Fallout: Equestria: Written in Sand

Chapter Two: Strays

I awoke.

For a moment, it was a normal day. I had always been the early riser. First to the food stores to avoid the others. Go out and swing my lance around for a while to keep myself sharp. Buck trees for a while to keep myself in shape. Spend the day exchanging glares with everypony else. Tag along on any excursions. Survive.

I had rolled off my bed and was halfway to the door when the soreness in my head prompted my memory.

I sank down to my haunches, raising a hoof to trace the path of the scar along the side of my skull, feeling the dried blood encrusted in my mane.

'Well, shit.'

As I stepped out of my cabin for the last time, I cast a glance at the pen where we kept –had kept – prisoners.

We still had a trio in from last week. Ember hadn't found time to organise someone to take them down south. One was lying still. He could be dead for all I cared. One of the others was sitting up, looking at me. I looked back. She didn't say anything, just watched me with tired, haggard eyes. She must have known something was up. Yesterday, we'd all gone out and only one of us had come back, covered in blood and stumbling over his own hooves. Didn't take a genius.

After a few moments' staring, I turned away. It wasn't like I could or wanted to do anything for them. Ember would be furious-

I stopped.

Ember would be furious if he wasn't, you know,fucking dead.

I turned back to the pen and trotted over, smirking. I might have neglected to actually spit on the old pony's corpse, but this was a pretty good alternative.

The two conscious ponies looked up at my approach. One – the mare who hadn't been staring at me – backed away to the far side of the pen, curling herself up in the corner. The other mare just watched as I lowered my head to the padlocked chain around the gatepost. Fuck. The key was probably still on Ember's rotting carcass. After a moments' thought, I jammed my lance into the gap between fence and gate and threw my weight against it. The metal resisted at first, then something snapped and the gate came loose. I spun onto my forehooves and bucked the gate. It swung open with a crash.

I grunted in satisfaction. After scooping up my lance, I turned to leave.

“Thank you.”

I turned back. The mare who had been playing cockatrice flinched as I rounded on her. I regarded her for a moment, then snorted and kept walking.

They'd probably all be dead by the end of the day. At least I could take pleasure in the thought of Ember, in whatever horrible place ponies like him ended up in after death, taking time out between unimaginable torments to bitch about me.

What was my plan?

I asked myself that over and over in my head as I trudged onwards.

Where was I going? What was my destination? How was I going to get there? How long was it going to take?

Would I care if I didn't make it?

All I knew was, anywhere I ended up was preferable to sitting in that camp with all the memories swirling around me. Not pleasant ones. I didn't care that the gang had ended up dead; they were all bastards and I'd hated them. Well, except Shears; she was a cunt and I'd despised her. But it had beensomething. Anything was preferable to this: the terror of total freedom. Nopony to judge you, nothing to rein you in. No restriction on your actions but your own limits.

Loneliness didn't cover it. Anypony can sit alone in a room for a while and not break down in a sobbing heap.

Lack of purpose. Aimlessness. That was closer to the truth. Sitting in that camp, going through the motions, acting like nothing had changed, would've have killed me more successfully than that bullet to my brain-case.

I might have told myself at first that I was just going out for a walk, to see if I could scavenge something useful, maybe butcher a few zombies or bloatsprites to show myself that near-death couldn't slow me down.

But deep down, I knew I was never going back.

Deep down, I needed purpose.

Once I'd gotten away from the camp, I trotted up to the summit of the nearest hill to take my bearings. My knowledge of the area was fairly detailed, up to about twenty miles out from the camp. Beyond that, there could be rainbow-breathing, cross-dressing dragons for all I knew.

I turned my gaze northwards. New Appleloosa was just visible through the morning murk. Not an option, considering how they would more-than-likely react to a 'raider'. Especially if that feather-brain was hanging around. Beyond that, nestled on the mountains that jutted up from the horizon, lay the Canterlot ruins. Fuck. That.

To the south, not visible from where I stood no matter how hard I squinted, was Junction R-7. Last we'd heard, griffon mercs had taken it over. They'd probably shoot first and ask questions never, so fuck that too.

East was mountains. I didn't feel up to mountaineering, so fuck that.

That left west.

Choosing my direction of travel by 'least-worst' was as good a method as any.

I sat down and rummaged through my saddlebag for a water bottle. I'd taken the time before leaving the camp to clean myself up slightly. My face was clear and the fur around my new scar was (mostly) cleaned of blood, but I could feel the matted, bloody clumps in my mane swinging around. Well, at least I wasn't trying to win any beauty contests.

My head still ached, as did my right flank and hindleg, but it was nothing I couldn't power through. I felt surprisingly good for someone who'd died the previous day. Healing potions. A pony's best friend.

After a healthy swig of water, I set off, carefully picking my way down the western slope of the hill.

It had been almost midday when I'd awoken. It felt more like mid-afternoon now. Enough time to get a few hours of travel in before nightfall.

Old habits died hard. I frequently caught myself glancing round to keep track of the others, making sure no-pony had been picked off. All I saw was the dreary landscape. The heartlands were almost completely barren, save for the few rural pre-war homes dotted around, nestling in the rolling hills. The trees, grass and every other scrap of plantlife, were perpetually teetering on the edge of death, the leaves brown and shrivelled, trunks and stems twisted and gnarled. Scattered around was evidence of the times before the war. Cracked paved roads, billboards advertising products long out of production, occasionally the wreckage of an old wagon with the skeletal remains of the occupants lying unburied alongside.

I'd grown up in this. Looking back, it might explain some things.

After an hour or so of walking, I came across a pre-war house. It might originally have had white-washed walls and painted timbers, but now it sported the same dust- and rot-ridden décor as anything else in the Wasteland. One wall had been torn away at some point in the past, leaving the interior exposed, the rotting floorboards protruding into thin air, the roof overhead reduced to blackened, skeletal beams.

I walked in through the gaping hole in the wall and made a half-hearted effort at scavenging the building for supplies. I knew before I started that I wouldn't find much – places like this, without something to scare the casual scavenger away, would have been stripped of anything useful decades ago.

After a few minutes of fruitless searching through the ruins – even the doors had been taken for scrap wood – I dumped my gear on the floor of what had likely been the dining room and sat down for a short rest. My head still ached, but the pains in my flank and hindleg were almost imperceptible. I tore into one of the packets of food I'd taken from the caravan yesterday, not caring to inspect it too closely.

As I ate, I mused on where I was going to come by food to replace the stuff as I ate it. Not to mention water that wouldn't make me glow in the dark and throw up blood when I drank it.

Almost on cue, as I finished eating, the first droplets of rain began to fall outside. I sighed as I clambered to my hooves and stepped out to the point where the orderly floorboards ended and the rubble began. As I looked out, weighing up whether to press on or not, a rumble of thunder passed overhead.

At least now I knew where I was stopping for the night.

Not that I liked it. With no doors and a giant hole in the wall, I wouldn't be able to sleep for fear of something stumbling upon me as it sort shelter. I sat back down next to my gear and irritably cast a look around the room for something.

That's when I noticed it.

When the side of the house had been torn away, a section of the upper floor had fallen and piled up in a tangled pile of rubble against one of the interior walls. Just visible through the mess was the top  corner of an intact doorframe.

With nothing else to occupy my time with, I started smashing my way through the debris, tossing the smaller chunks away and resorting to prying some of the larger pieces away with my lance. It took half an hour, and rekindled my ebbing headache, but I finally made a large enough passage to squeeze through.

The door had been smashed open when the floor above had given away, but the hinges were still hanging in there. It led to a downward flight of concrete steps that descended into darkness. I ducked my head and picked up my sub-machine gun from where it was hanging against my chest, holding it ahead of me as I carefully picked my way down the staircase, wary of the rubble that peppered the steps.

The steps ended at a short hallway before a very-solid-indeed-looking door. There was no handle on this side. It was a featureless slab of metal.

I growled irritably. No doubt the room on the other side was packed full of clean food and water and stocked with all the weapons and ammo I could ever ask for. I turned to walk back up the steps, lashing out at the door with a frustrated buck as I did so.

I heard the door groan as it shifted slightly under my hooves, the metal grinding against the concrete floor.

I immediately turned back around and threw my weight against the door. It was heavy, but I forced it open enough for me to slip through.

The room on the far side was disappointing.

A rudimentary cot, a wall of shelving that had been picked clean and a desk and chair. The only light was an eerie green glow from a computer terminal sat atop the desk. Other than that, it was just plain concrete all over, walls, floor and ceiling.

No massive stores of weaponry for me, then. At least it was someplace secure enough to sleep.

After I'd grabbed my stuff from where I'd left it upstairs and dumped it on the floor in my new hidey-hole, I pushed the door to, leaving it ajar. I didnot want to shut myself in and starve to death in here if I couldn't get the door open again.

I lay down on the cot for a while, listening to the sound of the rain outside that drifted in through the open door. It might not have been meant as the height of luxury, but the cot was far more comfortable than the rickety bed in my old cabin. No draughts either.

Lying there, with nothing but the sound of my own breathing and the gentle rustling of rain, punctuated now and then by another rumble of thunder…

It felt peaceful.

I drummed my hooves against the cot's metal frame. I sighed and rolled over, staring blankly at the outline of my shadow thrown against the featureless wall by the terminal's glow. I coughed. I tapped the wall with a hoof, testing how solid it was. I suddenly jerked my head round to look over my shoulder, glaring at the empty room. My eyes found nothing but the green-tinged concrete.

It was too damn quiet.

I rose from the bed and dropped myself into the chair in front of the desk. The two-hundred-year-old furnishing creaked in protest at its sudden wrench from a life of retirement. I rested my forehooves on the desk and looked the terminal over with a frown.

Reading was not my strong suit. I puzzled over the contents of the screen for a good few minutes. In any other situation I would have got up and left, but it wasn't like I had anything worthwhile to leave it for. By the end, there were still a few words that escaped me.

I looked thoughtfully at the screen for a moment longer. Beneath a header of assorted junk, there was a list of items. Mixed words and numbers. The top item was highlighted in bright green.

I raised a hoof above the control panel and hunted for the largest button. I tapped it.

Nothing happened.

I prodded the second largest button. A previously blank part of the screen lit up, a horizontal line in a box appearing. A crackling sound burst out of the terminal's speakers. After a few seconds, a stallion's voice started speaking, the line bouncing up and down in time to his speech.

“This… uh… this is, uh, Staff Sergeant Whickers, 4thCavalry, 32ndRangers Regiment, 2ndBattalion, B Company. I-”

The voice trailed off. For a second, I thought that that was it. Then I picked out the sound of heavy, laboured breathing. It broke out into a sob momentarily, then a burst of static erupted from the speaker. It stopped and was replaced with the voice again. It sounded steadier than it had at first.

“Sorry. You, uh… you don't want to listen to me… well.”

Whickers went quiet again for a moment.

“It happened. It actually fucki- sorry.

“We all knew about megaspells, but we never thought- Sorry, let me just…

The voice took on a more formal, practised tone, as if reading from a script.

“Approximately eighteen hours ago, I witnessed a megaspell detonation in the vicinity of Manehattan. Over the next few hours, I witnessed subsequent… phenomena that I believe to be more megaspells, emanating from the direction of Fillydelphia and Canterlot.

“Since then, I've been unable to make contact with the chain of command. I've only been able to make contact with other… survivors, I guess. Nopony seems to know… what…”

Whickers trailed off again as the stallion's voice cracked. After a few moments, the terminal beeped and the crackling stopped.

I gingerly poked a hoof at the terminal's controls. It beeped again and the crackling re-started.

“This… uh… this is, uh, Staff Sergeant Whickers, 4thCavalry, 32ndRangers Regiment…”

I irritably banged the controls as the same monologue was read out again until I got lucky and shut it off. I sat back in my chair, scratching at the scar on my head.

I didn't know much about Equestria before it was the Wasteland. Just that a long time ago, there was  a big war and most ponies were killed, leaving behind ruins and radiation and taint and a few embittered survivors. Thanks, long-dead ponies.

I snorted. Ponies back then were obviously softer. A grown stallion in tears over a lot of ponies he didn't know? Try walking a mile on these hooves, buddy. He wouldn't have lasted two yards.

And what the hay was a 'fenominna', anyway?

After carefully inspecting the controls for a moment, I succeeded in shifting the green bar down to highlight the second item. I hit the second-largest button again. Whickers' voice spoke again. Apparently, he'd managed to stop sobbing like a filly.

“Staff Sergeant Whickers, 32ndRangers. I don't know who might be listening to these recordings, so I figure I'll start from the beginning.

“I'm a soldier, of the Royal Army of Equestria. For the last… hay, I forget how long… Equestria has been at war with the Zebra Empire.

“Yesterday, the zebras hit us with megaspells. They've… probably destroyed Manehattan. Fillydelphia. I saw Canterlot-”

Whickers trailed off. Before I could roll my eyes at renewed tears, he spoke again.

“We – ponies – probably hit them right back. So I guess the war's over… and we all lost.

“Outside, there's radiation, panicking civilians and Celestia-knows what else. I've holed up down here to give it time to die down. Don't know where the owners of this place are.”

There was a tapping sound. I glanced round before realising it was coming from the speakers. It stopped.

“Sorry.”

There was another brief silence, then the recording ended.

I must have spent an hour or so listening to all of the recordings on that terminal. Many of them were inconsequential; just brief comments on how things were going outside, the amount of radiation, if Whickers had seen any ponies that day, on how much food and water were left on the shelves. Many of them trailed off into awkward silence as the stallion ran out of things to say.

The final entry was the longest. The stallion's voice was strained and rough compared to his earliest recordings.

“Whickers here. Well. Food is almost run out. Water won't be far behind. Got enough left for a few days' travel. I'm gonna have to move.

“I suppose I should go and find somepony to report in to, but I've been on the radio for weeks and there's been no word from anypony in command and nothing at all the last few days.”

The now-familiar tapping of Whickers' hoof on the table returned. I glanced at the barely-visible dent on the table.

“The cities… Mane and Filly are still soaking in rads. Probably so are all the others.

“I need to get away. Out of Equestria maybe…”

For a moment, I thought that was where the recording had ended.

“The Palomino.

“The San Palomino. It's a damn desert. Empty. Nothing there to hit with megaspells. No radiation. I hope…”

Whickers' voice broke into a humourless laugh.

“Yeah,” he said after the laughter ended.“And no water either. And the sun's hot enough to fry your brain inside your skull, Whickers. Nice thinking.” Whickers sighed.

“But... it's a better plan than sitting here waiting to die.

“Hah… plan.

“Pack up, head south-west and hope for the best. Hay of a plan.”

The tapping of Whickers' hoof returned.

“I don't even know why I made these recordings, this... diary. This terminal'll probably break down in a few months, anyway. Until then, if you're listening to this, maybe you'd like to follow me.” Whickers laughed bitterly.“Let's meet up. We'll find a bar, have a few drinks. First round's on me. I'll stick a map on this terminal. Look under 'San Pal Map'. Good luck to you.

“But… if there's somepony listening… if you weren't around when-… if…

“I'm sorry. We didn't mean for it to happen. It just… it seemed so important…”

The hoof-tapping stopped.

“We never meant for it to come to this.”

As I poked through the terminal, accessed the map and started studying it, I might have told myself that it was just idle curiosity. I was trapped, bored, and needed to kill time until I felt able to sleep.

Really though, I'd made up my mind, just as I had when I'd left behind the gang's camp that I was never going back.

Like Whickers had said: it was better than just waiting to die.

South-west and hope for the best.

I awoke.

The bed beneath me felt heavenly soft, the blankets covering me so warm that they were smothering me in heat. I exhaled, then breathed in deeply, enjoying the feel of sweet air rushing between my lips.

Just as soon as I had relaxed, bad stuff happened. Of course.

A leering face, its lips drawn back in a sadistic smirk, loomed in my vision. It lowered itself towards me, eyes glinting in the gloom. I could only stare, transfixed, as it hovered over me. I felt a pressure building within my head, pressing at the inside of my skull.

The smirking lips split open. Hot air was breathed onto my face. It condensed on the side of my head and stuck there, slowly sliding down my face. It didn't hurt. But I just knew without being able to see that my hide was peeling away from my flesh and bone. The pressure inside my head was building and building, un-

I awoke.

The cot beneath me was hard and stiff.

Adrenaline surged through me and I jerked upwards. I ran my hoof up to my head, gently probing at where the spectre of sensation that lingered from the dream was supplemented by actual pain from where I'd slept on my fresh scar. I irritably pounded the pillow with a hoof, as if it were to blame.

I shook myself awake and slipped off the cot, stretching out my legs. Barring my rude awakening that still had my heart hammering in my chest, that was the best night's sleep I thought I'd ever had.

I spent a few minutes looking over the map on the terminal to refresh my memory. It was rudimentary, but usable. There was even a dotted line for me to follow: west to the border of the Everfree Forest, then down around the southern edge, around the White Tail Woods, then south, bearing slightly west along the edge of a sheer mountain range, until I hit sand. Simple.

I downed a quick breakfast then left, leaving the door slightly ajar.

The rain last night had cleared up the murk that had been hanging over the heartlands for the past few weeks. I could see all the way to the horizon. Not that there was anything to see besides more ruins, more gnarled trees and more barren earth.

I'd taken the bandages off my hindleg when I'd realised it had stopped hurting. With the constant aching gone, I made good time and was skirting the edge of the Everfree by noon. I had no desire whatsoever to venture into the forest itself. I stuck to a rough dirt track that kept a respectable distance from the trees. Past the absolute fringes of the Everfree, the forest became tangled with twisted undergrowth that looked positively sinister. The heartlands outside the forest were home to enough nasty critters; I didn't want to think what creatures made their homes in that dark place.

Speaking of nasty critters…

The sudden cracking of bullets past my head made me flinch.

I  threw myself flat, swearing as I crushed my own windpipe against the SMG hanging against my chest. Irritably, I snatched it up and swung it upwards, searching for my attackers. A second volley of gunfire flew over my head. Mostly. One bullet struck the ground inches from my muzzle, kicking a spray of dirt into my face.

As I drew a hoof across my watering eyes, I growled to myself, “okay, now I'm gonna kill youeven more.”

I jerked the trigger on my SMG, sending a spray of bullets up the embankment on the side of the road, where a pony was visible, crouched behind a wooden fence.. I wasn't going to win awards for marksmanship anytime soon. I definitely killed the air above the pony I'd aimed at good, though. Another burst of gunfire peppered the ground around me.

Fuck it. I was gonna get killed just lying here.

I dropped the SMG against my chest and charged up the embankment. Sure, I was probably gonna get killed just as much this way, but at least it'd be with my hooves buried in somepony's skull.

I jumped the fence at the top of the embankment and collided with something that swore at me. We fell to the ground in a whirlwind of thrashing legs and cursing. A flailing hoof caught me in the throat. Coughing around the bulb of pain blossoming in my windpipe, I struggled to my hooves, stamping out at an expanse of navy-blue fur that was stained with the black of dried blood. The pony beneath me cried out as something snapped under my hoof. She swung out at me again, slapping the SMG hanging from my neck. There was a bang as the gun went off, putting a bullet through the mare's hindquarters.

Wow. Ponies that actually shoot themselves for me. What luck.

The gunshot made the mare drop back to the ground, giving me the space to bring out my lance. She feebly tried to raise a hoof to deflect it as I shoved it through her side. I couldn't help but grin around the shaft between my teeth as I twisted the lance and she shuddered and coughed her last breath.

Losing a fight to a dead pony. Shameful.

An impact in my side cut short my savouring of the moment. I dropped the lance as I staggered, leaving it jutting out of the mare's side. A second pony – a unicorn with an absurdly-styled mane – was hastily snapping open the breech on the shotgun he was levitating before him. I raised my SMG and took careful aim. I pulled the trigger just as he dodged to the side, fumbling his reload as he did so. The stream of bullets from my weapon followed him as I turned my head after him. Two struck home, causing the unicorn's telekinetic field to fizzle out. The shotgun dropped to the ground with a thump.

Something hammered into the back of my head, sending me reeling, the SMG slipping from my grasp. I turned and narrowly ducked under another wild swing of what turned out to be a shovel. I lunged forward and headbutted the wielder square in the muzzle. She staggered back, the shovel smacking ineffectually against my side. I took up my SMG again, drew a bead and fired...

…All of two shots before the magazine clicked empty.

I dropped the SMG again. At least one of my shots had hit home, shattering the pony's teeth and ripping open a gash down the side of her face. The shovel lay on the ground, accompanied by blood spatters and chunks of enamel. I spun around and bucked the mare right to the face, sending her sprawling. I turned back around and leapt forward. The mare swung a hoof at me. I batted it aside and headbutted her again, grabbing her around the neck to stop her getting away. I butted her again, then flinched as she spat in my face with a mixture of blood and broken teeth. I angrily thrust my head forward again, but she snapped her head to the side, making me miss my mark and over-balance. A knee was driven into my chest, knocking the wind out of me. I snarled and sank my teeth into her neck. The mare screeched, desperately trying to escape my grip. I shook my head violently, feeling the skin given beneath my teeth before I released her and jumped back, letting her reel away from me. I spat at the ground. Bitch tasteddisgusting.

The mare fell to the ground, pressing a hoof against her neck. “Hebit me! That bastard fuckingbit me!” she shouted.

I lunged at her again, but was interrupted by the shotgun pony charging into my side. I grunted in pain as the scar from the bullet wound in my side was thumped through my barding. Then I flinched as a knife blade appeared in my vision, then flinched again as I felt the line of pain it had drawn along the side of my neck. I twisted round and smashed a forehoof into the unicorn's knee. Something cracked under the blow and he stumbled. I brought my hoof back around and struck him across the face as he fell. As his head hit the ground, I slammed my forehooves down onto his skull. Something crunched and he went still.

I scooped up the knife the unicorn had dropped and rounded on the mare who'd smacked me with the shovel. She was coughing and spitting blood and teeth onto the ground as she tried to crawl away. I pounced on her and shoved the knife deep into her neck. She jerked and screamed as I twisted the knife savagely. As I withdrew the knife, blood came spurting out of the wound, spraying over my face. I grimaced and spat out the knife, raising a hoof to wipe the blood away.

As the mare beside me went limp, spitting out a curse with her last breath, I looked around. Nopony else was around. The only sound was my laboured breathing and the buzzing of adrenaline in my veins.

I reared up on my hindhooves and let out a roar.

“Anypony else want some!?” I yelled, listening to the echoes die away.

I sucked in several deep breaths, savouring the after-fight rush.

As it faded, the pain came rushing back.

The shotgun blast to my flank – miraculously – hadn't penetrated the patchwork leather- and metal-armoured barding. It certainly left one nasty bruise, though. Right over the gunshot wound the feather-brain had given me the day before, too. The back of my head was sore from the shovel-blow, and my ears were still ringing slightly from the noise of the SMG.

Shrugging off my injuries – hey, I'ddied just yesterday, this was nothing – I gathered up my lance and check the bodies for salvage. The first mare I'd killed had been wielding an SMG similar to mine. I took what little ammo she'd had, along with the knife the shotgun-wielding pony had had. On a whim, I trotted away from the road, into the woodland. Score. A squalid camp had been made there, just out of sight from the road. It was nothing special: a measly attempt at a campfire, a few stained mattresses scattered around with tarpaulin stretched over them to keep the rain off and a few boxes of whatever it was the ponies here had gotten off of other travellers on the road.

As I warily walked into the camp, something that'd I'd mistaken for a pile of firewood looked up at me.

I looked back into a pair of glistening golden eyes.

It was a… I didn't know what it was. Some kind of animal. It was like someone had taken a stack of tree branches and roughly stuck them together to make a model of a pony. No, not a pony, a dog. Abig dog. Wolf. That was the word.

I took a cautious step closer, hefting my SMG before I remembered I'd neglected to reload it. I dropped it again, reaching a hoof for my lance. The… tree-wolf let out a noise like a tree straining under a gale. It stood up on a set of trembling legs and took a wobbly step forward. A rope that had been tied around its neck and attached to a stake in the ground pulled tight and it slumped to the ground with a whine.

I chuckled. It waspathetic. Not even worth killing for fun. I could see why the camp's former inhabitants hadn't bothered.

I went to trot past the tree-wolf-thing and explore the rest of the camp. As I did so, the thing let out a whine. I glanced at it. It was straining forwards again, wooden paws reaching towards me. I glanced down at my hooves. On the ground lay a dish on which sat what looked like a chunk of meat crudely hacked off of a brahmin.

“What, you want this?” I asked, nudging the slab of dirty meat.

The tree-wolf just kept whining.

“Alright, then,” I said. “Here…”

I speared the steak on the end of my lance, carefully judged the distance, then tossed it towards the tree-wolf. It landed perfectly – just out of the beast's reach. As the meat flopped down, it scrabbled forward with its forelegs, pathetically reaching for the meat, but unable to do more than gouge at the earth just short of it.

I laughed as it kept hopelessly pawing at the dirt. I left it there as I poked through the boxes scattered around. I found barely anything of worth. A few rounds for my SMG and a bit of food and water was all I kept. Clearly, not many ponies came out this way.

I took a moment to reload my sub-machine gun, then started making my way back to the road. I glanced at the tree-wolf as I passed it. It had stopped trying to reach the meat. It was just lying there, one foreleg still outstretched. I chuckled again-

I remembered lying on the floor of the wagon, legs clawing at the wooden boards as my blood ran down my face.

I growled and shook my head vigorously. That provoked an outburst of pain which forced me to sit down. I shot an irritated look at the wolf. Somehow, this was that thing's fault.

Its golden eyes continued to watch me mournfully. I sighed, stood up and walked over. I kicked the meat into the waiting wolf's clutches. It slowly raised its head and started weakly chewing on the steak, making muffled sounds of creaking wood as its jaws worked.

I sat down, swinging my saddlebag off my back and rummaging through it for something to eat. I came up with a sealed packet of… something. I couldn't read the label. I tore it open with my teeth and started eating, forcing it down my throat.

The pair of us, pony and tree-wolf, sat there, chewing on our respective meals. I pulled out a water bottle, took a swig for myself, then offered the bottle to the wolf. Its head perked up and it sniffed the air, pushing its muzzle towards the bottle. I tipped the bottle up and it raised its head, letting the water fall into its mouth, with more than a little running down its face and neck. It shook itself to dislodge the overspill, spraying me with more than a little of it. I growled and pulled the bottle back, wiping at my face with one hoof.

When we'd finished eating and I'd re-packed my saddlebag, I stood and walked over to the tree-wolf. As I approached, it shrunk away from me. I lunged forward and pinned it beneath my forehooves. The rope it was tethered by had been tied around a protruding… branch behind the wolf's neck. With my forehooves still keeping the struggling wolf still, I grabbed the rope between my teeth and pulled it upwards. The tree-wolf let out a half-whine, half-creak and jerked beneath me, but I kept pulling until the rope came free.

I dropped the rope and leapt back, ready for the attack if it came.

It didn't.

The tree-wolf just lay there for a moment before shakily climbing to its paws and trying a few experimental steps, head snapping round to see where the rope had gone. Convinced that it really was free, it sank back down onto its haunches and resumed staring at me.

I backed off a few steps, wary of a sudden rush, then turned to leave, heading back for the road.

As I clambered over the fence at the top of the embankment, I noticed the tree-wolf had followed me. With the redoubtable barrier of a rickety piece of wood between us, I waved a hoof at it threateningly before turning away.

As I made my way down the embankment, I heard the clatter of wood on wood. I turned and watched the tree-wolf as it made its unsteady way down the slope after me. It stopped, sat back down and started watching me again.

“Get lost,” I said irritably, waving a hoof at it. Naturally, it ignored me. I took a few steps down the road and looked back. Sure enough, it was still following me.

I looked around for something to throw at it. Then something stopped me. Instead, I reached out a hoof and hesitantly patted the tree-wolf's head. It growled, making me flinch and snatch my hoof back, but it didn't try to rip my leg off.

Well, if it wasn't trying to eat me, why not let it tag along for a while?

“You wanna follow me?” I asked. “Got nothing better to do than annoy random ponies?”

The tree-wolf whined. I decided to take that as a 'yes'.

“Alright,” I said. “Well… come on, then.”

It was only when I'd waited several seconds for a response that I realised I was trying to hold a conversation with a fucking animal. I lowered my head and pressed a hoof to my forehead. Maybe getting shot in the brain-case had done me more damage than I'd realised.

Was it safe to let this thing follow me around? I didn't even know what it was. I'd mentally been calling it 'tree-wolf', but…

“You need a name,” I said distantly, raising one hoof to pat the tree-wolf on the back. It growled, raising itself against my hoof. “'Tree-wolf' ain't nearly- Argh!”

I snatched my hoof back, angrily glaring at the shard of wood sticking up out of my matted fur. I seized it in my teeth and wrenched it free, spitting it aside. I turned my glare on my animal companion. I could swear its golden-eyed gaze was laughing at me. After a moment, a grudging grunt of laughter slipped through my lips.

“Splinter,” I said. I pointed a hoof at the tree-wolf. “Splinter. That's your name now.”

Splinter let out a… sound. I'd call it a bark, but… well. Terrible joke. Sorry.

The walk was somehow less tiresome than before, with the tree-wolf trotting along by my side. I had to stop and wait every half-mile or so as Splinter wore itself (Himself? How was I supposed to tell?) out and slumped down to rest. Once, he (or it) came to a dead halt and crouched low to the ground, growling at a rock at the side of the road. As if on cue, a bloatsprite buzzed up from behind it and was promptly leapt upon and messily ripped apart by the tree-wolf.

I chuckled and gave it (or her) a pat for that. Maybe this would turn out to be a good idea after all.

Eventually, the forest began to fall away from the road into the distance, the dirt track holding southwards. It was starting to get on towards late afternoon and a day of walking was starting to take its toll on my body. My various wounds from the last two days weren't exactly painful, but I could feel the raw skin and scar tissue stretching tight as I moved. My head was starting to ache again as well. Wonderful.

I doubted I was going to be as lucky as I had been yesterday and stumble upon an old bunker to take shelter in. I wasn't remotely happy about the prospect of sleeping out in the open. The alternative was to venture off the road, to the outskirts of the forest and use the trees for shelter. I dismissed that idea as quickly as it occurred to me. Anything that came prowling around after dark was more likely to get the drop on me if it had undergrowth to sneak through.

If push came to shove, I could simply push on through the night. Sure, it would be dark, but there were far scarier things in the Wasteland than a lack of light. Like me, for instance.

As darkness started to fall, I came across a pre-war sign at the side of the road, half-buried in overgrown, gnarled bushes.

It read:

Min   ry of Pe

White T  l Wo   Prototypi      ility

S   ctly No Admitt

Thank you

It was posted next to a track that branched off from the one I was following, leading westwards, towards the forest that was still visible in the distance.

I squinted off towards where the track led. It was hard to tell in the twilight, but I could barely make out the boxy shape of buildings, outlined against the forest.

Okay, maybe I could be lucky two nights in a row.

“What do you think?” I asked Splinter. “Worth a look?”

Splinter barked softly.

“Yeah,” I said. “That's what I thought.”

We headed off down the new track. Unlike the one I'd been following all day, it was perfectly straight, an unerring line that stretched out directly to the buildings in the distance.

As we neared, a chain-link fence came into view. Although dull and tarnished by the decades that had passed, the razor wire that topped it still gleamed in the fading light. The track led up to a gate in the fence that had been torn down at some point in the past, the twisted metal remnants dragged to one side.

The facility was overgrown with irradiated plantlife. Originally, it must have been beautifully landscaped, with evenly-spaced trees lining the path up to the front doors, the path itself split down the middle by a series of raised planters. Now, the trees were swathed in tangled undergrowth, the planters buried beneath blackened and twisted brambles, the thorn-studded stalks trailing across the ground. Beauty had no place in the Wasteland.

The buildings themselves were ugly. No question about it. Ugly, square, box-like. Only the ground level possessed any windows – tiny slits that were set high off the ground.

Splinter was growling almost continuously as we approached the front doors and mounted the few steps. At some point in the past, somepony had attempted to blow the doors open and had only partially succeeded, forcing one door to bow inwards in the middle to create a gap a pony could – barely – slip through.

I cautiously poked my head through the hole. It was pitch-black inside.

I waited for my eyes to grow accustomed to the darkness.

Slowly, inexorably, as my eyes adjusted, a pair of red dots appeared in my vision.

“Intruder detected.”

I jerked my head back at the mechanical voice, as the dots were joined by a sudden burst of green light. A bolt of… something struck the edge of the door, inches from my face. Whatever it was, it washot. I could feel the heat burning my face as I backed away. The point where it had struck the door began to melt into green goo.

Splinter started barking furiously.

“Yeah, time to leave,” I said. A second green bolt came flying through the doorway, hissing past my head as I jumped down the front steps.

As I galloped back down the path towards the front gate, Splinter at my side, a deep, robotic voice boomed out over the grounds.

“All employees, be aware that there is an unauthorised presence on the facility grounds. Kindly report to the nearest safety zone until the all-clear is sounded. All intruders, be aware that your unauthorised presence has been noted. Kindly report to the nearest security bot until appropriate punishment has been rendered. Thank you for your co-operation.”

As we passed the first of the planters, there was a clanking and whirring of machinery. The entire fixture shuddered and the centre fell away, leaving a hole that was replaced by a squat robotic turret that rose up from nowhere. It would have been a sticky situation if it hadn't gotten tangled in the plants that had overgrown its mounting. The centuries-old mechanism jerked and clicked as it pulled against the stems wrapped around it. It was the same story for the dozen or so other turrets that popped up as we sprinted past. By the time they had worked themselves free, we were out of the gate and still running.

A volley of searing red lasers was thrown past us by the turrets, striking the ground around us and kicking up small explosions of vaporising dirt where they hit. Then we were out of range. I slid to a halt, panting madly, Splinter flopping to its (or her) belly beside me.

“Well,” I gasped to him (or it) between pants. “Wasn't that fuckinggreat?”

Splinter whined at me, apparently too exhausted to bark.

“Kindly return to the facility for administration of your punishment.”

I jumped and whirled around as, for the second time in as many minutes, a robotic voice startled me.

The security bot was rattling towards us on a pair of rubber tracks. It had clearly been built to resemble a pony, which only made it more horrifying. A bastardisation of a pony's head sat atop the body, metal lips permanently drawn back in a sickeningly cheery grin. It clashed horribly with the baleful, flickering red glow of the eyes.

“Bad fillies and colts need to accept their punishment.”

The bot raised a gleaming green crystal on the end of a mechanical tentacle. Remembering the metal door melting under the impact, I threw myself aside, feeling the projectile fly past me.

“Bad fillies and colts don't get to play games.”

I grabbed my SMG in my mouth. “Shut up!” I spat around the weapon's grip. The burst I fired ricochetted off the bot's armoured casing, sparks dancing off the metal where they impacted. The bot ignored the impacts.

“Guns are not toys.”

I narrowly dodged another bolt of green melting-goo. Splinter flew past me and tackled the bot, paws and teeth scratching fruitlessly at the metal.

“Unauthorised pets are not permitted on Ministry of Peace grounds.”

The bot's second tentacle, which ended in a clawed hand, reached out and seized the tree-wolf by the throat. Splinter creaked and whined as the bot hoisted him (her, it,whatever) into the air. The bot gave him a quick shake and threw the tree-wolf away.

The distraction gave me enough time to bring my lance out.

As the bot turned back to me, I smashed my lance into the tentacle holding the melting-goo gun. There was a crunch of something important breaking and the tentacle went limp upwards of the point where my strike had impacted.

“Damaging Ministry property is a serious-…”

I whipped my lance around, smacking the side of the bot's 'head'. The bot rocked up onto one track, but wasn't visibly damaged. The bot rumbled towards me, one tentacle trailing at its side, the other reaching for me, snapping at the air.

“…offence for which the punishment-…”

I slammed my lance into the bot's head again. The bot jolted under the impact, one of the eyes blinking out. Before I could draw the lance back, the bot's still-functioning tentacle snapped back, coiled around its own head and grabbed the lance below the tip. I released my grip just before the bot tore the lance away and flung it aside.

“…is very serious indeed.”

The bot's clawed tentacle suddenly lunged forward and seized me by the foreleg. I cried out as the sharp edge dug into my skin. The bot yanked my leg hard, tossing me to the side. Pain shot through my shoulder as my leg was almost pulled out of its socket. I hit the ground in a heap, swearing profusely. I jumped up, snarling, as the bot approached again.

“Why do you have to make this so difficult?”

I spun around and slammed by hindhooves into the bot's body. The metal casing buckled under my strike with a clang. The bot's clawed tentacle scratched at my flank, skittering over the metal plate on my barding. When the bot spoke again, the voice was distorted and halting.

“Can't-… wejust… bebebeeee… groooown -wn -wnups abou- -out…”

I picked my hindhooves up and bucked the bot once more. The mechanical clanking and clicking stopped and the bot went still, but more to the point, that fucking voice went away.

I looked around for where Splinter had been thrown. The tree-wolf was lying crumpled on the ground, alternating between whines and pants. I walked over to him (Let's just roll with that, okay?) and sat down, patting him on the back.

“Well,” I said as my heartbeat settled down. “I'll give you points for effort, at least.”

'Still talking to an animal.'

It beat talking to myself.

After a short rest, we made our way back down the track to where it rejoined the south-bound road. The short gallop out of that little death-trap had eaten away the last reserve of strength I had. Rather than press on, I trotted over to the sign that had grabbed my attention in the first place. It had half-collapsed over the decades, leaning backwards against the undergrowth that had sprouted up around it. After a little creative hacking through the bushes, I managed to reach the base of the sign and a little alcove of space that was tucked beneath the slanted sign and surrounded, mostly, by the undergrowth on all sides.

I shrugged off my saddlebags and fashioned them into an impromptu mattress. Splinter had already curled up on the ground beside me and was… asleep? Did tree-wolves need to sleep? Apparently so.

It was an odd thought to fall asleep on, but it did the trick. As my head hit the ground, I immediately drifted into unconsciousness.

Level Up: You have reached level 3!

New Perk Gained: Intense Training

You’re making a concerted effort to be more personable. Great! Maybe now ponies will just want to murder you 'brutally' rather than 'horrifically'!

Effect: +1 Charisma

Companion Perk Gained: Wood Sense of Smell

“So there we were: that psycho-pony and his marefriend walking right into the trap. We would have gotten away with it, too, if not for that mangy mutt!” - Broad Blade, sole survivor of the 'Snickering Shades' gang.

Effect: Enemies are spotted at an increased range, equivalent to +3 Perception.