys, chill. This is not the right time.” My voice cracked partway through my appeal and ended up a gravelly whine.

“How about I shove your worthless self out there, you are meatier.”

“Yeah, well maybe if you had done more than just blink your little flashlight then Zealot would still be alive.” Hammer growled.

“Woah, that's going a little far. C'mon.” This time I was just flat out ignored as they gesticulated inches from each other.

“Excuse me? I will show you what this ‘flashlight’ can do. I at least was not the one getting dragged off by the giant skin wearing… thing! All you are good for is waving your little toy around.” She sniffed derisively.

“Oh, bitch you did not just insult my hammer. Fuck you, and your stripes.” Things were escalating between the pair and I had just about had enough. The volume of their argument was giving me a tension headache coupled with the adrenaline backlash.

“What did you say to me you limp-dick excuse for a pony?”

“Don’t test me, bitch. Not right now.” Hammer jabbed Zinny with a hoof.

“Quit it. Both of you.” My voice had regained a little strength through the pounding in every escalating word. Again, I was disregarded.

“I will turn you to ash, before you have any chance to bash.”

“Oh shit, the rhyming. Spare us the fucking rhyming!” Hammer threw his front hooves into the air.

“You have a problem with my rhymes? Fucking ponies, what a waste of time.” Zinfandel rolled her bright green eyes and flipped her bangs.

“I’ll waste more than your fucking time.” Hammer brandished his namesake threateningly.

“Fucking try it!” Zinny got back in his face, both baring their teeth.

I had had enough.

With more than a little anger, I grabbed both of their manes, and crashed their foreheads together with a brain rattling thud. Although agitated, I was in control enough to make sure Zinny didn’t get a new hole through her skull from Hammer's horn. They went down together like sacks of apples.

“Shut up! Both of you shut up! By all the fucking dead gods above it’s like listening to a pair of foals squabble over candy. Are you two sure you’re not blankflanks? Because I sure as shit can’t tell. At this point, I’m waiting for the makeup fucking to begin! Maybe you two just need a good rut. Sheez!” Even though they were still recovering, I wasn’t done ranting.

“I mean by Celestia’s burning teats, I’ve seen some fightin’ in my time but do you two go at it. And right now of all times? Could we wait until after the mother fucker who wants to skin us is dead to do this? Really, as a professional courtesy maybe.” I pushed enough sarcasm in that last statement to peel paint. They at least had the shame to lie on the ground and not look at anything while I shouted at them.

“God dammit it’s no one’s fault that Zealot is dead. It’s the Flayer that killed him. I didn’t pull the trigger, and neither did you, so quit with the fucking blame-try-to-kill-each-other game. We are in some deep shit right now. And I don’t know about you two, but I think three shovels are better than one.” Shit analogies notwithstanding, it seemed like I was getting through to them.

“Our guide is gone. We don’t know how to get back and there’s a homicidal metal thing with weird fetishes after us. There’s a whole lotta unknowns. But we will not get out of this alive by fighting with each other. We will survive this by not panicking. By sticking together.”

A little corny, perhaps. Ham-fisted even. Both were no doubt nursing headaches at least somewhat sympathetically to mine. Dammit now I couldn’t light my cig because my claws were shaking in anger! Okay, maybe it was still terror, but I could blame them.

Hammer rubbed his head.

“What’re we gonna do, Ghost?” He didn’t sound angry, just lost and scared. Zinny looked up at me with wide eyes. They were just as afraid as I was. They just had different ways of dealing with it.

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly, brushing a talon back through my crest. With a little work I managed to get a stick in my beak and lit. One long draw later, I felt a little more stable.

“We’re gonna…” Something convincing. I had to make it sound like I believed it. “We’re gonna survive. Much as I hate to say it, screw whatever we were here for. That died with Zealot.” Was I becoming jaded to death? Perhaps a little. “We can’t go back the way we came, so obviously we have to go forward.” I gestured into the darkness ahead.

Keep it simple. One thing at a time. Clear objectives.

“Zealot did say something about a Dry Grotto. Now if I know anything about underground shit, then that probably means there’s a path that water used to take. Where there used to be water, there are pipes. And where there are pipes, there has to be a way out. Right?” I had to hold out hope that there was more than one exit out of this fucking hospital underground.

Who thought this building design was a good idea? It seemed like the old world ponies just loved unnecessary construction. Though in retrospect it does seem like they at least built to last.

“Yes, yes that makes sense. We just need to find the morgue. Somewhere beyond that is this Grotto.” Zinny clung to her words as a lifeline.

“Yeah, yeah, then we get th’fuck outta here and have a happy day.” Hammer agreed. “But uh… Does it seem cold in here to you, Ghost?” I looked at the unicorn oddly, noticing that he was shivering slightly. I would have attributed it solely to him being sweaty and cooling off if not for the water crystals puffing from his mouth with his breath. The banded mare too was huffing visible air.

It felt chill to me, but not that low in temperature. This was strange, and I tried to think of a reason why the air would be so cold. A faint hum could be heard from unseen air compressors to refrigerate the room. Why would they be running? Unless the Flayer or the hospital wanted to keep something cold.

Raising my PipBuck, it became clear.

“Well, at least we found the morgue.” My voice trailed off.

Huge sets of racks stretched up to the ceiling, attached to rails along the ground to allow them to be moved by consoles set against them. The racks each held dozens of veiled, temperature preserved bodies. They went on into the visible light.

“I think we should get going. Y’know, just a thought. Unless, anyone feels like having a two hundred year old pony popsicle.” Hammer pointed out.

“I think I’ll pass.” I walked slowly, warily past the many racks, my friends keeping pace besides me. Alert to threats, we finally reached the end of the morgue out into another set of corridors. These seemed to be autopsy rooms set adjacent to the morgue for body retrieval.

The dissection machines poised above the tables were unnerving, poised to fulfill their grisly tasks of organic examination with gusto even as they rusted. I took the opportunity to scavenge everything I could find. There were several medical boxes ripe with fresh supplies, several of which required a little bobby pin persuasion by Zinfandel.

Our healing potion supply needed a little bit of a boost along with fresh bandages and other ancient medical miracles as well such as med-x and other drugs and chemicals besides.

I took the time spent waiting on the banded mare to strip the dissection apparatuses of their knives. Many of the tiny blades I left but there were two per machine that were large enough to catch my interest. A little wrench work later and half a dozen were mine. At least parts must have been imbued with preservation spells to keep them from rusting and the ones I took were mostly free of corrosion.

The distraction of dismantling mechanical devices was welcome.

Around a corner there was a malfunctioning security robot that trundled forward at the sight of me and raised its weapon to fire. Luck was on my side as its gun misfired and ignited its own charge packs, exploding from the waist up. I winced at the noise of the explosion and was filled with dread, wondering who or what may have heard the commotion.

I stuck my flank against a wall and motioned for Hammer and Zinny to do the same while we waited to see if anything came to investigate.

For about a minute I became painfully aware of the feeling of my beating heart and the flight goggles pressing against my sockets. Just as I was about to relax and continue on, a cluster of red bars appeared on my EFS. A dark shape melded out of the space beyond. I could hear the ghoul snuffling about, picking around the bot. Soon one became two, two became four, and four became ten. All of the zombie ponies milled about, bumping into each other, hunting for life.

I wondered what the creatures subsisted off of when I remembered all the bodies the Flayer left strung up and crucified. They had all the meat they could eat. The ghouls were in the way, and unlikely to leave anytime soon. I hefted my rifle and gestured around the corner. Hammer and Zinfandel both nodded and I turned to take aim at the nearest shape. Exhaling, I squeezed the trigger firmly.

My skills were sorely lacking to use the automatic rifle to its full potential. The hefty gun was difficult to handle and about half of my shots missed, yet half was all it took to blast the pony of its hooves. I fired in bursts of indiscriminate fire down the hallway, killing one more and wounding a few others.

Even before the first shell casing had hit the floor, the rest had all started charging towards me. They were a lot faster than I anticipated and were upon me before I could even eject the spent clip. A few bolts of power sliced into the knot of mutated creatures from Zinny behind me before they my position.

The first ghoul that reached me got a bayonet through the sternum for its troubles. There wasn't time to retract the blade and free my automatic rifle before more piled in behind it, forcing me to let go of the gun to confront the fresh attackers. I stabbed out with my bladed tail, catching the next in the throat. The ghoul could have cared less about the injury and kept coming at me.

Next was a lot of backpedaling and punches with my power fists. There was hardly any room to maneuver or dodge, just a lot of slugging it out with the ghouls that could reach me. Hammer struck with his floating weapon around me while Zinny kept up her fire, snapping out shots as the opportunity presented itself.

Brittle bones cracked under my blows, every strike aided by immense discharge that snapped off entire limbs. For a few mind bending moments it was a little hairy, but these were low level ghouls, scraping away an existence from the Flayer's leavings. They were weak and although their bites packed a tenacious strength, they were no match.

I heard the bang of a ballistic gun and felt a pain lance through my back right leg that brought me to my knees. With a gasp I slammed my claws into the heart of the last ghoul which fell over with a gurgle and a thud.

“Hammer!” I shouted between pain and indignation. The unicorn stood with a smoking pistol, dumbfounded.

“What?” He asked, mystified.

“You shot me you blind bastard!” I hobbled a little further, holding up my back leg. His face shifted between surprise and then amusement, and settled on contrite.

“My bad. M'hammer broke.” He laid his ears back sheepishly and holstered his pistol with a nervous grin. The unicorn floated out the two pieces of his weapon, now splintered about three quarters length down the handle.

“I'll fix it, hold on. Zinfandel, help if you please.” I asked the zebra medic with a tentative wave of my leg. The bullet had dug a nice furrow through me so at least spared me the joy of having lead dug out. Snorting a little under her breath, the banded mare inspected the wound a little and hoofed me a healing potion.

I chugged the thick purple vial happily and felt the throbbing burn drop to a tingle and fade. Within a few seconds I was good as new. Forlornly, Hammer Horn gave me his namesake, now a pale imitation of its former glory. I confiscated the offending pistol too for personal safety.

Aside from the splintered wood, the metal head of the mallet was loose on the final chunk of handle, scratched and rounded at the corners from so much use. Some Wonderglue and an entire role of duct tape later, it was back together. It wouldn't last much longer in its current condition.

To my further dismay, I found I only had two clips left for my automatic rifle, having expended the rest much more quickly than I would have liked. The power of the gun was balanced by the fact that ammo was hard to come by and fucking expensive. Blowing through enough rounds to fill a hunting rifle ten times over wasn't good.

I put the weapon away so as to preserve the last of the ammo for an emergency.

When I saw Zinfandel pull out her pistol I knew we were in trouble. We had brought along enough food and water to last a while, but had gone through nearly all the ammo I had bought at Rust Town. This was a hospital; guns and ammo were not in abundance, yet I could hope otherwise. So we moved forward. I pulled some magic cells from the self-annihilated robot so that our medic could switch back to her main weapon. There was little else among the ghouls worth picking up.

Around the corner was a security checkpoint. At last I thought that we might get some better armament. Our group’s medic unlocked the door and let us in. There definitely quite a few ammo cans, a fair few sealed. Zinfandel got to work with bobby pin and screwdriver. I was honestly still surprised that she didn’t do some zebra hoodoo with a wave of her hooves that undid locks.

It wasn’t a very big room, just a pair of ballistic glass windows, a desk with a terminal, and a few empty gun racks. Why were they always empty? I toyed around with the terminal a little, plying my mind as best I could to the encryption but invariably getting myself locked out. Two of the cans were brimming with shotgun shells, which would have been great if we had found a shotgun to go with them. Also a plethora of rifle ammo too small for my automatic. I left feeling very disappointed with Marauder Hospital for a place that hadn’t been very often scavenged.

We passed a few more turns and empty halls before emerging into a closed off room made of rough rock and metal stairways going down. The further down we went, the colder it got. It honestly didn't bother me, but by the way Hammer and Zinny were shivering it was bad. At the bottom was a metal hatch that slid smoothly open. Through it was an old generator room that hummed with power. The squat turbines thrummed and sometimes gave an unhealthy metal click, symptomatic with degradation.

A sudden alarm broke the quiet, nearly making me shoot the darkness in surprise. The ringing purred then faded, and a second later started up again. It was… a phone? I remembered working on one or two back in Stable 57, used for privacy compared to the intercom system.

Yes, of all things, a phone against the wall was ringing. I exchanged glances with my companions and both looked as puzzled as I felt. It rang persistently, showing no signs of stopping.

Hammer was the one who trotted forward and picked up.

“Hello?” He asked, perplexed. His face shifted between skepticism, terror, and then confusion. After a moment of listening, the unicorn held the receiver out in his magic. “It’s for you, Ghost.”

When I took the old thing, I didn’t know what in Celestia’s name to expect.

“This is Ghost.”

“Yes, I’m calling to deter you from your current course of action. The sleeper must not wake. Mother knows best after all,” said an incredibly deep voice. There was a little distortion in the line, but the words were pretty clear.

It was the Flayer.

“Get out. Get out, get out, get out. I know why Zealot sent you here, and you won't get it. Mother knows best. You must leave now. But, I won't let you. I see you, little griffin.” Tingles ran down my spine and I turned, searching every shadow and corner for those glowing eyes.

“Don’t listen to him!” screeched another voice, this one belonging to a mare. I pulled the receiver away in pain as the pitch of the mare’s cry rose into distorted noise.

“This is unexpected. Excuse me, but you have no business in this conversation, miss.” The Flayer said.

“I very much so have a right if you’re trying to mess with my dear Ghostie.” The female speaker stated possessively.

“Have we met before?” I asked into the phone.

“Of course we’ve met! You rescued me. Don’t you remember, silly? Oh, fond memories indeed.” The mare I saved outside of Rust Town sprang to mind, but no… this was someone else.

“Back to the matter at hand, if you please. Due to certain alarms having already been tripped I will warn you once, Ghost. If you dissuade yourself from your current goal, I will have no choice but to take more drastic measures in preventing the dreamer’s awakening. That is my charge, and I will fulfill it to the letter. Let me assure you that no harm will come to you if you do or don't comply.”

This was odd, gone were the insane giggles and strange obsession with skin. Was the Flayer asking me politely to leave? There was no quaver or maddened inflection of tone. It would be very nice if leaving were so simple. Yet this thing was clearly insane, speaking in obvious contradiction.

“Don’t you tell him what to do! My little griffin knows exactly what he’s doing. If it’s pissing you off mister, then he must be doing a good job of it.” The mare descended into bubbly sniggers.

This was getting weird in a nonsense way fast.

“So how did you know to… uh, call me here? Well, at the moment I can’t not go further into this place, so how about-“

“Unacceptable. This interference and this variance will not be tolerated by you or your allies. Understand that there will be consequences beyond your imagining.”

“Now wait,” I tried to appeal to this oddly reasoning creature before the mare jutted in once more.

“Are you threatening him? Are you threatening him? I will find you, and I will cut you in half before you touch even a single feather on his head!”

“There is nothing you can do to me. If you had any sense you would try and dissuade him.”

“I will do no such thing! You listen to me, Ghost. Whatever this guy wants you to do, you do the opposite.” The two cut back and forth too quickly for me to get a word in edgewise.

“Like that will actually do any good.”

Very gently, I hung up the phone, and the entire assemblage proceeded to fall off the wall with a crash.

“So… who was it?” Hammer asked after the dust had settled a little.

“I have no idea, and honestly, I’m more confused than ever. But hey, at least that’s nothing new, right?” I said with a grin. Trying to be confident, I crossed between the live generators to the other metal hatch. “C'mon, we've hit bottom. Nowhere to go but up.” When I opened the door, I dearly wished I could have taken back my fate taunting words.

I stared into a chasm so deep I felt vertigo grip me.

My heart rate spiked and I had to draw back lest I lose my balance. Hammer peaked out and had similar reservations. After taking a few breaths to calm myself, I realized that I had been looking out over a bridge. Going back to the hatch I took a better look.

The first thing I realized was that it was totally underground, having hoped that maybe looking up I would have seen sky, but it only kept going up into similar blackness. I could have just flown out if that were the case.

A long span of grated steel crossed the apparently endless drop to the other side. Across the way was a huge gate, easily fifteen feet high and twenty-five across. Huge floodlights were above it, shining onto the connection. Looking to my right, I saw where a few other walkways connected the bridge to different doors set into the wall of the chasm.

A red light flashed above the gate and huge pneumatic pistons lifted out of their locked positions. Before it was fully open the Flayer slid through and reversed the lock. The gate protested angrily, gears grinding as they stopped and turned the opposite way. The huge machine slammed back closed with a certain finality.

The Flayer moved, and I ducked back, letting just enough of me hang past to see. The Flayer prowled along the bridge to one of the other hatches, taking the time to strike a pose in the spotlight. The metal monster trailed a claw lovingly across the tarnished walkway and disappeared.

Well... shit.

I let out the breath I had been holding. I could only attribute the Flayer's lack of direction straight to killing us was its apparent inability to reason. Otherwise surely it would have headed right to this hatch.

Trying to weigh out the options in my mind, I came to very little. The gate the Flayer had come from wasn't an option, there being no clear way to emulate what it had done. Going back the way we came didn't sound very good either, not with the creature roaming the halls, knowing them much better than I, even with an automap.

Looking out again, I noticed a path carved into the stone of the gorge. I waved my companions over for a look. It was precarious, there being only an old metal pipe for a railing. The chasm turned and I couldn't see around the corner. At least out in the open I could stretch my wings and hover.

“I do not like this, Ghost. There is something evil about this place.” Zinfandel said around chattering teeth as she tentatively stepped onto the stone. I wasn't going to disagree.

I flew around, ahead of my friends as they threaded their way along the path. All the way past the bend was a strange whitish outcrop attached to the other wall. With my much improved eyesight I spied another door, this one maybe leading to an emergency exit. There was a long but narrow walkway that could be lowered from a crank. All in all it seemed a little unprofessional for a hospital to have such dangerous conditions.

Landing carefully, I grabbed hold of the crank and strained against the rusted gears. Something was too old, and snapped, letting the bridge hanging above crash down. Wincing at the avalanche of sound, I turned and waited for my friends to catch up.

There was something... off about the floor. A strange substance encrusted the outcropping of rock. Pillars... no, giant glass tubes lined one wall. Nearly all of them were cracked, some broken open completely.

And the vision...

Brewing, conjuring, crafting, culturing all manner of viral organic compounds. They were nurtured for experimentation, for understanding and medicinal salves. Then, after the fire rained from the sky and the life within the tubes was forgotten.

In time, lost, it grew outside the bounds originally set for it. Doing what all life does: Survive.

Initially, sustenance was plentiful, the living tissues and organisms gorging themselves on the nutrient rich fluid in the tubes. Together they became a very unique ecosystem, ripe with cooperative symbiosis.

The joys, the tenacity of life is never to be underestimated.

Then the mare came, many years later, part of a scavenging team delving deep into the bowls of the hospital in search of medicine and loot. They were chased by the Flayer, as was to be expected. What wasn’t expected was the betrayal leveled by the leader of the troop, abandoning the mare to her fate, trapped on outcrop with a tireless killing machine waiting for either the bridge to lower or the door to open.

At first afraid, the mare eventually became accustomed to the strange creatures that had evolved, accelerated by the faint magic radiation that leaked through the rock. They fed her, and in turn, she fed them.

Time passed, she died, food ran out, and rock was not enough to sustain. Cartilage and bone calcified, while muscle atrophied and froze.

The pain from the visions had almost faded from memory. It was bad enough this time that I had to take a shot of med-x.

Something felt wrong in my head, like wires were being crossed. I couldn’t help but imagine a cackling demon pulling my neurons this way and that like a demented puppeteer, showing me only death and doom. In my conscious state I knew what I saw wasn’t real but in that thin barrier between waking and sleeping when everything blurred together, I really didn’t know.

The idea of my sanity slipping away was enough to startle me out of my reverie before Hammer and Zinny could wonder why I was standing still for so long. At least then I knew what was wrong with the floor. The ancient flesh had vitrified around the rock in a sort of collected commune of organisms.

Near one of the glass pillars were the bones of a mare, curled around countless tiny bones of unidentifiable creatures. They were locked together in final moments, cut off from the entire world and the troubles of it. Hammer strode up onto the mat of vitrified material and paused in contemplation.

“I wonder what this stuff would taste like. I bet if you cooked it long enough…” The first thing that came to my mind was the smell such a concoction would have and I immediately felt my stomach turn. Zinfandel was the first one to point out the obvious question.

“What is this place, Ghost?” For a sheer half of a moment I wondered why the banded mare thought I would know before I realized that I did.

“This is the Dry Grotto. Let’s not linger.” Zealot had no doubt thought to take this abandoned path to sneak up behind the Flayer. Whatever the reason, I took my own words to heart and opened the hatch leading out of the Grotto.

***

“Holy hell!” I shouted over the din.

The robot was armed, armored, and blared a screeching siren. Heavy fire blazed from the gun set onto the side of its boxy torso. I laid myself flat against the floor and lashed out with my own automatic. Hammer tucked himself behind a vending machine of all things while Zinfandel rolled through a doorway to avoid being lacerated.

Bullets tore through the air, impacting the thick metal plates protecting the defensive automaton. Lead rained against metal in staccato rhythm with the sound of my gunfire. The rounds staggered the robot, throwing off its aim. In less time it took to draw breath my rifle clicked empty and the bot sagged back, smoking through the couple of penetrating holes.

I reloaded. A few rounds had hit me too, digging into my barding and cutting shallowly into flesh. The alarm slowly died.

With a lurch, the security bot righted itself and the covering on the box on the opposite side of its torso opened, revealing multiple rockets. There was no cover for me to dive for, so I lay on the trigger once more, until smoke rose from the end of my gun’s barrel and once more the bolt slid onto nothing.

Strangely, a small corner of my working mind took a moment to enjoy the scent of cordite, a sharp, powerful scent compared to the mellow strawberry aroma of my cigarettes. A dying note of failed gears and slipping joints issued from the chassis of the army robot as the light behind its helmet-like slit faded. I felt relief wash over me until the next robot trundled into view on fresh treads.

This one had time to get use with its rockets, the explosion showering me with debris. Lucky for me, it took the shot too early and the explosive sailed into the vending machine Hammer was taking cover behind. The large drink dispenser nearly flattened the unicorn and forced him out of cover between me and the death machine.

Not one to think much, Hammer Horn swung his recently repaired sledge right into the side of the robot’s squat head with the sound like a bell and snapping wood. The blow knocked the machine right over onto its side, completely off the treads while the upper half of Hammer’s mallet went sailing off into the darkness, leaving him with only half a stick.

It seems my repairs weren’t up to snuff with the unicorn’s abuse. Still alive, the machinegun side moved to point at the flummoxed pony.

“Watch out!” I shouted with all my might, mentally urging him to move. Zinfandel was quicker and knocked Hammer out of the way, through an adjacent opening, but not before both of them got a brief hosing of gunfire.

My talons were only a fraction of a moment slower, putting down my gun, and drawing my grenade launcher. I had two clips left, one of explosive, one of fire. The throaty sound of my weapon punctuated the whine of the machinegun.

The shell went true, and shattered the fallen robot, blowing it to pieces. Chunks of smoking wreckage clattered off the walls as the air shook with thunder. Heat and pressure washed over me and my thoughts flitted to my friends. Briefly, quiet fell as the last of the remnants stilled.

Then another security robot came around, trundling heedlessly over the fallen.

I broke that toy too. Using the last explosive shells I had, I blasted it to scrap in moments, trigger pull after trigger pull. The walls were blackened and cracked by force. It took a few seconds for the bright flash of the detonations to fade from my vision. More red bars propagated on my compass.

Fuck, fuck, fucking shit pissing hell.

As soon as I was able, I rose up from the floor and ran forward. Around and down the side passage I hurtled to my companions. Zinfandel was holding Hammer’s head, slowly getting him to drink a healing potion while her own wounds still flowed freely with her blood. There was a strangely distant look in her eyes that I didn’t like, and the unicorn was definitely delirious.

“C’mon, Zinny, we need to get away from here, hide and wait this out.” She nodded without speaking and moved to one side of the injured pony to help me lift him up, but I would have none of that. Reaching forward, I got a good grip in Hammer’s barding and hoisted him up onto my back.

The banded mare was freezing up, breaking down after so much time spent running and fighting for her life. Everything smelled like rot, decay and gunpowder. All the sensory assaults were wearing her thin. I had to practically shove a healing potion in her face to get her to drink it. The same thing was happening to Hammer. He was slowing down, getting sloppy; else he would never have been so injured.

I was reminded readily of just how big a pony he was. It was hard going, but soon I had a worked up to a good pace and led us from the sight of the frenzied fight. Fortunately it seemed the robots weren’t particularly skilled at tracking.

We went down a lot of stairs. Down and down into the freezing dark.

Eventually Hammer regained enough of his senses to get off my back, literally. I wanted to find a safe corner to tend to our wounds and rest and proposed the idea out loud to my coterie.

“Whatever man, I ain’t sleepin’ out here. No fuckin’ way.” He said around a yawn.

“Yeah, we need someplace that there’s only one entrance that we can barricade. I really wish ghouls were the only thing we had to deal with down here.” We looked around for a few minutes until we stumbled across an old storeroom. As if there weren’t enough useless side rooms in this place. At least this one had a few old mattresses stuffed into a corner along with a few other bits of semi-useful junk.

The door had a lock, but we barricaded it nonetheless. If anything tried to get in, we’d hear it in time to wake up. Even so, I made sure that my guns were in easy reach and didn’t take off my barding. We laid the two mattresses out on the floor.

Zinfandel tended to all of our injuries with the somewhat abundant medical supplies we had gathered.

There was nothing to make a fire with. Even if there was, the room had no real ventilation. A hot plate was found and hooked up and soon glowed cherry red, for however much good that did us. Hammer and Zinfandel promptly got around to half-heartedly arguing over which one of them would use it first.

At the prospect of imminent sleep, my body practically went into shutdown. Even the semblance of safety was enough to lull me to sleep on anything that wasn’t the floor. I just fell straight atop the old cushioning and made myself comfortable. They weren’t doing it loudly, so I didn’t feel the need to get up. I stayed awake long enough to eat some heated up beans out of a can and let my mind drift.

After a few minutes my dozing was interrupted by a pair of bodies snuggling up against my sides.

Back from the very verge of dreams, my mind recoiled and inhabited my senses once again. I raised my head to glare at the two of them.

“The fuck’re you two doing?” My right eyelid twitched a little in agitation. Being disrupted from sleep was one of the few things that could really make me cranky.

“You are just… so toasty!” Zinfandel said with an embarrassed smile as she wiggled herself in closer.

I looked over at Hammer with equal incredulity.

“What about you?”

“What? I ain’t cuddlin’ with no damn zebra. And yeah, you are pretty warm.” Partly because I was too tired to argue, and partly because yes, they did provide comfort, I didn’t press the point. With a sigh of defeat, I spread my wings and pulled the two closer with my feathers.

Admittedly, they were warm and allowed me the peace of mind to slip off to sleep.

***

Only about four hours went by, but the rest was necessary for the mind and body. My joints were a little stiff from being so exhausted and sleeping in my gear. The first thing I did was stretch my wings and pop my joints, leaning out like a cat and extending my talons to the fullest and working my way back.

An itch nagged at me and I felt the urge to preen some of my feathers. Yawning, I rooted about with my beak and found a sticky patch. Being so close I got a nostril full and suddenly felt much more wakeful. The scent was... frighteningly intimate and feminine. There was another clump of feathers that had a much thicker... ugh!

Immediately I looked between the two hoofed perpetrators lying innocently beside me and my imagination did the rest. I had a suspicion that their hooves would each smell of the others amorous pheromones.

Damn though, how hard had I been sleeping to not notice a pony and a zebra getting themselves off on top of me? Ah well, I'd just give them hell about it later. Maybe I would have been more aggravated if we hadn't been deep in the bowels of a military hospital fighting for our lives.

Perhaps I even understood them, giving in to the assurance of the warm touch of another.

Out in the wasteland, there had to be a reason for the birth rates to keep up with the fatalities occurred through raiders and radiation and innumerable other ways of horrible death. Without nearly every pony out there getting busy at every opportunity, how else could enough lives be brought into the world to replace the losses? The delayed release of various bunkers and Stables could only inject so much fresh blood. 57 only failed to open because of the proximity of the radiation given off by Ghoul City.

My stretching disturbed my companions and I gave them both a good shake and it served them right. Both played dumb to my questions regarding the mysterious stuff on my wings. Again resolving to needle them about it later, I took stock and braced myself for our next foray.

I checked my remaining weapons in forlorn resignation. I was completely out of .308 and had only one clip of incendiary shells for my APW. At least my fists didn't run out of ammo. Pistol clips and good knives were in decent supply at least. Hammer was down to his hooves and magic, me not wanting a repeat of the earlier incident. Zinfandel was low as well, even after recycling what empty magic cartridges she could.

It didn't leave much in the way of defense if the Flayer found us. There was no telling how much further or how many more bots and ghouls we'd have to go through to get free of this labyrinth. While Hammer and Zinny were busy doing their level best to pretend the other didn't exist, I decided to go scouting and hope nothing was waiting beyond our barricaded door to bite my head off.

Carefully, quietly, I opened the door and stepped back, ready for anything to come through. After waiting what I thought was long enough, I sneaked out into the hospital beyond. My padded feet and talons made so little noise compared to hooves I wondered how ponies or zebras were able to move silently at all.

Ghouls… Always with the fucking ghouls. Three of them milled about, unaware of my presence.

I raised my silenced ten millimeter and hit SATS with great relish. Queuing up one shot in the head for each, I let my system work its magic. Attacking from such a position of superiority, all three of their heads came apart like ripe melons. Nothing but a whisper and the sound of rotten brains splattering over the walls broke the quiet. Brass tinkled like raindrops.

It felt good to be the predator again. Being prey wasn’t a natural state for a griffin, and the Flayer’s continual lurking presence grated the wrong way against my feathers. I went back in and whispered the all-clear. We must have been getting close to an exit after all this time, some way out of this hellhole. Hammer and Zinny stuck close behind me as we ventured forth.

The zebra gasped, startling me a little. I turned to her…

And saw the Flayer holding her up by the nape of the neck, examining the mare. It was delicate in its touch, not even breaking her skin with its scalpel claws.

“Pretty zebra. You will make a fine addition.” Without even a glance to Hammer or I, the metal monster set off at a breakneck speed.

Oh Celestia. The scene was frozen for a moment, the sensation of standing there, useless as Zinfandel was torn away into the darkness to be left to the Flayer’s mercy. Just before I lost sight of them, the zebra’s scream echoed back.

The mare was doomed, lost to shrieking torture…

No, not while I yet lived.

Words did not pass between Hammer and I as we both ran after them. An unspoken connection was forged between the two of us for a little while, touching on our senses only enough to know where the other was. That’s what I suspect he felt at least based on how in tune our actions were.

We followed the fading screams. The Flayer wasn’t trying very hard to lose us, taking a pretty straight path to whatever lair awaited in the bowels of his domain. As fast as Hammer and I ran though, we were hopelessly outclassed in speed and local familiarity.

Memory reminded me of a similar chase and how it ended.

Once, we almost lost the trail, standing poised, frozen at an intersection of three branching hallways. The building had deteriorated around us steadily, the walls corroded and the bodies strung up in advanced stages of decay. Hardly any of the lights still worked, only a few ruddy emergency strips cast their glow on the path. Straining all my senses to the fullest, I tried to discern which way the demon had gone.

My muscles wound themselves taught as the seconds crawled by, primed for any trace. Seconds crept into a minute, and one minute climbed into several. Hammer Horn muttered sweet hopefuls into the stillness. A draft of air carried a unique stench, like metal and blood. That was how I chose which way to go and prayed to any god or goddess, dead or alive to be kind and merciful.

The light blue unicorn followed me without question, staking his faith in my instincts.

Because of the dull lighting, I didn’t see the pit until my claws and paws touched nothing but open space. The fall was long enough for me to get my wings open, but not so long as to flap them. Then I hit the water, with Hammer not even a second behind me.

My beak was open and I got a mouth full of the putrid sludge we had landed in. It was foul beyond imagining and I felt myself heaving and retching while submerged. The nausea threw off my equilibrium and suddenly there was no way to tell up from down. Cramping muscles prevented me from trying to rise to the surface. I clawed and kicked and tried to propel myself in the best approximation of up with what little oxygen I had.

Up until then I had not felt the cold, my body somehow generating enough heat to keep me comfortable where my companions had not been. I felt it then, in the icy pool. The arctic temperature of the sewage cut me to the bone. Never had I felt such paralyzing chill.

It stayed out of my eyes, and my goggles let me see towards the light. Too much gear weighted me down. I felt myself sinking down and touched the bottom with my back legs. Lungs burning, I tried to kick off as hard as I could for even one breath. My wings betrayed me, opening in reflex out of desire to go up; they only caught drag and kept me from the air. It was almost funny how close I was.

For an instant I believed death had come and would swallow me as I drowned, blackness eating my peripheral vision.

Then a pair of strong hooves lifted my head above the surface and I spit out a wad of sludge and vomit. The air was just as bad as the water, yet air it was and I gulped it down while clinging to my rescuer.

Thank Luna for you, Hammer.

With the unicorn’s help, I managed to get to an area shallow enough to stand with my beak just barely above the plane. Faculties slowly returning, I became aware of a kind of scratching, irritating sensation crawling in my fur and feathers. It was too dark to really see so I raised my PipBuck and angled the light.

The surface of the lake crawled with maggots. Decomposition heated the upper portion of the water and air enough to allow them fetid life.

Fat white grubs were everything, swimming, soaking in the decomposing soup. The water was colored reddish brown from all the biological waste thrown into it. Chunks of meat, bones, and entrails all floated along with their bloated worms. They were in my fur, under my barding, slithering slippery trails across my back and wings. The liquid left a thick filmy feeling on the parts of my body that had been dipped. Which was everything.

For a moment, my shock overcame my disgust and gag reflex. While Hammer lost the contents of his own stomach, I looked up and saw that the pool lapped against a shore of bodies. Some were hanging over the edge, partially submerged, and all were missing their skin. They formed a semi-circle around a patch of dirt and concrete.

There the Flayer had set up his workshop.

Two spotlights sliced through the darkness to shine on an angled slab to which Zinny was strapped. The mare was naked, crying openly, and tugging at her restraints weakly. Next to her was a tray full of pristinely kept scalpels and precision razors. The other light traced the figure of the Flayer itself. It stood so enshrined before what appeared to be a mixture between a throne of bone, and a chase lounge draped with blankets made of skin.

Outlined, but not directly illuminated was the rounded metal door of a vault.

The monster seemed to be debating whether to add Zinfandel’s hide to the lounging throne, or to its own coat.

With renewed vigor, I trudged through the muck and slurry of corruption until my wings we free and I lifted off. I grabbed hold of Hammer and helped drag him to the shore of bodies. Together we rose, him onto the bodies, and me into the air. The Flayer took no interest in the wet noises our struggles made. The disturbances were outside the light, and so were beneath notice. It stalked over to the bound mare, and loomed over her with a butcher’s grin.

Mentally reciting a silent prayer to the spirit of my pistol and its bullets, I emptied the magazine, the bullets stinging the Flayer while the casings plopped into the water. The steel demon hardly took notice. The ten millimeter did nothing, and it was too close to Zinfandel to use my APW, not with only incendiary shells.

It did notice when Hammer bulled straight into its reinforced ribcage with a roar, puncturing muscle with his horn and throwing the beast half a dozen feet with a full body toss. The Flayer recovered in an instant and backhanded the unicorn, beating the pony down into the congealed dirt. Before it could strike again, my magically aimed knife sunk into its shoulder socket.

The time it took for the Flayer to rip out the blade gave Hammer the opening to get up and move out of the way. Just as I was readying another throw, a glint of white caught my eye. Unbidden, my gaze rose to an I-beam jutting from the rough stone wall above the Flayer’s lair. And there I saw something impossible.

Zealot stood poised on the narrow metal beam, surveying the drama being played out before him like an angel of death. His battle saddle aimed down and unleashed deadly magical force. Three times he fired, puncturing hoof-sized holes into the demon.

Recognition hit me that his weapon was a gauss rifle, utilizing powerful coils to accelerate a small projectile to incredible speeds. Then of course, I realized that my brain was busy retrieving information on the book passage I had read about his gun rather than trying to figure out how he wasn’t dead.

Wasn’t I supposed to be the ghost?

Screeching and reeling, the Flayer was caught off-guard from the attack. Hammer again used the time to reposition, putting himself between the butcher and the prone zebra. His horn glowed around a metal rebar protruding from a pile of rubble and used the metal spar and the cement clump still attached at the end as a club. Fierceness shined in his eyes as he took a swinging stance and tossed his head, magically flinging the makeshift weapon.

The impact staggered the huge beast and we gave it no respite or quarter. From above I dive-bombed while the Flayer reeled.

“I will kill you! I will kill all of you!” The beast raged with the sound of jagged metal clashing together. At a full dive, combined with the accuracy of SATS, I sent a power fist careening into its lower jaw like a feather freight train.

I had tagged two attacks, so still in the grips of slowed time; I pivoted and skidded through the old bones, executing a pinpoint turn to rocket my other claw into the opposite side.

Then something strange happened. Stranger than Zealot coming back from the dead, stranger than battling the Flayer.

Sometimes I’ve found it takes a few heartbeats for the slowing effect of my PipBuck’s targeting spell to fully wear off. Rarely is this ever an inconvenience, it just happens. This instance however an unknown variable intruded in that interval time and seeming to bend the impossible, extended it.

A unicorn mare appeared from thin air, dark blue and tall. She wore a long, warm brown leather duster, sort of in the style of the Rust Town ponies that covered most of her. Heavier body armor was underneath, along with crisscrossing bandoliers of bullets. Her horn poked through a wide brimmed hat, blocking my view of her eyes. What I did see though, was her grin, and the huge revolver that floated in her magic. It was a work of art, the dark metal engraved with beautifully deadly designs. I had no idea what caliber it was, but my guess was big.

When she pointed it my way, I had the final though of at least being slain by a work of art, stuck fast as I was still by the time dilation. Five shots rippled the air…

The first caught the Flayer in the left socket and disappeared, extinguishing the acid green glow. The second impacted square on its forehead, ripping the flesh covering to shreds and deforming the metal on contact. The third tore of its already damaged jaw. The fourth achieved full penetration through the brow, while the fifth found mark through the cheek. A blackish ichor spewed from the nearly decapitated head and neck of the creature.

Still grinning, she blew away the smoke from the end of the revolver’s barrel, blew me a kiss, and vanished once more. Except for the appearance of Luna herself, nothing could have been more bizarre.

Time righted its natural flow and the moment passed. The Flayer fell, its one remaining eye rolling manically while it hissed and gurgled, attempting feebly to rise. Zealot landed on its back and started to wrench and pull at something at the base of its neck. Hammer and I backed away from its death throes.

The masked earth pony succeeded in yanking out whatever he was trying to extract with a shout of triumph. Finally, the Flayer, beast, metal demon of the Marauder Memorial Hospital, died. Its thrashing stopped and the light went out of its socket. Grasping what looked like a memory orb in both hooves; Zealot raised it above his head and laughed.

It was the laughter of revenge long sought after, and fulfilled. Beneath the resurrected pony, his mortal enemy lay vanquished. For a moment, I wasn’t sure whether we had killed the right monster.

Hammer dropped his makeshift weapon with a clatter and quickly attended to the bound zebra. He quickly undid the straps and looked her over for injury, then embraced her heartily. The concern he showed was touching as I watched them. Turning my gaze back to Zealot, I watched him chuckle a little more and dismount the corpse of the Flayer, playing with the large orb like a pretty bauble.

As the pony drew closer, I could see the hole in his armor and the blood still staining his mask and barding. Only rarely had I ever seen someone so happy. He was walking on clouds for sure. The orb dripped with a thick fluid thick with the Flayer’s brackish blood and the stench cut through even the charnel house around me. It was sharp and felt charged somehow.

“See how the mighty are fallen! Yes, yes, I knew I was right to count on you, Ghost. Superb work indeed. Couldn’t have done it without you, definitely. Now this,” He held up the slowly pulsing sphere, “is something that will make a fine addition to m’lady’s collection. Do you know what this is, Ghost? Do you have any idea how valuable, how powerful this little thing is? This is a miniaturized come to life megaspell.” The pony held it out for me between his front hooves.

Come to life megaspell? In miniature? Was such a thing possible?

“Take a look. I know you can.” Zealot knew exactly how to tempt me. I could see the darkness swirling in the green glow, knowing that it held secrets and knowledge. There was a pull, like magnetism, or perhaps gravity that started to draw my talon towards it.

Just one touch and I’d sink into that blackness. A growing part of me urged me on, a personal taint to my soul that craved the things the orb promised. The tip of my digit froze millimeters away from the sticky surface and a whispered glimpse was all I needed. To look into that, to see into the soul of the Flayer would be one step too many into madness. Perhaps there were secrets, but not ones to be gained without cost.

With great hesitation I drew away.

“I don’t think I want to.” Zealot made a noncommittal noise and put the orb into his pack. “But answer me this: How in hell are you still alive? I saw the Flayer impale you. You were dead, dead as could be.”

He just kept smiling.

“Not everything is as it seems, and I’m a lot tougher than I seem. Lady Nightmare bestows her own gifts as well. You provided me the perfect opportunity to take the monster by surprise, though I am impressed by the damage you did.” He nudged the steaming head.

“You mean you didn’t see the mare?” I knew that hadn’t been a vision.

Zealot frowned only slightly. “Mare? I saw no mare, only you delivering a deadly blow.” His good mood quickly returned. “Let us turn our attentions to other matters. I’m sure you’re curious as to what’s in this safe.” The earth pony turned, marched to the giant seal and flipped open a key panel.

With smoothness that belied its age, the vault opened.

While Zinfandel gathered her things with Hammer’s help I followed behind into the giant safe. I was interested to see what required so much security in a hospital. There were a few metal shelves, most of which were empty, and enough room for about four ponies to stand shoulder to shoulder. I did find a trio of ‘super’ healing potions according to my PipBuck and what seemed to be a packed away medical robot. The main attraction though, was the…

Briefcase?

Occupying the only used slot among a dozen was a simple black case with a pair of latches and a carrying handle. Tucked next to it, almost as an afterthought was a pale yellow memory orb. Zealot moved to case with a purpose, scooped it up, and put it in his bags, making sure to double tighten the straps against his body. He grabbed the yellow sphere almost as an afterthought.

“That’s it? That’s all we came here for? No hidden stash of super-virus or… or something to remove all the taint from the wasteland or something? No magical fix for all life’s problems, no ultra-piece of armor or some secret of why the world ended? What the fuck did we come all the way down here for?!” I’ll admit I was kind of pissed.

“Such a fanciful imagination you have, Ghost. No, this is a fully primed healing megaspell.”

Say what?

“Say what!” Hammer shouted behind me, having caught the tail end of the conversation. Zinny joined him in exclamations of disbelief.

“That.” I pointed derisively. “That little case is a healing megaspell?” Honestly, I expected some big mechanism painted with arcane unicorn glyphs. Or maybe just something a little more impressive. A simple case was just… boring. I could understand that it was possible, just not perhaps why.

“It’s simple really, after the initial debacle with healing megaspells, and megaspells in general for that matter, every agency in existence at the time called for a massive reduction in power output.” Wait, yes, I had read about that in my Megaspell Theory book. “When Fluttershy not only healed the friendly troops, but the enemy as well, a massive investigation was launched by the OIA.” Zealot paused.

“What do you know of the OIA?”

“I’ve heard the name before, but not what they did.” I answered as Zealot and I walked back out of the vault while Hammer and Zinny took their turn looking around the empty vessel. They immediately got into an argument over Hammer carrying the packaged medical bot.

“The Office of Inter-Ministry Affairs facilitated most of the major interactions between the six ministries. The highest ranking members of the OIA wielded great power and made it a business of theirs to gather the secrets of the kingdom. Some said they pulled the strings behind much of the war. It’s ironic to see what all that power, all those secrets got them. Even then, if the six Ministry Mares had come together as the element bearers they were, who knows what might have happened.”

“How does that tie to what Fluttershy did?” I asked.

“Well, Fluttershy conducted the final breakthrough research into megaspells with the intention of ending the war, with creating something that could stop the fighting with its power. But she did this research through her ties with the Ministry of Arcane Sciences as well as her own without the consent or knowledge of the OIA. Which was quite something, especially with all the rumors of her involvement with Goldenblood, the head of the OIA.

“The first use of the healing megaspell was something that shocked all who heard about it. Well, pretty soon the ponies in charge became rather resentful about being left out of the loop. So, a great restriction was placed on healing spells. From that day, none could ever hold such potency again. Fluttershy’s actions resulted in such severe backlash she never held the same control, even over her own Ministry, again.”

“And you know this how?” Asked Zinfandel with not a little venom in her tone. Zealot turned to the zebra.

“My Lady has gathered much knowledge in her time. It’s simply amazing what memories were left behind after the end of the war.”

“Now hold on, jus’ a second. All this is nice, but what about getting paid? Didn’t you promise us great rewards or something?” Hammer brought up a good point. There was a small bit of greed perhaps motivating him, and me as well. However, it all came down to going through the hell we had just survived for nothing other than a pat on the back pretty much.

“I agree. Old world drama doesn’t refill our guns or fill our stomachs.” We three all stared rather irritably at the agent.

“You’re right of course and are well within your right to ask for compensation. Here, this should cover any expenses incurred and then some.” Zealot reached into his bags with his mouth and pulled out what looked like a simple brick. He tossed it to the ground where it landed with sound akin to something deceptively heavy.

A corner of it caught in the light and I saw it to be no ordinary brick, but a bar of solid gold, stamped with the mark of the Equestria Treasury. All of us fell silent, staring at the bar. Zealot trotted over to the fallen Flayer and began to carve up the corpse. Something caught my attention when he disconnected the left arm with a loud pop.

The agent’s cutting through the artificial muscle had dislodged the rest of its flesh robes, revealing the slot at the base of the neck where Zealot had pulled the orb. There was a plaque of some sort beneath it. I got closer for a better look.

Delicately woven magical filigree lined the hemispherical slot where the soul of the Flayer had been housed. Beneath it, wrought in simple text was a metal placard that read: Property of the Ministry of Arcane Science. My examination of the remains was interrupted by another sickening squelch as Zealot finished with the arms and reached into the guts of the artificial life to pull a few more pieces out. The parts stuck lewdly out of his packs.

“Here, catch.” He casually flung the memory orb at me and out of reflex, I caught it.

Oh dammit.

oooOOOooo

I was in a unicorn mare… again. Anatomical anecdotes may have crept to mind if I hadn’t been immediately plunged into chaos. All around was the howling of the wounded. The receiving area of the hospital was somewhat recognizable. Ponies wearing combat armor poured in, some helping their injured fellows, and some coming in on stretchers.

Doctors in white coats moved this way and that with determination and speed, assessing need and severity of injury before moving on to the next. What fascinated me was the number of wounded. There were more ponies dying before my host’s eyes than lived in my Stable. There was a distinct scent tainting the air. It smelled of intestinal hemorrhaging and pain.

My pony seemed nonplussed at all the commotion and carried herself calmly and purposefully toward a yellow pegasus that was directing the efforts of the medical staff, seeing the most dire cases got first attention and making sure that the stream of casualties did not stall and block other from receiving care.

“Miss Fluttershy, there are many urgent calls that-“ My host started.

“That can wait, Noteworthy.” Responded the pink haired pegasus without a second glance.

So this was the illustrious Ministry Mare I had heard so much about. For a short time I had thought that maybe this was the direct memory of the pony, but it seemed only from the perspective of an observer. It was curious to see though, an individual so singularly determined to fulfill her task.

A soldier with a bandage around her head covering an eye and missing a back leg reached was rolled nearby on a gurney. She grabbed hold of Fluttershy with her two front legs as she passed.

“Why? Why did you do it? Why did you heal the zebras too? You saved me, my friends, we would have lived if you hadn’t saved them too. My friend didn’t have to die. Sprinkles didn’t have to die. You could have saved her. Why didn’t you save her?!” She started to scream and shake the yellow mare. A smart orderly jabbed a needle into the distraught soldier’s neck and the pony’s grip loosened enough to be pried off.

I watched, or rather my host, intently watched the ministry mare. There were very subtle signs that her mind was cracking under the pressure. To a pony who has dedicated themselves to life and healing, it’s necessary to be empathetic and kind. That is also their downfall. Fluttershy could try, or pretend to try that she was walling her emotions off from the blood and suffering around her. Her position and her nature would never allow it. Not completely.

“Well ma’am, I think miss Rainbow Dash-“ Again my host was cut short as Fluttershy turned as if stung. A strange look crossed her features, ambivalent in its joy and terror.

Ah, and here comes Rainbow Dash, leader of the Ministry of Awesome. She wasn’t too hard to distinguish with her chromatic mane. This one too I had only heard of. She was a fearsome sight, clad in battered armor with guns that made mentally drool seeing them.

And it was hard to miss her glare. It wouldn’t have surprised me if the pegasus could have killed with such a look. Clearly, it was meant for one and only one.

“Attention, Rainbow Dash, dragonslayer present!” Shouted one of the flyers that flanked her. I wasn’t sure if the disruption was entirely appropriate in a hospital trauma room, but the warriors seemed to take heart from her presence and everypony perked up a little. Those that could saluted.

Dragonslayer? Now that was a title even I could respect for a pegasus.

Rainbow Dash marched straight to the other Ministry Mare and stopped.

“We’re gonna have a talk later.” Fluttershy could only mumble something in return before the colorful pegasus pivoted smartly and walked back out of the hospital.

My host held her position, still watching to see what her superior would do. For a few moments she did indeed seem defeated, broken down by the admonishment of her friend. Fluttershy looked out on the dying and wounded around her and still coming in, and something changed in her. It was like an electric current ran down her spine.

"I must do better." The mare spoke softly.

She regained her determination somehow. I don’t know what did it, as I was not privy to her thoughts. Clearly though, something had occurred to her, something strengthened her resolve and she once more directed the bedlam around her.

A picture of the Ministries and their heads began to coalesce in my head, about who they really were. Based on their rank, I would have imagined their roles to be mostly superficial or bureaucratic at best. Such was not the case it seemed. The Ministries were the government, divided among six separate entities. I did lack the rather vital piece of knowledge as to how Luna used them.

However these ponies, these element bearers… they did not sit idly by. They took charge, directing the pursuits and priorities of their organizations. In Rainbow Dash’s case, she even took to the front lines. I had no doubt that every major technical, magical, and construction project involving the war could be traced back to the six.

Yes, if they had been such great friends, then surely the war had driven them apart, each doing what they thought was necessary. Necessity can be a bitch.

oooOOOooo

It seemed fitting that the memory was left with the vault holding the megaspells. While it wasn’t the direct recollection of Fluttershy herself, it showed why such great potential had been restrained. If that had been the aftermath of the first ever use of the megaspell, then it stood to reason that development into weaponizing it had followed shortly after.

And, then if that were the case, how could Fluttershy have reacted to such news? What does anyone do when they think the thing that will save the world ends up helping to annihilate it?

Such thoughts aside, I woke up propped against the slab that Zinny had been strapped to. Stiff, and with a serious cramp in my neck, I got up. My friends were quick to see if I was well.

“I’m okay.” I looked around. “Where did Zealot go?” Hammer answered.

“After you went into th’orb, he went over to that elevator there. Said to thank you again and that he would be waiting at the… uh…”

“The Ministry of Morale Station Seven.” Zinny finished. The elevator in question at that moment returned down to our level with a pleasant ding. At least he'd had the courtesy of sending it back down to us.

Celestia above did I need a shower of some sort. The gunk that was caked in my fur and feathers did not bear contemplation. I shuddered to think that there were even some maggots still writhing around beneath my barding. It was worse now that the gruel had dried and begun to chafe. Hammer's coat was filthy, having taken a dip too. Streaks of waste tinted his fur, and his light colored mane was crusted flat with scabbed over gore. He was dry, if nothing else.

Most of my possessions had escaped unscathed from the brine, though my pistol was in need of a good cleaning. I wanted to be angry at Zealot for all the caps we'd pretty much spent on this little expedition, but it was hard in the face of the gold bar now sitting heavily in my packs. The estimated value my PipBuck gave it was staggering.

Zinfandel was the least filthy, but the zebra had retreated into herself, pulling up the hood of her cloak and clutching at it tightly. Being taken by the Flayer had damaged her in ways that a healing potion couldn't fix. I didn’t like the way she flinched away from every little noise. We all needed a day or two to rest and come to terms with what we had seen. I know I did at least.

We all got into the elevator together and I pushed the button to get us the hell out of there. The last look I had was of the spotlights still shining down on the steaming corpse of the Flayer, his macabre throne, the open vault, and the skinless bodies edging the runoff pool before the door to the lift closed. No words really passed among us as we rose. There was really nothing to say, lost in our own thoughts.

Gears clanked and cables pulled restlessly, and we ascended. Even though it was probably safe, I still watched the doors of the elevator open with great suspicion. No ghouls or killer robots immediately set upon us, and it seemed we had been let out into a small vestibule with several other elevators. Connected to it was the lobby we had come in through what seemed like days ago.

Out we marched, scarred and yet alive.

Waiting next to the Workhorse was a very irate looking Iris Bloom and her four guards. I would have to ask Zealot later how he snuck past them carrying parts of a homicidal robot. Although she didn’t seem like she wanted to shoot us immediately, I could see her considering it. Rather than let her start pointing hooves, I took the same approach I did last time: That of an intrepid griffin old world enthusiast.

“Iris Bloom! My dear what a pleasure it is to see you again.” I said with a flourish, and then picked up one of her hooves to give it a refined kiss. Again, the mare was flustered at being treated to cordially.

“You were not where you said you were going to be, Mister Ghost. I do not like being lied to. I am here to retrieve the young master.” She challenged, glancing at Hammer and his less-than-apt appearance her tone hardened. I put an open talon to my chest in an affronted manner.

“The very suggestion I would do such a thing wounds me, my dear. It was my intention to head to our rendezvous post haste! Nay, it was merely delayed on the part of my expedition to the location you see before you.” I swept out a claw to indicate the hospital. I noticed some of the guards shifting nervously with the crucified trophies of the Flayer around them.

“A very worthwhile endeavor might I add. An expedition that would not have succeeded without the many skills and bravery of your charge.” I tried to give my best smile.

“This time, Custard is coming with us, or we will shoot you and take him. Do I make myself clear?” The seriousness of Iris’s tone made it clear to me she was serious. Pushing her further would only agitate the situation. I looked back to Zinfandel for a little support, but the zebra was as lost as I was with what to do.

A pair of ponies moved to either side of Hammer, or Custard, and began to march him forward. The group set off with him in the middle. The unicorn was speechless in shock. This was the last thing he had expected. I could only imagine if ponies from Stable 57 had found me and demanded my return to face justice. My mind raced, trying to think of some solution.

“Wait!” I called. Iris Bloom halted while the rest continued. “Ha-“ I caught myself. “Custard has proven himself to be a loyal retainer, and I would be remiss in my duties as his employer if I did not accompany you and appeal to his mother and father. Surely you would not object to that?” I added an extra little twist to my words, making sure that my proposal was the utmost example of reason.

For a moment, it seemed she would say no, damning Hammer to whatever fate awaited him with his family after working so hard to escape it. He still hadn’t told the whole story as to why, yet whatever that reason was, it was enough to petrify him. Hammer Horn had faced hordes of ghouls, ancient horrors without breaking. However the mere thought of his family was enough to paralyze the pony.

I would not abandon him to something that terrified him so.

A few agonizing moments later, the battle worn mare nodded in agreement. “I see no problem with you and the zebra accompanying us to see the master’s mother and father. Perhaps they will let him go with you, but my orders are to bring him back. It will be up to them where Custard goes from there.”

Nodding emphatically, I latched onto the words. “How blessed we are to be in the presence of reason! Such a refreshing turn of events from normal. I swear common sense is rarer than power armor in the wasteland.” Truthfully, I was being sarcastic and yet delivered it with such enthusiasm that a few of the guards turned to each other, unsure what to make of me.

Hammer perked up a little, realizing that all hope may not be lost. I quickly motioned for Zinny to get in the Workhorse and start it up. “We shall follow right behind you, c’mon Hammer.” I heaved my packs into the back and jumped into the passenger seat while hesitantly, our unicorn companion got into the back.

Iris Bloom eyed me somewhat suspiciously and made sure that her retainers surrounded our vehicle as the engine started with a roar. Zinfandel shifted the heavy transport into gear and all of us together set off. I thought about offering Iris a spot in the vehicle, but wanted some privacy to talk about what we were going to do next.

“Hey, Ghost, you know you don’t have to do this.” Hammer said with guilt, his ears drooping slightly.

“Oh shut up, hammer. Who else has a skull thick enough to use as a battering ram? Here, help me figure a way out of this mess. C’mon, we’ve been in worse situations. Like, I dunno, maybe an hour or two ago? Hmm?”

“Yeah, yeah! How hard can it be to fool my parents again, right?” Hammer smiled.

“Hammer.” Spoke Zinny with quite a rage underlying her use of his adopted name. Even I was a little scared at what she was about to say. “Tell me a joke you big lug. Before I change my mind.” Zinfandel kept her attention focused on the road while Hammer and I exchanged a look that spoke volumes before I felt a wide grin split my beak and a similar one on his muzzle.

“Okay, so, a manticore, a giant radscorpion, and a Hellhound walk into a bar…”

Letting the tension bleed out of me, I lit a cigarette and reached beneath the seat for my magazine of perverted pony pinups. After cracking open the cover I kicked up my paws and sat back to enjoy the ride.

Level Up.

Perk Gained: Arcane Stranger – You have your own personal guardian angel... armed with a fully loaded magnum and powerful magic. With this perk, the Arcane Stranger appears occasionally in S.A.T.S. mode to lend a helping hoof and horn, with deadly efficiency.

Author's Note

Okay, wow. It’s done. Finally. Holy shit. I feel true guilt at having delayed publishing this chapter! Believe me, between work, school, and spending time with my wife, I hardly have a few hours edgewise to write. That's not to mention the numerous file corruptions this chapter has suffered along the way. And Fimf losing the chapter twice. Once five minutes ago. (insert epic rage as I redo two hours of formatting (should have been posted at six o'clock))

I’d like to thank all of you who kept pestering me about it and giving me your support. You know who you are and it might not have gotten done without all of you. Also! If you see me online it’s probably just her reading on Fimf.

To all of you who have taken this journey with Ghost thus far, I hope you've enjoyed the ride. There's still so much more to go.

Chapter 10: Strictly Business

Chapter 10: Strictly Business

"I do not shoot with my claw; I shoot with my mind."

I awoke naked save for my PipBuck, roped to a chair, with a headache the size of the moon. What I wouldn’t have done for a cigarette right then.

Is this normally what hangovers are like?

In my life, there had never been much time for introspection. Despite the monotony of my existence prior to my flight from Stable 57, there had always been something to do or something that needed doing. Whether it was performing my duties as a maintenance griffin, or training with Master Grimm, there was still a fair bit of free time.

That free time I filled with gambling for insignificant bits of paper or other items of minute value. And, if either Blunt or Ruby were busy, then there was an infinitely vast library connected to my PipBuck for easy access. I’d find a quiet, secluded corner and read. As much as I would have liked to nap or relax in one of the Stable’s apple trees, griffins weren’t allowed into the underground orchard unless they were working there. Too much temptation to steal, or so I was told.

Although monotonous, there was comfort in the routine. It was predictable, and safe. Not for a single instant, would I have traded my freedom for the security of slavery. Of course, being drugged into unconsciousness and dragged out of a bar in a civilized town did not rate highly in my list of things to do with said freedom.

I was in a small square room with four other ponies, two in front of me, and two guarding the only door. A dingy fixture bled greasy light, and the grubby checkered pattern tiles were cracked and sad. There was a small metal drain below my paws scabbed over with rust and biological waste. It stank of piss, blood, and fear.

“’Ey there sleepin’ beauty.” said a woefully familiar green unicorn. Feral Hoof punched me once in the gut and once across the beak with his power hooves off. Wind gusted from my lungs and it became impossible to breathe for a brief moment. I worked my tongue around my mouth a little before spitting a glob of phlegm and blood straight into one of the stallion’s hateful eyes. He wasn’t wearing his metal helmet and my aim was good.

Feral cursed and recoiled in pain and blindness, trying to get the thick glob out of his sensitive orb.

“Wow, you’re even uglier up close.” I wheezed in casual observation. Perhaps it wasn’t the best plan to taunt my captors, but I was already working at my bonds quietly. They’d learn soon enough not to bind a griffin’s claws with rope. If all else failed I was confident I could break apart the flimsy wooden chair.

Feral Hoof reared back, about to strike me again when another unicorn in a fancy vest with glasses held the stallion back with a little directed telekinesis.

“Now, now, Feral, vee musn’t damage zee subject before I can work now can vee? Ragtag vould be most displeased to find out you had killed zis one before vee can interrogate him, no?” At the mention of retribution from Ragtag, the hulking, metal plated pony subsided with a grumble.

“Too bad you won’t be around much longer, griffin, I’d have liked to break your legs first.” The unicorn walked to a corner of the dingy little tiled room to rub at his eye. The pony with the glasses and fancy getup filled my vision.

“Hello, my name iz Doctor Amnesia. Fortunately for you, I’m here and therefore vee can eschew zee messier methods of information extraction.” The unicorn floated up a small, eager scalpel from a tray next to my chair and I felt my heart beat a little faster. He set it down again and grinned widely. “Pain tends to fog zee mind, and makes it almost impossible to find zee right memories.” the slightly mad pony gripped my head excitedly.

“Oh how I love zis part! I vill invade your mind, strip away your memories, and leave you as nothink but a drooling shell of a griffin. Vee shall see how you got zee treasure of Ghoul City. Unt it shall be ours.” Amnesia said with a little too much relish for my taste.

“Doc, you really need a new hobby. As I told others before you, there was no treasure, just a ruse, and death.” I didn’t think they really cared about the truth. I had learned in my Stable that if a pony was convinced you were lying; no argument or evidence could sway them to the contrary.

“You honestly expect me to believe zat? Tut tut, I would expect a better lie from someone who managed to elude Feral Hoof here. I’ve heard more believable stories than zat from foals.” He said as he double checked my bonds. I stilled my claw sawing for a moment and he didn’t seem to notice the fraying trough I had made in them thus far.

“Believe what you will, it’s still the truth.” I said with as much of a shrug as the ropes allowed.

“Hey, don’t mean to interrupt, but shouldn’t we use that potion that Ragtag said to give him?” said one of the guards at the door with an affected expression of one who’s only following orders. The red earth pony had a battle saddle with a pair of rifles and I was already thinking about how many steps it would take me to reach him and turn his weapons against the other occupants.

“Don’t insult me, I need no aid in pulling out memories, it iz my special talent after all.” said the doctor with a haughty toss of his short blue mane. His horn began to glow, and I knew what was coming.

“I really don’t think you want to do that.” I warned.

“Don’t vorry, zis von’t hurt a bit. For me at least.”

***

I opened my eyes to a familiar sight, the blank canvas landscape of the psychoplanes. I wonder if all mental intrusions occur within this place? Based on Amnesia’s expression of fear and confusion, apparently not.

“Vot iz zis place? Vere am I? I demand you tell me zis instant!” whined Doctor Amnesia.

Hmm, if he was in my mind, was he subject to my rules? With a gesture he suddenly fell silent. His mouth kept flapping however. He flailed like a meat puppet with its strings cut and I found it bothersome. Black thread appeared, sewing his mouth shut with simple strokes. Blood leaked from his mouth as he silently screamed, tearing out some of the stitches.

It was a simple matter really, just imagination. All it took was a little creative thinking.

In my mind, I was king.

And the king was not in a merciful mood. My honor looked away, and my conscience was absent on the matter. This pony had forfeited any rights he had from me for compassion when he tried to give me a magical lobotomy. The thought of having myself stripped away, mind-raped and discarded, I felt terror almost greater than that of death. That fear turned into rage against the ponies that would perpetrate such a crime.

The fire within became the fire without and my talons blazed into conflagration. I saw the flames dance in the reflection of his eyes, and I quite happily smiled in response as I approached. The stallion tried to turn and run, but I would have none of that and rooted him to the spot with spikes through his hooves.

With a single burning digit, I traced a smoldering line from his flank to his neck as I walked by, almost sensually. His muffled screams were much more pleasing to hear. While I debated on how to skin him, a tiny voice inside me begged me to reconsider, to at least pause before my plunge into the abyss. Was the vengeance worth the cost to my sanity and my soul? How could I possibly justify turning into the creature before me, even for a moment?

I could find no justification, so instead of mentally flaying the pony alive, I decided if he wanted to ransack my mind, I may as well return the favor. Then I would judge him, see what punishment he deserved. Still rooted, muzzle still sewn shut, the good doctor could only widen his eyes further in horror as a talon wreathed in flame grasped his face.

A single tear slid down his cheek and sizzled to steam before it got far.

I lost myself in the stream of memories. The experience was similar to flipping through a picture book at high speed. Certain details were absorbed as my mind latched onto key points, ripping free certain segments for specific purview.

Most of the early years I discarded, pointless youthful recollections and foal play were cast aside like chaff. I really didn’t care about a mother who died of an infection or a father that taught him his mind plundering spells. Subsequent years of plying his skills for a moderately decent life in the wasteland showed how the doctor’s initial reluctance of working for nefarious groups grew to joy. Amnesia didn’t need to be big and strong himself when his skills made him useful enough that he could have anyone he wanted hurt or killed.

The wasteland required him to enjoy what he did, lest the innocent cries of dozens of victims drive him to eat a gun. His mind was a neat, organized thing, plundered mental loot categorized by the pony from which it originated. Doctor Amnesia had even probed through the mind of a griffin before me and a few zebras too. They contained nothing of any particular note, the griffin just another merc, and the zebras were villagers simply caught in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Oddly enough, Amnesia had never met Ragtag in the flesh. I searched for anything about the elusive pony, but all his orders had been relayed through others. There was definitely a deep-seated fear in the stallion regarding the gang leader though, sitting so high in his airship.

Only one thing was of particular note in Amnesia’s mind and memories, only a single tidbit that I actually slowed down enough to pull apart and examine in detail.

Amnesia had been finishing up working on a pony, setting aside several memory orbs with useful information. The catatonic stallion’s head lolled to the side, his eyes open and dead to the world, only breathing because his body didn’t know how to do anything else. The pair of guards at the door were talking to each other, ignoring the doctor as he went about his work. The subject of their conversation caught Amnesia’s interest for him to listen intently, pretending to busy himself with labeling the orbs.

“Yeah, I found one of ‘em after Feral Hoof was done with ‘em, layin’ there with his neck twisted around and Feral’s spunk still leakin’ out.”

“That’s hardcore, mate, you think he killed the kid then did it, or did it then killed ‘im?” The doctor casually floated up a scalpel and made a careful cut in his patient’s neck. The artery spurted a few red pulses in time with the brain-dead pony’s heart before petering out after a few weakening throbs.

“No idea. I hear that’s how Feral likes ‘em though. The younger the better, and pretty much always colts.”

“That’s fucking sick.” said the other guard, laughing softly.

“Yeah, but don’t say it to ‘is face, else it’ll be your ass getting hammered.” The Doctor washed his hooves as the blood drained away.

“Pfft whatever, Caltrops, I’m a mare.” Caltrops clearly did not share in his companion’s amusement.

“He don’t care. If there’s no colts, he’ll take fillies too. If he does it to somepony older it’s to teach ‘em a lesson. I’m serious. I’m only telling you this shit so you know and watch your fucking back. If he tells you to clean up the mess he leaves, you say ‘Yes, sir,’ and thank Celestia that it’s not you layin’ on the floor with your neck broke.”

“Fuck, okay, I get it alright?” The Doctor’s thoughts concerning the mare set off a brief flare of interest as I sifted through his twisted brain. Accessing his knowledge was as easy as thinking about it. I took my time, being sure to be thorough in my investigation.

I’d be a liar if I said I didn’t enjoy the power, the pleasure of having his mind and soul laid bare before me for my perusal. It was a warped joy, an evil thing, but the temptation was there, and my inhibitions were lost in the wave of euphoria. I could understand how the stallion had become drunk off this kind of interrogation.

Side by side with the mare guard, who I learned was named Succubus aptly enough, was also a little information about Feral Hoof.

Ah, now that was interesting.

It seemed as though Amnesia wasn’t the only pony under Ragtag who could rip out memories, he was just one of the best. Feral Hoof, interestingly enough, knew the spell too. I suppose it wasn’t too surprising seeing as the green stallion was a unicorn as well, if a hulking brute of a unicorn. If Amnesia wielded his memory magic like a scalpel, Feral used it like a bludgeon, more often than not extracting the needed memory along with a clump of brain matter from a shattered skull.

It was hard not to lose myself in the wealth of information, a whole pony’s life of experiences laid out for me to sample like a buffet, desires and triumphs and conquests. Within though, was opportunity. I zeroed in on the little tidbit about Succubus. A plan was hatched, and the Doctor’s usefulness had come to an end.

He was a bad pony because he was craven and had allowed himself to sink to depravity to earn his living. Amnesia had invaded my mind with the intent of giving me a magical lobotomy and then slitting my throat. Killing him wasn’t hard. I had already broken into his memories, so all I had to do was back out where my psychic self held him in a conflagrated grasp.

It was as easy as breaking his neck. The mental shock was enough to sever his higher consciousness and after that, his heart stopped receiving signals to beat.

***

The real world reasserted itself and I watched as Doctor Amnesia toppled over with blood leaking from his eyes and nose. He landed with a solid thud onto the tiles as his crimson vitae drained away. His eyes were still open and held a glimmer of the horror that had befallen him. On his muzzle was a blackened print from which curled tiny curls of smoke. The three other ponies gaped at me in silence and in my bound state I shrugged.

“I told him it was a bad idea.” I sniffed at the small trickle of blood seeping out of my own nostrils. Something felt wrong in my head and my PipBuck was flashing some warning signs around the head of the little red griffin outline. Everything seemed rather… foggy… and distant. Like I was looking through a long telescope at everything. It was hard to focus and an intense dizziness and nausea gripped me.

Electrical current arced through my muscles, causing them to cramp immediately. The shooting pain was quite significant, and nothing I couldn’t deal with. The shock brought me back around to my senses somewhat. The headache intensified by a certain magnitude, yet I regained enough faculties to suppress and execute my plan.

The distinctly erotic moans that left my beak got Feral to back away with a look of disgusted confusion.

“Oh… Why’d you stop?” I asked in a pleading tone. My sitting position made it quite clear just how my body had reacted to his attempt to torture me. There were very special switches in my brain, like circuit breakers that I could flip under extreme duress. Pain turned to pleasure, screaming joints or muscle turned to singing nerves. It was like a filter that I could enable in my brain to add euphoria to agony. The pain was still pain, it was just interpreted differently.

The lascivious leer that crossed Succubus’ muzzle let me know that I had her hooked. I was also counting on Feral’s taste in younger members of his own species to turn him off to my show. Succubus of course had no such qualms.

“Hey boss, why don’t you let me handle this one. I bet I can get the info we need out of him.” Feral Hoof mumbled something and shook his head, disgusted. The brief irony of being judged for deviance from somepony of his appetites was not lost on me. He and Caltrops exited through the door and shut it behind them.

It was just the mauve earth pony and I.

“I’ll tell you everything you want to know if we have a little fun first.” I offered suggestively. The mare licked her lips and shed her battle saddle and raider armor, taking a moment to circle me like a lion savoring a coming meal. Crop did have one item left clenched in her teeth: a short leather whip with a forked head.

She trailed the edge along my shoulders as she circled, letting the deceivingly soft end trail through my fur and feathers. A swift swat to my chest brought a gasp of pained joy from me. The mare kept her pace; delivering a leisurely smack to any exposed area that tickled her fancy. I played along perfectly; toning my moans to the exact frequency I knew would goad her on.

It excited me because I allowed it to. Because I had to survive, and be free.

The mare got more emphatic with her blows, drawing the stinging ends of it across the parts of me she had already struck, making the sensations doubly strong. Really, Succubus was rather inelegant in her work. Her strokes were frenzied and her ministrations crude. Had our positions been reversed, I could have made her flesh sing and her nerves tingle. Imagining it helped me sink further into the role.

Soon enough she bored of simply using the whip and climbed up onto the chair, straddling me. The mare grinded the warmth between her legs against me in a teasing way. I groaned and tried to shift into a better angle. She chuckled softly and nipped harshly along my shoulder, biting just hard enough to draw little point of blood. Now she was doing a little bit better in her role.

Succubus leaned back and gave me a sadistically tinged coquettish smile. She ran her gaze over the welts visible across my chest and the love wounds on my neck.

“Tell me where the treasure is, and I’ll do a lot more than this.” She emphasized her request with a lurid grind of her nethers. My claws trailed through the fur of her flanks and up her sides to cup the mare’s soft cheeks. Of course, in her narrow focus, Succubus had failed to appreciate the implications of me slipping my bonds.

At least until my thumbs, tipped with razor sharp talons found her eyes.

I felt the tips pass through the fragile ocular organs with ease. The warm jelly parted until I scraped the thin bone behind. As soon as I felt that, I retracted my thumbs, coated in a viscous mix of blood and optical fluids. With my knees I locked the mare into place and twisted her neck to the right. She screamed in blood curdling agony and her muscles locked down, stopping my motion.

Only momentarily foiled I looped my left forelimb around and caught her muzzle in the crook of my elbow for better leverage. My right talon pushed at her face to aid my twist as my back contorted painfully to accommodate my still bound legs. Tendons ripped, muscles tore, and eventually after a few seconds her vertebrae separated with an audible snap. The mare went limp, her head twisted at a grotesque angle.

I tossed her off me to slump to the floor alongside Doctor Amnesia. She wept empty tears from the ruined holes in her face. I might have felt remorse under different circumstances, but they weren’t necessary to survive. So instead I grabbed her rifled and was about to charge out of the door when a deactivated power hoof cracked me in the chest and sent me twisting to land right back in the chair.

The hulking unicorn loomed over me and I made no move to aim the rifle across my lap. The last surviving member of his entourage crouched by the dead mare and backed away.

“How ‘bout I make it real easy. Tell me what I wanna know, or I’ll kill you right now,” Threatened Feral Hoof.

“What’s the matter? Are you too scared, or have you gotten soft from fucking colts that you can’t handle me?” His hoof caught me across the beak, snapping my head to the side. My face throbbed and stars crossed my vision, but it would take more than that to put me down. “C’mon foal fucker; I know mares that hit harder.”

“You shut your fucking beak, griffin.” growled Feral Hoof. He leaned closer to me. I could smell the stink of his breath and bloody teeth.

“Oh? I know you know that memory spell too. Think you can take me? Think you can fuck my mind? I’d like to see you try stud, or is that horn of yours as limp as your dick?”

“Hold him.” Feral Hoof instructed Caltrops. Although the stallion was wary, he complied, more fearful of Feral than me just enough. I felt legs wrap around my neck and Feral’s horn glowed. I felt my nostrils blocked by his magic and had no choice but to open my mouth as I struggled to breathe against the choking grip. At that moment he floated out the glowing flask and poured the contents into my beak.

I struggled; I thrashed, and worked my limbs to the breaking point trying to disrupt the hold I was in. The moment that red liquid touched my tongue though, I felt all resistance leaving me. It was a thick, cinnamon taste. My eyes lolled in their sockets, and I strayed out of thought. My body was the only thing I was aware of, and the growing warmth in my belly.

It was so good.

A bottle of the finest vodka couldn’t equal the burning, the oh so wonderful burning in my stomach. It spread to my limbs. I felt my skin flush, my heartbeat rise, my eyes widen as I moaned aloud and my muscles slackened in the chair. It was like someone had stuffed me with six shots of Stampede laced golden vodka with an extra twist of rainbow.

I cackled in madly. It bubbled up from some part of me that should never see the light. Everything was just so funny! I couldn’t stop myself, the laughter poured through me until tears streamed down my face and I rocked uncontrollably in my restraints. Everything that was happening and had already occurred, no matter what it was struck me as hilarious.

Even as Feral’s horn glowed with the coming spell, I couldn’t help but laugh in insane glee.

***

The moment I entered the psychoplanes I knew, Feral’s mind was a rotten thing. His flesh was a diseased facade; rotten pustules throbbed among knots of mangy fur. The sickening perversions of his self manifested as visual metaphors.

That was funny, right?

I didn’t want to touch him, so repulsed was I at his appearance and the aura of filth surrounding him. He was stunned for only a moment before his mouth split in a maggot ridden grin. The stench was unreal, and a tidal wave of his lusts washed towards me.

With an instinctive gesture, I burned away his attack and I brushed against his memories.

Hundreds… There were hundreds. I glimpsed only a fraction of them. Singular deaths wormed their way into my thoughts, appearing as wispy images before my eyes. Broken and mangled, there were mostly colts, some fillies, and a few older mares and stallions, all treated to the same torture then ignoble death.

The nature of Feral Hoof’s crimes did not shake me, I had steeled myself for that and was unmoved by the manner of his atrocities. It was the detachment with which he viewed his victims. The feathery touches of his soul gave me understanding. Comprehension made it no less reprehensible.

To the unicorn, his fuck toys were less than ponies, less than alive. They barely qualified as quivering meat for his private release of violence and cravings. Apathy didn’t quite cover it, as there had to be caring for there to be apathy.

The only thing he regarded with an ounce of love, if not affection was himself, and his power hooves. There was only hate and lust.

He hated Ragtag because The Jag had more power than him. He hated Amnesia for being able to perform the spell better than him. He hated anypony who had something he wanted. He hated the ponies of Rust Town for thinking themselves above him. He hated his armor when it chaffed him. He hated the wasteland for not being his plaything.

And he hated me.

Oh how he reviled me.

He despised me because of every little slight I had dealt to him, from taking back Ravelin to spitting in his eye. Feral Hoof wanted to tear my wings off because if he couldn’t fly then no one else should. And most of all, he wanted to kill me simply because then he could gloat over my corpse.

It was not the hate, not the selfish nature of his entire being and existence, his lack of empathy or caring that damned him in my eyes, it was his last regret. And it was all about what he wished he could have done to Ravelin while she had been pregnant.

In only that brief contact I decided not to plunder his memories, no matter what information they might have held. It was not worth my corruption to stare into that abyss. The grin on his psychic self faded as he realized that I was in control.

Red hot spears of iron skewered him from the ground, impaling him and separating him into chunks of sticky gore.

Some ponies didn’t deserve the life they had been given.

Some of them just needed to burn.

***

Almost of their own volition, my talons gripped Feral’s head. Most interestingly of all, they burst into flames, torching the green unicorn’s skull. Which was of course impossible because that only happened in the psychic planes. And yet, it was happening. And it happened so fast.

The fire consumed his cranium with a hungry whoosh before disappearing, leaving it blackened and smoking. The stench of burnt meat and hair filled the room. Where my talons had been was scorched to the bone, leaving clean white outlines. Whatever that thing was that he made me drink wore off with that last burst of energy and I regained control of some of my lost faculties.

Before Feral Hoof had finished falling over, I was on the last pony. Caltrop backed away in fear, but his backside bumped against the wall of the small room. My claw snaked around to snatch my pistol from his side and push it under his chin. He shivered slightly but uttered no whimper of fear.

“Blood debt!” He cried out just in time to cause me to hesitate.

“What?” I asked, making sure I wasn’t in the path of either of his rifles. The stallion made no move to aim them at me.

“I will swear a blood debt to you, in exchange for not killing me.” I felt the temptation to squeeze the trigger then and end this pony, but now that my freedom was in my grasp, my honor and morality raised its nagging head, telling me that his death was unnecessary.

“You don’t seem to be very loyal. Why should I trust you?” Caltrops gestured to Feral’s smoking skull.

“He held my blood debt, and now that he’s dead it’s void. Only in death does the debt end. That’s how my gang works. Whoever has the most owed to them is our leader. We’re one of the old gangs, used to war with the others until Ragtag the Jag came along. Now, whenever there’s a new leader the first thing they do is swear a blood debt to Ragtag.”

A ganger with a sense of commitment? It didn’t seem plausible, but it made a twisted sort of sense. And every bit of sense out in the wasteland was very twisted.

“So what do I get?” I still held my pistol under his chin but no longer pressed it hard into his hide.

“I’ll do whatever you want unless I die, or you die. And if I kill you then th’ Debtors are bound to kill me.” I was skeptical, but willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. Caltrops didn’t seem like a cruel pony by nature, he simply followed the lifestyle that allowed him to live out in this unforgiving world.

“Take off your guns.” I instructed firmly. Caltrops shucked off his battle saddle without hesitation, taking my command as acceptance of his debt. It smacked of slavery, but not slavery. It left an odd taste in my mouth that had nothing to do with the metallic tang that lingered. He kicked his saddle into the corner and I backed off, keeping my gun trained on him.

“So, with Feral dead, who’s the leader of the Debtors?” Caltrops smiled very wide at that.

“All debts considered, it would have come down between Succubus, Wire, and I. Since Wire was in Ghoul City with Feral when you did your little rescue thing and Succubus… well…” He glanced at her broken form. “It would be me. Ragtag is gunning for you hard, griffin. I could be very useful in putting him off the trail and feeding you info.” This stallion was crafty, having come up with such a tantalizing offer in a split second under threat of immediate death.

“And what if I don’t need help with Ragtag?” Honestly, I was unimpressed with the mysterious pony thus far.

“The Jag is a lot more powerful than you think, Stable griffin. You saw Rust Town. That’s th’ only thing holdin’ him back. That’s th’ only reason every pony in a thousand miles isn’t his personal bitch. With me on your side, you stand a chance. I got no love fer the fucker, so I won’t shed a tear workin’ behind his back.”

“So, as leader, could you go get my gear and let me just walk out of this place?” There Caltrops frowned.

“Unfortunately, no. This isn’t a Debtor’s outpost, it belongs to Ragtag. The different gangs are pretty good at policin’ themselves on his behalf, eager to please and gain favor. They’d kill us both if they saw me helpin’ you.” The expression on the stallion’s muzzle made it clear what he thought of that. “He mixes us up as much as he can but still allows a little bit of feuding to keep us separate and in line. We’re too busy tryin’ to undermine each other to buck him off our backs.”

“So then you’ll have no problems with me shooting my way out, but you can’t help me either. And if I happen to get killed then you’re free of the debt.” The stallion smiled. I harrumphed and went about stripping Feral Hoof of his power hooves.

They were ugly things, long abused and never properly cleaned. The only thing spotless was the bottom plate through which the magical field was conducted, naturally obliterating any lingering debris. Still with one eye on the stallion, I set to work modifying them for my own use.

“Somehow I don’t think the ponies here will pose much of a threat to you, boss. Besides, I like to be on the winnin’ side, an’ odds are lookin’ better an’ better for you.” He spoke as I clipped, glued, and cobbled together a pair of power fists out of the four power hooves. I wasn’t sure I wanted to know what they had planned to use the Wonderglue that I had found among the torture instruments for.

“So where’s the rest of my stuff?” Caltrops shrugged as I worked.

“Should be in the armory down the hall to the left. Hey boss, I never caught your name. They were too busy cursin’ about you takin’ their hostage to mention it.”

“It’s Ghost, and you’re Caltrops. The good Doctor knew it, so now I know it.” The stallion had a twitch of fear run visibly through him. Good, he should be scared of me.

I pulled the straps tight and inspected my work. The four conducted plates had been salvageable and one pair I had put across my knuckles and the others across the back of my talons. They felt solid, and deadly in a very heartening way. Last were the power supplies and the fists crackled to life.

“Before you go,” Caltrops said as I pushed open the door. “lemme just warn ya ‘bout somethin’.” He had my attention and we locked stares. “Ragtag isn’t gonna take this lyin’ down. He’s gonna send Slaughtershy after you. You live through her, and you’ll be the first.”

“And who is Slaughtershy?” I knew the name should worry me, but it seemed rather inflated.

“The Jag’s best pet killer. All I know is that she uses guns. She doesn’t leave survivors.” That was just vague enough to be ominous. I wasn’t sure what to make of some mare gunning for me on behalf of a faceless gang overlord.

“We’ll be in touch.” I said and pushed through the door. The quiet of the hall enveloped me like a blanket. The darkness was welcoming to my steps as I softly walked through the building that may have been my grave only a few minutes before.

***

My next kill was easy. With my targeting spell and a silenced ten millimeter it was easy to place two rounds into the back of the pony’s head. The ganger dropped silently, having never even known I was there. The buck of the pistol was familiar. And I wondered for a moment at the experiences I had accrued in the wasteland for me to be so accustomed to it.

I would be a liar if I said it didn’t give me a thrill.

It made me feel alive, powerful, masterful over my own destiny. There was a certain vindictive joy in killing ponies, even if they weren’t from my Stable. There had been times when I had sat alone in my little hollow in the generator room when I had fantasized about killing. On who, how, and where. What I would do with the body afterwards. My fantasies were many and brutal.

Rifling through pockets and bags was simple with my PipBuck. The value was easily tagged for everything. I almost kicked the corpse when all I managed to find was a talonfull of mismatched bullets and a rusty pipe.

Jitters still ran through my body, making it rather hard to concentrate on walking straight. Whatever that concoction was that Feral had forced down my throat still lingered. My limbs were full of barely restrained energy. I was a finely tuned instrument of biological thread and was currently humming from being strung too tightly. The kill had sobered me slightly, but only temporarily.

The gnawing hunger in my gut and the raw flesh of my talons rubbing against the power fists did nothing to quell the flood of stimuli. My singed digits still hadn’t fully healed. Zinfandel’s burn salve had taken most of the edge off, but the layers were still red and the nerves sensitive enough to make things uncomfortable. They felt thick and responded sluggishly.

Ragtag’s outpost showed clear signs of renovation. A lot of the debris on the floor had been cleared to the sides of the hall. It didn’t seem like a very large building guessing by the amount of natural light I could see and it probably wouldn’t be too difficult to get out, but I wanted my stuff.

I had only a vague inclination of where I was going, or if it was the right direction. The little point on my PipBuck map seemed to think I was and it hadn’t led me astray yet. I was too busy watching my wrist to hear the sound of pony voices beyond the door of the armory. Rather inelegantly, I just threw the door open and looked up as four equines looked up at me from their dice game.

An odd moment passed between the five of us before in a surprised rush one of them floated up a pistol from the table and fired wildly at me. It was incredibly loud, and in reflex I snapped a few shots in return as I ducked back behind the door frame. A flood of curses and the smell of burned powder filled the air. I fired blindly around the frame of the door, emptying my magazine. The near silent tinkling of my gun sounded like baby breaths compared to the throaty roar of the two rifles that opened up.

The edge of the frame that I was sheltering behind was chewed away by the stream of screaming lead. This would be going much better if I had explosives of some variety. At least they were eager to take the fight to me rather than sensibly wait for an opening. Their rush took me rather by surprise, but I was learning just how tactically acute a ganger is.

The first one was out the door and rounding on me before I had even thought to reload. There was no time so I just dropped the gun and brought up my claws in a guard pose. As I backed away the grey stallion kept up the offensive and gave me no room as the others spilled out into the hall behind him. The pony held a long piece of wood with several rusty nails sticking out of the end. He swung it wildly, driving me back. The three behind him kept pace, shouting and jeering behind their fellow.

The earth pony made a particularly wide and clumsy swing, giving me the perfect opportunity to engage SATS and target the crude weapon. In beautifully decelerated time, my improvised power fist impacted the wooden haft just above where the pony’s mouth gripped it and discharged its payload of magical force. The kinetic energy released was enough to rip out several teeth and splinter the weapon into kindling.

He had enough time to stand there stunned for half a second before my follow up haymaker caught him squarely on the temple. His skull caved in with a soft crunch and he dropped like a ragdoll, his legs folding beneath a lifeless torso. The three remaining gangers did not share their fellow’s hesitation before death and rushed me all at once.

I blocked a double hoof kick aimed at me head only to get another set in the ribs and for a knife to find my leg. I fell to one knee and hobbled backwards trying to ward off the torrent of strikes. Pain, both blunt and sharp beset me. They beat me with furious abandonment, too close to use the long guns strapped to their sides or else I’d have been dead already.

For every blow I blocked, two more got through and my body couldn’t take much more abuse. My limbs were heavy and responded too slowly even as I turned all my attentions to defense. In a moment of adrenaline fueled clarity, I watched one stallion’s right leg lift to buck me square across the beak and aimed a punch in perfect retaliation.

His hoof connected with my power fist with the combined strength of both our limbs. The ankle of pony broke with such force that shards of bone were ejected through the ripped flesh. If it hadn’t given way, then the energy transfer would have come back into my ankle instead. However due to the added punch of my power fists I had the edge and all the potency went towards crushing his skeleton instead. He fell screaming, clutching at the blood spurting from his mangled hoof. I hardly felt a thing.

Physics are fun, and the odds were slightly more in my favor now.

These ponies, they had grown up in the wasteland, living hard, unforgiving lives. These weren’t just survivors; they were killers and thieves, dying toughing it out by their success or failure. But there was still a gap between them and me: Actual training, by a master no less. Really, Ireena had been better than me. Maybe the griffiness wasn’t quite as strong or crisp in her forms, yet faster, and able to best me in sparring again and again.

And every time, I would get back up.

Through an exertion of will, my muscles tightened to the point of cramping, tendons tensed and primed like springs. The gear and clockwork of my abdomen and legs locked together, holding my combat chassis stable. Even sliced and bleeding, my injured leg obeyed. I cut through the fog of concussion and bruised ribs and bloody sweat in my eyes.

All thoughts were obliterated, and it was just reaction. In a combat situation, to think is to be too slow. Everything has to be prepared prior. The delay between eye, mind, and limb was too much. You couldn’t just watch your opponent; you had to smell their emotions, their fear, and their anger. You had to feel the air that their bodies disturbed in your feathers and fur.

Okay, perhaps there was one snippet of conscious intrusion that came unbidden from within. It was part of the teachings of Sun Tail, the ancient griffin tactician.

‘I do not kill with my claws, I kill with my heart.’

That was how I knew the teal unicorn stallion was going to try and stab me in the chest. It was knowing what your enemy was going to do, not guessing or waiting for them to do it. The proper strikes were programmed into my muscles, the memory of going through such motions ingrained so deeply it could never be forgotten.

All I had to do was tell my body what I wanted, and it would be done.

I flowed to the right, throwing off his aim and blocking the mare from getting to me by forcing her to go around the pony with the shattered wrist writhing on the floor. Don’t watch the knife, watch him is what I told myself. I feinted a hook back left, dancing on my paws, looming over him. Hesitantly, he struck there to fend off my attack and was committed to his telekinetic lunge when my other fist impacted him squarely in the eye.

He fell back with a shout, blinded and reeling. The mare lost patience and knocked him out of the way to try and bring her battle saddle into play. The carbine on her side would fill me with holes in such tight confines so I didn’t give her the opportunity. Even in the narrow hallway there was something that I had never had before: My wings.

One flap launched me airborne out of her line of fire, spiraling with the needed force from my uninjured leg. I had enough charge left in my PipBuck to aim my kick with fastidiousness. A pony’s buck is meant for getting apples out of trees or as a defensive measure, a griffin’s lion paws are meant to maul and maim. The mare was tough though, and was recovering even before my follow through blows with powered fists finished her off, magical discharges caving in her ribs.

The stallion with the cracked eye socket was still trying to clear his vision when I finished him off with a burst of the mare’s assault rifle. Still mewling in agony, the stallion on the floor tried to lift a pistol in his mouth. He got a similar treatment of lead. I noticed a healing potion rolling from the last ganger’s hoof and scooped it up.

The purple liquid went down with great relief. It stopped the bleeding and took the edge off my battered chest and aching legs. With no alarms or shouts of anything else coming to kill me, I slumped against the wall of the hallway. The narrowness of my victory did not bear thinking about. One mistake or one lucky shot would have been the end of me.

I gave myself enough time for the hammering of my heart to slow and my breathing steady. In the company of the dead, I rose and gathered anything of theirs that could be of use to me before heading to the armory where I had so rudely interrupted their game.

There wasn’t really much as it seemed they were still in the process of unpacking a lot of basic things like weapon racks and converting the row of lockers into storage. There was the table, some crates, and the large wardrobe that held my things. Everything that had been with me in the bar seemed to be intact as I turned over my barding and bags. I guess only lieutenants like Caltrops got dibs. Good thing most of my guns, ammo and extraneous bits of gear were stowed aboard the Workhorse.

Barding, knife, tail sheath, ten millimeter clips, pistol, most of a pack of cigarettes, my deck of cards and… where was my lighter? Is it still in the bar? Did someone take it? There was a wrenching feeling in my gut that had nothing to do with my hunger. The lighter was special to me, had been ever since I had found it in the area left over from my Stable’s original construction. Oh the many things I had set aflame with it. Bittersweet nostalgia only sharpened the loss.

However, indulgence in melancholy was not a luxury I could afford at the moment. I swallowed it and addressed the immediate problem of how I was going to have a smoke.

Matches? No. Maybe a bit of gun powder? No. Light it with my pistol? No.

I flexed my claw and heard the faint electrical crackle. Well, that might just work. I played the end of one over the surface of one energized plate and a tiny fork of bright power arced along the tip and the rolled cylinder of strawberry flavored tobacco began to smolder. My first draw was a little too eager and came back out in a fit of coughing. The next was a little more measured and filled my mouth deliciously, taking a bit of the edge off my hunger.

It was time to go.

***

I sat on a low broken wall outside the ganger outpost with a contemplative cigarette and an open Sparkle-Cola. I smoked this one slowly, sipping the smoke like fine liquor. A familiar and welcome dot grew in the distance. Engine rumbling, tires crunching through the fine grit of the prewar road, the Workhorse pulled into a skidding halt. Zinfandel leaned out of the driver’s window while Hammer Horn emerged from the roof hatch, both with overjoyed looks.

Hammer got out onto the roof and looked down at the zebra.

“Ha! You owe me twenty caps. You said we’d find him killing stuff, I said he’d be sitting all cool.” He waved a triumphant hoof. The zebra rolled her eyes and flipped up a small bag of what I could only guess would be the mentioned sum.

“So now I’m the subject of betting? What have you two degraded to without me?” I retorted as I walked to the idling vehicle. “Hey, here’s one, I bet you both you two can’t go without arguing for a whole day. Fifty caps each.” I challenged with a laugh.

“Hey, we got all the way here without arguing. And you wanted to go west.” Zinfandel said defensively while I jumped up into the passenger seat.

“No, you wanted to west, I said to go south.” Hammer Horn countered. Incredulously, the banded mare turned to glare at the unicorn.

“The pony working for that… Ragtag fellow was quite effusive in west until I threatened to disintegrate him.”

“No, he didn’t spill it until I nearly crushed his head in. Then he decided to talk.” Both tried very hard to kill each other with evil stares.

“Wow, I think that was the easiest money I’ve ever made.” I poked fun at the both of them as they realized they had lost the bet in record time. “So, how did you two know that I was gone at all?”

“You left this.” Hammer floated a familiar silver lighter to me. With a barely contained caw of delight I grabbed it and flicked it open with as much wonder as I had the first time. “Seen you play with it enough to know you wouldn’t just forget it. After that it was pretty easy to find somepony who had seen you bein’ dragged outta town unconscious.”

***

“Left up there,” I instructed Zinny. She nodded and made as if to continue driving. The zebra had clearly mistaken where I had pointed. “Left… left… LEFT!” I said with increasing vigor. This portion of the wasteland had rolling hills and a few small mountains peeking out to break up the otherwise flat landscape.

“You want to go left?” She said with surprising irritation. “Okay.” With that word she turned the wheel with such force I feared we would flip. Centrifugal forces pulled me into the door as I shouted in alarm. We missed ramming into an outcropping of rocks by inches before coming to a lurching halt that nearly sent me into the windshield. My stomach was doing little flips like I had just been stunt flying.

Hammer Horn had not fared so well and dizzily fell out of the Workhorse, groaning from the ground.

“Woohoo!” I cried in excitement. “That was awesome, Zinny, I didn’t know this beast could pull a turn that fast.” I patted the dashboard affectionately.

“Nor did I.” She said with a final huff before bailing out herself.

The location my PipBuck indicated was little more than a gap in an outcropping of large boulders. There was a particularly flat slab that lay at a slanted angle hidden by a half-buried chunk of stone which accommodated an opening big enough to fit through. There was only darkness so I flicked on my Stable-Tec light and held up my forearm to illuminate the way. Hammer and Zinfandel followed behind me curiously.

There was a short tunnel and a wooden door that sort of reminded me of the exit to Stable 57. There was a little ping and my wrist-mounted computer informed me that I had found Backwater Cave. The door opened and then fell off its rusted hinges with a groan and tearing of ancient metal. Inside the cavern opened up quite a bit, steps cut into the floor down to a placid pool of water. The black silence was interrupted only by the steady gurgle of a little stream feeding the pond.

My light was just enough to brush flickering fingers across the far walls and ceiling. And across the skeleton resting brokenly on the far side of the pool. There were a few other signs of violence: Lines of bullet holes scarred the walls and a few casings still collected dust on the floor. Whatever showdown had happened, it had been a long time ago.

I moved to the bones and was relieved to find that it wasn’t a griffin. They had likely been here for a few years. There was no flesh to speak of remaining, only a few crumbling bits of leather and some metal buckles. Of interest though, was the PipBuck still attached to a desiccated limb. There was only a single audio recording and a long string of letters and numbers.

Strange voices filled the cavern as it played.

“This is getting ridiculous, why hasn’t he shown up yet? Shouldn’t he have shown up yet? He called us here didn’t he?” said a stallion.

“Some of us didn’t exactly have an easy time getting out of our Stables thank you very much.” That voice! It was my mother’s… But what was going on here? Or, what had happened? Why hadn’t she come home?

“Bah, excuses,” Replied the first utterer.

“Speak for yourself, your Stable had hydroponics. We had to hope the door opened before our food ran out in ours,” Said a rather snide voice.

“This is getting us nowhere. How do we know the call wasn’t an automated one? There was supposed to be a griffin leader for my Stable’s confirmation of the signal. It had to be passed down through the generations to get to me.” I felt my brow knit together in consternation as I tried to figure out what signal my mother meant. Her last message to my father had made it seem like it was an unplanned escape. What forces were at work here?

“How are five of us supposed to-“ Started the snide one before my mother cut him off.

“Shut up! I think that’s him.” A few seconds of tense silence passed in the recording when only a single set of hooves on stone could be heard. The final voice that rumbled forth from the tape sounded like it was coming from some forgotten depth, weighted with stone and tainted by the abyss.

“You have all been summoned here to answer the call of the Ministry of Awesome. As ordered by Ministry Mare Rainbow Dash in cooperation with Stable-Tec and its affiliates, your Stables were designated to propagate a black ops protocol in case of the event of Megaspell war and subsequent devastation. Your PipBucks have been passed down from one generation to the next in accordance with this law.

“This was deemed a necessary, albeit regrettable measure for the continued survival of the pony race.”

“So are you from Stable-Tec?” Asked the first speaker.

“No, you may consider me a direct representative of the will of the throne of Canterlot and the princesses. In their absence I assume full direct executive control over this group of operatives to wield them as I see fit.”

“To do what, exactly?” Sniped the sarcastic voice.

“The final execution of the war, of course. The enemies of Equestria are weak, and vulnerable. The zebras are ripe to be toppled at long last. Not just that, but the pegasi tribe have deserted their comrades and must be brought back into compliance. Betrayal shall not be tolerated. You are all to execute your orders with extreme prejudice.”

A moment of silence passed before the recording erupted into a garbled mess of uproar. The authoritative voice eventually shouted them all down.

“You dare question orders handed down by Luna herself!”

“I’m sorry, but what orders?!” raged Blazing Glory. “Attack a shattered nation with the six of us? Assault the pegasi? Pegasi who weren’t even alive at the time they closed the sky? This is a farce and a gross error in realistic judgment.” A few others voice their agreement.

“Your understanding is not required, only compliance.” He growled. “In a last ditch effort before the last bomb fell, it is believed that the majority of Zebra stockpiled megaspells were destroyed by a precision bombardment. There remain several silos of pony megaspells that can be called upon to exterminate the striped bastards once and for all. When that is done we will force the pegasi to reopen the clouds. With all the codes in your PipBucks this can be done. The holy will of Celestia and Luna shall be done, even in death.”

“And what then?” Challenged the first speaker. “After we turn the world back into hell, what then? There is no zebra nation left, no war. There hasn’t been for two hundred years. All that’s left is a few shattered souls trying to live. I didn’t sign up for this. Neither did my parents, or their parents, or the ones before them. So I’m out. Shoot me for all I care. But fuck y-“ A hideously loud gunshot broke the rant and made me and my companions jump.

What I had taken to simply be natural decay affecting the lonely bones was in fact a result of a massive bullet that had taken the poor soul’s skull off from the forehead up. I didn’t need any weird visions to tell me how they had met their fate.

I can guess what happened after that based on all the bullet holes in the cave, but as to who walked away from this shootout was anyone’s guess. Had my mother survived? Zealot had said there was more to it than just this. Even if the masked pony with the mysterious benefactor had found her corpse, would he have told me? His information had been accurate; this had been where the trail led after her departure from Rust Town. But where had she gone from here?

The pony who had wanted them to keep fighting the war wasn’t too surprising to me, not after meeting Hammer and Zinfandel. There would always be idiots willing to war and burn down the sky around them doing so.

My mind was working so hard and fast I didn’t even think to light a cigarette.

***

When we left the cave, there was a group of ponies inspecting the Workhorse. Several of them turned to face us. They fell in behind a pale white mare with a scar running from her temple to her jaw. There were five, all heavily armed and armored with very hostile, deadly intent. They seemed like an outfit of some sort with their matching barding. I froze in my tracks and my companions did as well.

We were all locked in that moment of indecision while I contemplated what to do. My gaze flicked to their weapons, guessing their caliber and measuring how much damage I could take. I was worried about Zinny and Hammer behind me; if they could take cover fast enough. Going straight up should draw their fire enough for my friends to get behind some rocks or back into the cave. From there we could fight back.

My pose shifted slowly, subtly, tightening in anticipation.

That’s when the mare bowed.

“Master Custard, we’ve been looking for you. Thank Celestia you are not hurt. Please come away from your captors, you’re safe now.” The four others shifted their weapons to Zinny and me pointedly.

I turned to look at Hammer. The unicorn was paralyzed with shock. He seemed almost completely detached from the situation, like he wasn’t there in his mind. And what was with the name change? Who was this pony? Answers would come later. Clearly this mare had some preconceived notion about the zebra and the griffin standing between her and her charge.

Time for improvisation.

“Oh, miss, there has been some misunderstanding.” I took a friendly, open step towards the group and all the weapons turned to me. “You see, this good fellow has had the courtesy of accompanying me on my expedition. I just so happen to be a…” I thought of Zealot and his mysterious benefactor. “Collector of rare artifacts and old world treasures.” She regarded me with some suspicion but no less fury. With a pointed shake of my PipBuck some of the others glanced to each other.

“Hammer Horn has proved to be a stalwart guard and an excellent guide. Why, he’s saved my life and it’s doubtful I would have made the progress I have without him. I’m not sure why he chose not to share his no doubt illustrious past, but I understand we all have things about our past we don’t discuss.” I gave the stallion a frosty look that made it clear we would be having a long discussion after this was over.

“Mister Ghost is an excellent employer. He hired me to umm… help with zebra translation and also drive the… err… truck. He’s taken excellent care of us.” added in Zinfandel, trying to nudge Hammer out of his stupor. The scarred mare didn’t seem like she was going to shoot us anymore at least.

“Be that as it may, I have been sent to retrieve the young master. And I’m not leaving without him.” She stomped a hoof.

“Miss, might I have a word?” It was a bit of a gamble, but before she could answer I looped an arm around the shoulders of the mare and guided her a little distance away. I spoke quietly so the others of her group couldn’t hear. A little carefully guided appeal should do the trick.

“You seem to understand duty miss…”

“Iris Bloom.” She finished.

“Iris Bloom, you’re a mare who is utterly unwavering in her duty. You pursued Custard, your charge across the Wasteland. A no doubt dangerous endeavor that you undertook without a moment’s hesitation, am I right?”

“W-well…” She looked away, her cheeks flushing in quite a fetching way even with her scar.

“Of course you did. I can tell that you’re that kind of pony. Which is exactly what I saw in Hammer as well. It’s the reason I picked him and I have yet to regret that decision. Now as a mare who understands that you must also understand how important it is to keep your word. You would never go back on your word to bring Hammer back, and I would never ask you to compromise your honor in such a way.

“But Hammer has given his word to help me, and I know that you would never ask him to go back on his oath either. So, I suggest a compromise. There are several more things that I’d like for him to help me find, but I also understand familial obligations so how about you meet us…” I looked at my PipBuck. “Here,” I indicated a nice looking patch in the middle of nowhere that was in the opposite direction of where we were heading. Iris Bloom was flustered enough by my forwardness to actually consider it.

“I… Suppose that’s not unreasonable. Just don’t keep us waiting alright? The young master has not come to harm so far, and it would be wrong of me to besmirch his reputation.”

“Quite so! All he has spoken of is being able to make his own way and prove himself. You are indeed a fair guardian, thinking not only of his safety but his future prospects! I dare say you are an example to be aspired to.” Iris shifted uncomfortable by my contact and flattery. With a few terse movements she signaled her company to depart.

Heh, ponies. Fill their heads with a bit of hot air and it’s easy to sway them.

Level Up.

Perk Gained: Fire Mind (Rank 2) – Attacking your mind isn’t just hard, it’s nigh suicidal! Any mental attack performed against you will backfire on your attacker.

Trait Gained: Addled in the Attic – Damage to your psyche and brain may have left some scars. -1 to Intelligence. Increased chance of your head being crippled.

(Author’s notes: Really guys, I’m trying to model a lot of the experiences of Ghost around my own playthroughs of Fallout (praise the gods of post Armageddon rpgs!) and also my own narrative inserts. Fallout: Tactics remains one of my very very favorites of the series (followed closely by 3 and New Vegas (and especially the expansions of Vegas (sorry 2, still love ya))) and in following Kkat’s glorious hoof steps trying to encapture that feel with a pony (or griffin) twist to it. I’ve been writing anthro or non-anthro furry stuff since I picked up the pen so this is pretty fun for me. *BLAM* Heresy!)

(Feedback! Give me feedback! Your hungry writer craves it… it even has ‘feed’ in it. What’s not to love about that?