Fallout: Equestria - The Least Of Us

So you came. Came here to the dead city. And you brought your guns, I see.

I came for answers.

So I promised. But before answers, questions.

Why don't you just talk straight for once in your miserable existence?

I want you to look around you. Just stop where you are and look around. Can you see the world as I do? Can you hear the screams?

I came for answers. Not more of your mindgames. Why did you have me come here? What’s the meaning of all this? How did I end up in the middle of all this?

The hows and whys might disappoint you. The truth is that there aren’t a lot of good reasons for what happened. All too often an act makes sense only to the actor. There’s no good reason that you, of all ponies, should tie into the middle. And for what’s happened to you, or more for the ponies around you, I am sorry.

You want me to believe that you’re sorry? For anything?

How well do you really know me? Do you know my name? Do you know my history? These are important questions.

Why don’t you tell me? Or did you have another riddle lined up?

I will. But not right here. Sorry to disappoint you with another game, but not here. Come into the dead city. Find me, and there I promise you will find all the answers you seek.

But it’s funny. When I look back on my life and to everything that lead up to this, I can conveniently pick out one day. And yet on that day, the memory that sticks out the most is something so small and petty. I remember... I was watching a beetle mulling through the dirt. It’s strange and it’s funny that that memory sticks out in my mind the most. Maybe because it’s the easiest memory. What about you? What do you remember from the day this all began?

I threw a pie in a pony’s face.

Fallout: Equestria - The Least of Us

by BillyColt

The colt stared at the metal floor of the stable’s security office. He didn’t want to look up. The stone-faced expression of the security pony filled him with a sense of impending dread. He felt paralyzed, unable to do anything but sit in his cold chair, stare at the floor, and wait. For him, time seemed to have frozen.

The door to the office slid open, with the familiar scraping sound as it slid against its own frame. The colt didn’t look up, but the guard spoke.

“Boss, I–”

“Shuddup,” said a voice. “I want my tea.”

The guard did as he was told. The colt, although still silent, gathered the courage to look up. The mare the guard had been speaking to had walked over to the desk and pulled the drawer open, removing a tea kettle and a small box. She strolled over to the bathroom, and the sound of the faucet told him that she was filling the kettle. He looked back at the guard; charcoal-grey and still, he looked more like a statue than an actual pony.

After what seemed like an hour to the colt, the mare walked back in, the kettle in her mouth, and approached the small stove in the corner of the room. She set the kettle on the unlit burner and walked back to the box on her desk. She walked lethargically, as though she’d rather be sleeping. After taking the box back to the stove, she started fiddling with it with her hooves.

“Fucking box of...” she mumbled. “Fucking flaps...”

After a moment of frustration, however, she managed to open the flap and lift a teabag out by her teeth. She let out a sigh, as though chastising herself for forgetting something, and returned to the cabinet to take a small teacup.

The mare was a tall, imposing pony, and wearing the usual dull navy blue uniform all stable-dwellers wore. On the uniform’s flank was a patched-on stitch representing her cutie mark: a bright red rallying flag. She was the Overmare.

The colt watched her. She walked back to the counter, teacup and teabag in mouth, and set them down, before returning her attention to the kettle. Her cobalt-blue face was fixated on that tea kettle, and she tapped her hoof on the ground, almost too impatient to wait for the water to come to a boil. He opened his mouth to speak.

“I said, ‘shut up,’” the Overmare growled. “Until I’ve had my tea.”

The colt looked at the guard. He was completely unfazed, which told him that this must have been a regular occurrence. It was an agonizing wait as he found himself watching the kettle as intently as the Overmare was. First he caught the small trickle of steam, and a few minutes later the kettle was whistling a jaunty tune. The Overmare grumbled and quickly turned off the stove before removing the kettle.

“I swear, if I ever meet the idiot unicorn who thought it’d be a good idea to enchant teapots to fucking sing...”

The guard cleared his throat.

“You’re still supposed to shut up.”

The Overmare proceeded to pour the water into the cup, before setting it aside and bobbing the teabag. The colt watched intently as she lifted the cup to her face. She took a deep breath, savoring the heat and faint smell, and then blew on it. It was as though she were toying with his apprehension, before, at long last, she took a sip.

“Better,” she said. She turned around and looked at the two. “Now, tell me what was so important I had to drag myself in here?”

Now the colt felt a sinking pit in his stomach.

“I caught this colt trying to sneak into the storeroom.”

“Did you now?” The Overmare took another sip.

The guard’s horn lit up and a card floated in front of him.

“We found this on him,” he said. “It’s the key to the storeroom.”

The Overmare set her teacup on the counter and walked over, inspecting it. She looked at the colt and he felt himself go numb.

“How long’ve you had this?” she asked, though her voice still sounded bored.

“Th... three weeks, ma’am,” said the colt.

“What were you stealing?”

The colt looked at the floor, preemptively cringing. “Just food, ma’am.”

The Overmare turned around and walked back to the counter. “Well, that explains it,” she said, pouring herself another cup of tea. “Books has been on about taking stock and the food coming up a little short. Said he thought there was a rat out. Guess he was right.”

She carried the cup of tea over to the colt and stared down at him. The colt looked back up, wondering what she was going to do. She sat down at her desk, sipping her tea and apparently mulling it over.

“Get his name down,” she said casually. “Tell whoever’s in charge of food that he isn’t to be given anything for three weeks, as long as that key’s been missing.”

“Boss?” asked the guard, uneasily. She turned to him.

“He’s been stealing food from the rest of us. Well, I’m perfectly fine with him continuing this for a while longer – if he feels he wants to eat he can beg somepony else for their food.”

She returned to the counter and poured herself another cup of tea.

“So that’s it?” she asked.

“Yes, Boss,” said the guard. The Overmare groaned. “I thought it was important.”

“Deciding what’s important is my job,” she said as she held the teacup in her hoof. “This?” She gestured to the colt, who was silent, still shocked at his punishment. “Not very important. It could’ve waited.”

The guard’s eyes shifted. For the first time it seemed he was nervous. “Understood.”

“So he can learn,” she muttered. “We’re done here.”

Chapter 1

The Ivory Tower Under a Rock

Overmare of Stable 51... well... I hope it’s better for you down there than it is for us up here. I’m Scootaloo, Vice-President of Stable-Tec. By now you’re probably aware that these stables aren’t what we told the public they were. Well, they are, but there’s more to it than that. This stable will keep you and the ponies inside safe should anything... happen. But there’s another reason you’re here...

BANG! BANG!

The silhouetted facsimile of a pony took bullet after bullet. Boss stood at the end of the target range, a pistol in her mouth. Her shots were slow, but they all fell on the target.

She ejected one clip from the gun before picking another off of the shelf in front of her and loading it into the pistol.

One of the security guards watched her as she emptied another clip into the target.

“Personally, I’ll stick with magic for aiming,” he said, his horn lighting up.

“Good for you,” said Boss. She raised a hoof to click the gun’s safety on, before spitting it onto the counter. “And if I catch you smirking, you’ll get demoted faster than you can say ‘I still have all my teeth.’”

“Noted,” said the security guard.

The door slid open, a detail not missed by the sharp-eyed guard or the Overmare. In the doorway stood an elderly, bespectacled stallion with a grey mane and a gently-lined face.

“Good day,” he said. “I was hoping to speak with you, Boss.”

“Aren’t you always,” the Overmare mumbled. “I’m done here,” she said to the guard, making for the door. “Alright, Books, what is it now?”

Books politely stepped out of the way, allowing the Overmare to pass him. “I heard that security officer Staunch found our little missing supplies problem,” he said.

“Yep. Found and dealt with,” said Boss. “That it?”

“Well,” Books gave an uneasy sigh. “I might have to question your decision.”

“Hm?”

“No food? For three weeks?”

“Hey, you were the one complaining,” said Boss.

She and Books walked down the halls of the stable. Though old, the stallion still kept up with the younger Overmare’s pace.

“Don’t you think that’s a bit excessive for a foal?”

“Not really,” said Boss. “Kid’s gotta learn consequences sometime. Besides, he’s been taking extra food for three weeks, so not getting any food for three weeks seems pretty fitting.”

Boss stopped ahead of him and looked back. Though Books was aged, it had not dulled his mind. Sometimes Boss wondered if Books had actually aged. She’d known the pony her whole life, as he had been a teacher for as long as she could remember. His gaze was always kind and his voice was always soft, never making a judgment. His words were carefully chosen. “Do you remember what I told you a long time ago, when you were a filly, shortly after you were told that you would become the Overmare?”

Boss made a sound somewhere between a groan and a sigh. “Not this again,” she said. “Look, if you’re so concerned, you can give him your food. That way you can ease your conscience and undermine my authority.” Books fell silent, though his gaze lingered. She wondered, briefly, if it was disapproval. “Books, the kid isn’t gonna starve. He’s a foal. The ponies are going to be nice to a foal. Aaaand...” She pulled Books’s face to look back at her, as it had been drifting away. “You can lord this over Lemon Tart and the ponies in Hydroponics at the next meeting: ‘Ponies aren’t getting enough food, you really need to get better at growing shit.’ And Lemon Tart said that blight was nothing to worry about...”

“It isn’t so much a matter of anypony starving,” said Books, and although his voice was soft, it had years of wizened authority that cut over hers, “did he say why he was doing it?”

“Hm,” said Boss. She lowered her face to a pocket on her jumpsuit and pulled out an energy bar. “Not really...” she said through her teeth. “So, what, the kid didn’t really need it and just felt like getting a snack in the middle of the night? Great. That’s... that’s totally.” She stopped. “What the fuck, security dragged me in because a kid was getting a snack in the middle of the night.” She cast her head to look down the hall in the direction of the security office and snorted, “What an asshole.” Muttering to herself, she proceeded to rip off the end of the energy bar wrapper with her teeth.

“It’s possible somepony put him up to it,” he said.

“Oh, wonderful, it’s a conspiracy!” Boss shrugged, before taking a bite out of the bar. “You know what, I bet I know who’s to blame for this...”

She bit the rest of the energy bar right out of the wrapper, scarfing it down and walking impatiently to the garbage can. However, before she dropped the wrapper in, she stopped and stared.

“Lucky, what are you doing in there?”

A small colt sat in the can and looked up at her. He raised a hoof to his mouth, making a “shhhh!” gesture. Boss looked up and back at a slightly perplexed Books.

“Your brother?” he asked.

“Shhh!” Lucky hissed, before whispering, “Don’t tell them I’m here!”

Boss shrugged. Looking down the hall, she saw exactly why Lucky was so intent on his hiding place remaining a secret. A group of slightly older colts turned the corner, headed by one young stallion in a black jacket with a mane, slicked-back with copious amounts of mane gel. Boss, however, noticed the colt walking by him: the colt from the security office. She put two and two together.

“Well, if it isn’t Rocker?” Boss said, smirking at the gang’s leader.

“You weren’t in class today,” said Books.

“Oh, don’t gimme that crap,” Rocker snorted. His compatriots took up poses that suggested boredom, yet failed because they were so forced.

Boss looked over Rocker. He was a young colt, on the cusp of stallionhood. Also, cocky as hell. Then her eyes fell on the other colt.

“So what are we up to today?” she asked. “Your buddies takin’ care of ya?” She looked back to Rocker, who, with his puffed-up chest and situationally good posture, was putting on an admirable display of toughness. “I’m guessing you put the kid up to taking supplies. Is that it?” Rocker didn’t say anything. “Some kind of initiation into your little gang, what’s it called...”

“The Stable Rollers,” Rocker said.

“Right, right...” Boss said in mock contemplation. “Wait, why am I talking to you?” She walked past them. “I’ve got better things to do.” She stopped. “And by the way...” Slowly, she turned to face them again. “...If you little snots have been pestering Lucky, then I should remind you about where we all stand in this little underground tin can. Just a thought. Anyway...” The Overmare resumed her uninterested walk down the corridor. “What were we talking about? Oh yeah.” She looked back at Books, who she made sure was following. “I’m going to pay Lemon Tart a visit later, and make sure that we don’t have a food problem.”

You probably know about why you’re down here. About the war with the zebras. The truth is that something went wrong. Somewhere, we all went wrong. I don’t know what it was. What these stables are, really, are... I don’t want to use the term ‘social experiment.’ That implies we’re manipulating ponies into doing bad things. This is more, well... trying to find something that works. Every stable has a different one. Yours is fairly simple...

She had to personally approve of everything. The teaching curriculum. The seed planting. Most pressingly, the music for the loudspeakers.

“We are a circle of pony friends...”

“Ughh...” she groaned. Note to self, she decided, when Chubby Chuckles makes a list of song suggestions, double-check them before the incessant tunes bore into your skull. She sat and listened as the music continued, before shaking her head. “Fucking Chubby...” she muttered.

There was, fortunately, one perk to being the Overmare: the office had a swivel chair. If she ever got bored of checking off items on the stack of papers on her desk (and she did get bored of it), she could always kill time by spinning in place.

The first order of business, however, was to mute the overly-cheery carol before it drove her to circles. A few strokes on her keyboard shut it off in her office, leaving her in a much more relaxing silence.

There were two stacks of paper on Boss’s desk, one completed and the other that still needed tending to. Such was the exciting life of Stable 51’s Overmare. To her right was an old computer terminal, green letters and icons blinking beneath a sheet of clear glass. To her left, some photographs: her younger brother Lucky Break, with his ruffled mane and bright blue eyes; herself as a filly with her mother, still smiling lovingly at her daughter after all these years; herself a little older with a handsome colt next to her, with a pristine white coat and a golden mane. Boss often suspected that was the color of the sun, but she could only guess that from pictures.

Behind her desk, a larger screen. With a few taps from her desk terminal and the stable’s cameras were at her command. Every last room in the stable was wired for constant surveillance. Boss’s eyes and ears. Everywhere. Always.

A simple command from the terminal and the screen displayed the hallway. Another command, and the atrium appeared. Not much was happening, save for Mop and Broom cleaning the place. She then went to look at the classrooms. Most of them were empty, save for one, where Books sat reading papers, making marks on some of them. Grading tests, she guessed.

Down in the orchard, a pair of mares bucked away at the trees. There weren’t very many, though – the recent blight had called for extensive culling. There were very few occasions that Boss ever found herself grateful for anything, but she realized that without the hydroponics system in place, a blight on the orchard like this would be a catastrophe. She counted the trees to be sure... Yes, she thought. There would be enough left to regrow.

She wasted less than half a minute looking at the nursery. As if the bright colors and amorphous crayon blobs that meant to pass as drawings weren’t gaudy enough, against the rusty gray of the walls and ceiling they just looked jarring.

The residence rooms interested her more. They could be either very boring or very entertaining. In one room a stallion knelt at his bed, praying to the goddesses, the princesses of old Equestria who controlled the sun and moon that the residents of the stable would never see. In another room a unicorn mare sat on her bed, a book floating in front of her. In yet another room a very bored-looking colt sat over a paper, lethargically chewing on the pencil he should have been using to write.

All of them were hers. The instructions left to her stated in no simple terms that each and every one of these ponies were under her care, to watch over, protect, and guide for however long they were in that stable.

She resented them. Sometimes the resentment was stronger, and at other times she nearly forgot. She did not enjoy her job or her life in the stable. Had she been offered any other life she may have gladly taken it, but this was her lot, and to an extent she took some pride in it. She commanded the attention of others well, though she at times had doubts as to the respect the other ponies afforded her. In any case, when she entered a room, they turned. When she spoke, they listened. When she gave a command, they obeyed.

She had a strong voice. A soprano, though she rarely utilized the upper extremes, there was an edge to her voice that cut over others. Sometimes when she was angry it sounded almost like a snarl or a bark, yet most often there was a clear sound to her voice that carried well, even in such unacoustic settings as the metal hallways.

For her appearance, she was not an ugly pony, but she had never been concerned with looking ‘pretty,’ as many other ponies were. She satisfied herself that she was clean and presentable. She kept her mane short and her posture tall. That was enough to keep them answering to her.

The cameras revealed little of interest. Her little exercise in voyeurism had thus far proved unfruitful. However, her eyes flicked to one of the little windows on the giant screen. A young stallion surreptitiously entered his room and looked around, before waving to someone off-screen. Another pony entered, this one a mare.

Oh, hello, thought Boss, enlarging the window and turning the volume up.

“Alright,” said the stallion, “nopony’s in here.”

The mare walked up and kissed him. Boss leaned back in her chair and watched, her head hoof stroking her chin.

The stallion walked over to the door and floated a key out of a pocket on his jumpsuit, locking it.

“There,” he said. “Now we’ve got some privacy.”

You’re adorable, Boss thought.

There was a faint rustling sound that stirred her from the show. She looked towards the vents – she could hear that sound, the echoing, shuffling sound. Quickly, she switched off the terminal.

“Lucky?” she called. “Is that you?”

More shuffling, before a voice called back. “Yes.”

Boss rolled her eyes and walked over to the wall, prying the grating off of the air vent.

“You know there are horrible bugs and stuff in there, right?” she asked as her brother came into view. “It’s not safe.”

“I know,” said Lucky. His right hoof was smaller than the left, stunted and shriveled since birth. “But I can beat em back with my thermos!”

Boss stepped out of the way and let her brother poke his head out of the vent. He had a bag with him, and the aforementioned thermos was strapped to his good leg, where most ponies would have their PipBuck. He hopped down to the ground, hitting it with a soft thud.

“So what’re you doing in here?” asked Boss. “Is Rocker giving you more trouble? What was he doing, anyway?”

“He got mad at me,” said Lucky. “I beat him at cards and he thought I cheated.”

“Did you?”

“No,” said Lucky, pouting a little as though offended at the question. “He’s just mad I won back my eight-ball. But he’s done now. He got bored and went back to his bike.”

Boss laughed dryly. “That fucking bike of his,” he said. “Well, sure, you can stay here as long as nopony starts ringing me with ‘Boss, your brother’s gone missing!’” She rolled her eyes and returned to her desk. Lucky, meanwhile, sat in the corner of the room and unpacked his bag, which contained a lunchbox and a comic book.

“I got my cutie mark today,” he said.

Boss leaned back over for a look. “Did you now?” Sure enough, it was bright on his flanks: a gold coin and a six-sided die. “Well, I’ll be.” She turned back to her desk and opened a drawer. “This is going to call for a party...” She whisked out two sheets of paper. “And an exam.”

“Exam?” Lucky asked.

“Nothing big,” said Boss. “Just a routine check to see what you’ll be doing when you’re older.”

Lucky took a sandwich out of his lunchbox started munching on it. Boss, meanwhile, turned back to her desk and started fiddling with the knobs on her PipBuck. “Books?” she asked.

“Yes?” answered back his voice.

“Lucky Break here got his cutie mark. We’ll have to arrange a CAT for later today.”

“Today, Boss?” he asked. “Isn’t that a bit soon?”

“Not really,” she said. “Best get the thing out of the way as soon as possible.”

“Understood,” said Books. “Actually, I have an opening at noon.”

“Works for me,” said Boss.

“Alright then. I’ll give Chubby a call. If that works out, we’ll do it at noon.”

“Great. Bye,” said Boss, clicking off the PipBuck’s radio. She turned back to Lucky, who appeared somewhat uneasy.

“I have to do a test?” he asked. “Today?”

“Oh, it’s nothing,” said Boss. “It’s piss-easy as fuck because you literally can’t get anything wrong. It’s more of an examination.”

“That’s the same thing,” Lucky muttered dubiously.

“No,” said Boss. “We’re going to examine you, not test you. It’s not about what you’re know, it’s about what we can find out about you and... stick you into some position. It’s not something you study for. Not unless you know you’re getting a terrible job and want them to stick you somewhere else. Given that your cutie mark just screams ‘fun and games,’ I wouldn’t worry.”

There was an awkward silence as Boss went back to her administrative duties at her desk. Lucky sat there quietly, soon returning to his lunch, albeit much more slowly.

“Sis?” he asked at length.

“Uh-huh?” answered Boss, who had returned to her paperwork and was only half-paying attention to her brother.

“Why is it called a PipBuck and not a...” He paused. “PipColt?”

“Because Stable-Tec outsourced the development to deer,” she said, lazily flipping over a page. Her eyes went back to her brother, who had turned to his comic book, the cover of which depicted a bright red pegasus stallion punching out a zebra, beneath the title Ace Awesome. “I remember those,” she said, picking up a pencil. “Ace Awesome, the greatest pegasus soldier ever.”

“Yeah,” said Lucky. “He’s really cool.”

“He’s old wartime recruiting propaganda.”

“He’s still really cool.”

Boss paused to think on that. “I guess he is.”

There were some more minutes of silence as Lucky Break read his comic. When he was finished, he reached into his bag and pulled out another one, titled Ace Awesome’s Finest Hour.

“How many of those things you got?” she asked.

“This one’s really awesome,” said Lucky. “It’s like, way more serious and stuff...” Though this revelation deflated him somewhat. “They killed Chipper and Clipper.”

Boss looked up. “Chipper and...” she paused. “Those two goofy rookies that were always trying to get Ace to take pictures with them?”

“Uh-huh...” Lucky nodded.

“Damn,” said Boss. “That’s harsh. But they were kind of annoying.”

“I liked them.”

Boss shrugged, before setting down one more page. “I’m really not in the mood for this,” she sighed. Lucky got up from his corner and trotted up to the desk. He peered over the top and looked at the stack of loathsome paper.

“What’s all that?” he asked.

“It’s a bunch of boring stuff that I’ll be doing for the rest of my life,” Boss muttered. “Better hope that you get a better job.”

“But you’re the Overmare,” said Lucky. “That sounds like an awesome job.”

“Eh...” Boss gave an uneasy, ‘so-so’ gesture with her hoof. Lucky’s attention turned to the photographs.

“Who’s that?” he asked, gesturing at the picture of her and the colt. Boss reached out her hoof and slammed the photograph down out of his view. Lucky jumped back in shock, the sudden loud noise catching him off-guard.

“It’s no one,” said Boss. “He’s gone. Been long-gone since before I got this job.”

“Sorry...”

“Whatever,” she mumbled. “Idiot decided he’d been in here long enough...” Her voice trailed off. She stared at her hoof, still on the downturned photograph. “Then one day he just disappeared. Snuck right out the front door. Probably died as soon as he set hoof out there.”

Lucky Break looked at the other two photographs, settling on the picture with their mother.

“What was she like?”

“Who?”

“Mother.”

“Oh, uh...” Boss paused, looking back at the picture. The filly in the picture was cheery, her eyes closed as the mare above her smiled warmly down on her. Her mother’s features were soft, contrasting to the more ragged, rough-and-tumble appearance of the filly snuggled next to her. “She was nice.” She shrugged.

“And?”

Boss looked at her brother. His expression was open, and expectant, like a child just waiting to hear the next line of a particularly gripping bedtime story.

“And what?” asked Boss, a small sneer almost creeping across her face. “She was nice. What else is there to say?”

Lucky drew back a little, his expectant expression replaced by a narrow-eyed cringe.

“Look...” Boss sighed. “Why don’t you just... I dunno, look, I’m a bit busy. Why don’t you just go back to reading Ace Awesome?”

“Well, I finished it,” said Lucky. “Sort of. I don’t have the last issue of Finest Hour.”

“Well, head to the Library and read it there.”

“They don’t have it.”

Boss paused. “Well,” she decided. “I guess that’s that, then.”

“Yeah...” Lucky lowered his head. “I wish I knew how it ended, though.”

“Hmm.” Boss went back to her paperwork. The item at the top of the stack was Lesson Plans for New Gardeners, which detailed Lemon Tart’s curriculum for new ponies assigned to the agriculture department. After reading it, she signed her name at the bottom, signifying approval. She proceeded to sign more documents, including a petition for extended break time for the security staff (approved), Books’ suggestion to offer specialized lessons for interested and promising foals (approved), and Chubby Chuckles’ idea for a stable-wide ice cream social (rejected).

Once the pile was complete, she heaved a sigh and looked at the stack of papers. They never tell you how much reading the job takes, she thought to herself. Her job there complete for the time being, she stood up from the desk and started for the door.

“Sis?”

She stopped and looked back at Lucky. He was looking at her, shifty-eyed, but not really looking at her face.

“Is it my fault that mother died?”

Boss stood inches away from the door. She turned her head and looked at him, and was silent for a moment. Lucky sat there and traced some lines on the floor with his good hoof, not wanting to look at Boss’s cold expression.

“Don’t ask questions like that,” she mumbled, turning back to the door. “They’re pointless.”

We have collected everything. Every book, every magazine, every advertisement, or painting, or poem, or song, scientific study, spell, you name it – ever written that we’ve recorded. The entire history of pony achievement and art is here. We have compiled it into one computer database. We call it “The Library.” We even managed to acquire certain things that the Ministry of Image doesn’t like getting out. We’ll also continue to transmit new materials into the Library for as... well, as long as we’re able. I’m not very hopeful about our future. But you still have hopes. Please, take this. Learn from it. Here you’ll find the extent of all of our highest dreams and all our darkest fears. Please, learn. Find out where we went wrong. Learn from our mistakes.

Set near the atrium, the Library was something of Stable 51’s cultural center. At least it was for anyone that cared. In the room there was a central computer, and terminals lined the entire space, enough for anyone who pleased to come in and look up absolutely anything they wanted.

At this time of the day it was fairly vacant, save for a couple of colts in one corner drumming up naughty pictures of mares and giggling to themselves. When Boss entered the room, one of them tapped the other on the shoulder. The screen promptly switched to a page on different kinds of pillars and the two literally jumped out of their seats and stood at attention. Boss gave them a dismissive glance and waved them off, at which point they hesitantly turned back to the computer. Of course, they hadn’t been fast enough for Boss to miss their true purpose, but she didn’t really care. She just walked up to a nearby terminal and began typing.

“Hello!”

Oh, no...

Chubby Chuckles had a voice that sounded louder than it actually was. Combined with his bright yellow coat and inexplicably red nose, he could be a somewhat... overwhelming pony for some of the less-patient members of the stable.

“Nice to see the foals learning about architecture. We might need that when we head out of here.”

For a second, Boss forgot what she had been meaning to do. Her eyes shifted to look at his clownish face. She had to put up with him every day.

“When we head out of here?” she repeated.

“Well, er...” he fumbled, “we as in the stable. Sometime in the future. Not necessarily ‘us’ we. Even if it’s not in our lifetime. But someday.”

Someday, of course. But not for her. Boss remembered that when she was younger, the Overmare before her had sent some brave sucker out the front door to scout ahead. He’d never returned. He might’ve just smashed his PipBuck and run away, but most of the ponies simply assumed that he had died. Boss remembered that, how there had been a lot of talk when he left about what might happen. Then days passed, and then weeks, and then everypony had simply given it up for lost. They simply carried on with their usual stable lives, any dreams of leaving the stable a little bit dimmer than they had been before.

“So,” he continued, “what are you doing here?”

Boss looked back at the computer and made a few keystrokes before responding, “Looking up something.” Tap tap. “Lucky really likes those Ace Awesome comics, but doesn’t have the last one.”

The search yielded countless entries in the Ace Awesome comic series, which Boss scrolled down to, filling the screen with countless issues, spinoffs, and crossovers. She went back to the search bar and specified Ace Awesome’s Finest Hour, which listed:

Ace Awesome’s Finest Hour, issue no. 1, by Kablam

Ace Awesome’s Finest Hour, issue no. 2, by Kablam

Ace Awesome’s Finest Hour, issue no. 3, by Kablam

Ace Awesome’s Finest Hour, issue no. 4, by Kablam

Ace Awesome’s Finest Hour, issue no. 5, by Kablam

Broad critical praise for ‘Ace Awesome’ new series, by Font

New mini-series will change the popular pegasus icon forever!, by Kablam

“We don’t have six,” she muttered. Chubby Chuckles walked up next to her, and examined the screen himself.

“Well,” he reasoned, “maybe it just wasn’t published. Maybe it wasn’t finished before the bombs fell.”

“Hmm...” Boss backed to the overall list of Ace Awesome comics. “Maybe...” she said. “But something doesn’t add up.” A few more keystrokes, and all the issues were listed in order of date published. “A-ha.” She took a step back. “The main Ace Awesome series was still going on, even alongside Finest Hour, and it was still releasing new issues for a while after that finished.”

“Eh … I never really liked those comics,” Chubby Chuckles said, giving an uneasy shrug. When Boss responded with a raised eyebrow, he continued, “I always felt like they were, well... glorifying violence.”

“Well, no shit,” said Boss. “It was meant to get the pegasi to fight in the war instead of sitting on clouds all day. Besides, what do you expect from a guy named Wham-Bam Kablam?” She opened a few of the comics published after Finest Hour stopped. Flipping through the virtual pages it seemed like the same old cheesy propaganda – there was Ace Awesome strutting his stuff on the pages, with his admiring marefriends (two of them!) and his fans Chipper and Clipper... “Well, this is interesting.”

“Hm?”

Boss leaned forward to look more closely at the screen, tapping her hoof against the point of interest.

“Seems Kablam stopped writing shortly after that, and the series was taken over by a new writer and artist.”

“Oh?” asked Chuckles. “What does that mean?”

“Well, probably nothing,” she said, returning to the search and looking up articles about Wham-Bam Kablam. “But one can speculate...”

‘Ace Awesome’ writer retires, steps down as head of AwesomeHouse Comics...

“I guess the last issue was never published,” she said, “and I think it might’ve had something to do with his retirement... Well, enough of that.” Boss turned to face Chubby Chuckles. “You want something?”

“Oh!” His face lit up in a beaming smile. “I just wanted to thank you for approving my song request. It’s nice to see someone who–”

“Actually, they’re terrible,” said Boss. “I only approved them because I wasn’t paying attention and didn’t care. I’ll have to be more diligent.”

Chubby Chuckles hung there mid-sentence, as Boss walked past him towards the door to the library. Out of the corner of her eye she could see the colts switching back to their pornography. Leaving the library, however, did not relieve Boss of her company.

“Actually,” called Chubby’s voice as he followed her. “There’s something I–”

“What?” she asked, turning sharply. The stallion took a step backwards.

“Just...” Chubby timidly drew out a sheet of paper with his mouth – Boss saw it was another form for her to sign.

“‘Game Night’?” she asked as she read the proposal, before looking up at him with annoyed disbelief. “I have to deal with delinquents and stolen inventory and all the stuff that Lemon Tart and Books and Staunch are hitting me with, and you’re coming up to me with a suggestion for ‘Game Night’?”

Chubby took a step back. “I thought it’d be something nice for the families with foals.” The Overmare’s stern stare didn’t change. “Hey, maybe if the foals had something productive to do, they wouldn’t turn to delinquency?”

Boss looked back at the form. “I’ll think about it,” she said, grabbing it with her hoof. The two stood there as she stuffed it into her jumpsuit, thinking about what they were going to do.

“Do you like your job, Chubby?” she asked.

“Do I...” He chuckled nervously.

“Do you like your job?” she repeated.

“Well...” he said. “Yes. I like working with foals. And I love making other ponies laugh. It’s the job I got, and I couldn’t be happier for it.” He smiled. “And I can’t think of anything more worthwhile than nurturing a young mind and teaching them and helping them to grow. Making them happy.” He tilted his head. “Why do you ask?”

Boss paused. “No reason,” she muttered. “Come on. Don’t want to be late for the exam.”

The Cutie mark Aptitude Test was a dull, but necessary part of stable life. When a foal got his or her cutie mark, there were two things that happened: a celebratory party, and a CAT. The purpose of the latter was to profile the foal and, taking into account his or her personality as well as their apparent talent, present them with what they had as options for their stable occupations.

Though as Boss had learned, ‘options’ was sometimes too charitable of a word.

She and Chubby stepped into the classroom, where Books was already waiting at his desk. Normally the furniture in the stables was all metal, yet in his classroom he had an oak desk. An old relic of his family’s when they first moved into the stable so many years ago, he said. Not that it’d fetch much of a price at an antique dealership. The desk was old and worn, with chips and scratches nicked into it. One rowdy delinquent had actually carved into the face of the desk, forever defacing it with a mark that would ironically outlive his own name.

“Glad you could make it,” said Books, smiling from the desk. There were two other desks beside his on either side, normally meant for the students.

Boss took her seat to his left, nearest the door, while Chubby took the desk on the right. She peered over the room. It had been many years since she was a student here. She had never liked the room, always feeling like a choking, cramped slog down a narrow, pre-defined path. Now she was sitting here again, as she did for every CAT.

“You know,” said Boss, “I think I can remember my own test.”

“So can I,” said Chubby. “I was so nervous.”

“I sat in that chair,” she said, pointing to the middle seat in the front row. “That exact seat. And you were there at that desk...” She looked at Books. “And the Overmare...” She ran a hoof over her own desk’s surface. “The Overmare sat here. And the mare to your right, she was... what was her name? She had all those curls in her mane and those bright purple eyes?”

“Blossom,” said Books.

“Blossom...” Boss repeated. “Right. I didn’t like her.”

The slow clatter of hooves called from the hallway. Their little subject was coming. Boss lazily watched the doorway until the foal of the hour arrived.

“Hello, Lucky,” said Books.

“Hi.”

“Now, we just want to let you know,” said Chubby, “that you have absolutely nothing to worry about. This isn’t really a test, just a little evaluation about where you’d be best placed.” He offered that smile that Boss imagined was supposed to be comforting. Maybe it was, for all she knew, but she never liked it. Lucky, however, took a deep breath and nodded.

“Well, then...” said Books, opening a file on his desk. “We’ll start with a simple word association game. Now, I am going to read a word off of this list, and you just tell me the first word that comes into your head. Ahem.” He adjusted his glasses and cleared his throat. “Wheel.”

Boss could remember her own test. She’d been given the same word association quiz. Her first word had been ‘Wheel.’

Forward, she had answered.

Lucky was hesitant to answer. He opened his mouth, but quickly closed it.

“No need to be shy,” said Books. “There’s no wrong answer.”

Lucky nodded. “Fortune,” he answered, giving a nervous smile.

Books resumed the list. “Play.”

Work, thought Boss.

“Win,” said Lucky.

“Coin,” Books read.

Economy, she thought. She had been trying to impress them with her vocabulary, but the nonreaction of her test-givers encouraged her to stick to more honest answers.

“Flip,” answered Lucky.

“Enemy.”

Threaten.

“Run,” said Lucky.

“Apple.”

Boss smirked. Head, she had answered. She remembered the pony named Blossom looked a little perplexed at that answer.

“Orange.”

Chubby tried to reign in a chuckle.

“Range.”

Firing, Boss had said.

“Home?” asked Lucky, a nervous smile on his face has he tried to promote his attempt at a joke. Chubby and Books smiled, but did not give themselves to any displays of overt amusement.

“Bull.”

Shit, thought Boss.

Lucky gave the more polite “eye” as his answer.

Books paused before the next word. “Mother.”

Lucky was silent. Boss remembered this as well. Books had paused just the same then as he had now, and she had answered, Gone.

And Lucky answered, “Love.”

Down at the bottom of the stable, on the same floor as the command center, was the stable’s orchard. Every stable had one, meant to feed the population. Blight aside, Boss was grateful for the hydroponics system that allowed them to grow food other than apples. She was also grateful that some wannabe gardener at the first day had snuck a bunch of seeds inside.

Now it was time to pay a visit, for two orders of business. First, look into how they were dealing with the apple blight. Second, to arrange for a cake for Lucky...

When she entered the orchard, the workers immediately dropped what they were doing and turned to attention.

“As you were,” said Boss, looking at the room. Most of the apple trees had been cut down, with new saplings planted. She’d never noticed before just how big the room was... “Where’s Lemon?”

“Right over here!” called a voice from the other end. Lemon Tart, the head of agriculture, trotted over. She always seemed to stick out, with her bright yellow coloring glaring against the usual dull grey of the stables. As foals she had always been terrible at hide-and-go-seek. Boss suspected those facts were related.

“Just wanted to check on a few things,” said Boss, stepping towards her. “We caught Books’s little thief.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, some snot in Rocker’s gang.” She shook her head. “Anyway, wanted check up on how things are going. We don’t have any shortages, do we?”

“Oh no,” said Lemon Tart, leading her away. “We’re just going to have to cut back on apples for a little while until we get the orchard healthy again. We still have plenty else.”

Lemon Tart led the Overmare through rooms lined with trays of vegetables and fruits in water. Some rooms were dedicated to small fruit-bearing trees, with the original contents having been moved. For example, with the library’s collection of every musical composition ever recorded, an archive of more entertainment recorders became redundant (some ponies, however, had lamented the loss of physical media).

“Lucky got his cutie mark,” said Boss. “Gave him the CAT and everything.”

“Oh?” asked Lemon Tart. “What are you going to have him do?”

“Most likely we’ll have him work in recreation,” said Boss. “He loves games. Especially since he seems to win a lot. So of course, we’re going to have a party, and that means cake...”

“Not a problem,” said Lemon Tart, leading her to the kitchens. “We don’t have a sugar shortage. And speaking of, there’s something I wanted to show you...”

She led Boss into the kitchen, wherein there were rows and rows of pies sitting on a table. Boss blinked, looking at Lemon Tart’s smiling expression.

“Excuse me?” asked Boss. “I come here to talk to you about a potential food shortage, and you’ve been using food to make dessert?”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Lemon Tart yammered, trying to force a word in edgewise. “I got a good reason for this. Tomorrow at 1:59, we can ring the bell and call everyone to the atrium. And there we can give them out.”

“Tomorrow at one-fifty...” she looked down at her PipBuck; the day’s date was March 13th. She looked up at Lemon Tart. “Seriously?”

“Pi!”

Boss stood in silence and Lemon Tart beamed at her.

“Boss, we don’t have a food problem,” she reassured her. “We’re just going to have a few less apples for a little while. Nopony is going to starve. Honest.”

Boss relented. “Lemon Tart, can I trust you on that?”

“Yes, Boss,” she said.

“Good,” she said. “Because you know that ultimately, I’m responsible for all this, right? If ponies start starving, it’s my fault.”

Lemon Tart took a step back, an uneasy look crossing her face. Boss eyed her, before asking again: “Can I trust you?” Lemon Tart nodded quietly. “Good. Then I can consider the matter settled?” Lemon nodded again. “That’s done then.” She looked up at the clock. Two-fifteen. She groaned at sat down on a nearby table. “Some days seem to drag on forever,” she said. “I had to get up earlier than usual today because Staunch called me in. Let me tell you that I am not a morning pony.” She shook her head. “Lemon Tart,” she said. “Do you like your job?”

Lemon cleared her throat. “Well, yes,” she said.

“Why?” Boss pressed further. “What do you like about it?”

Lemon paused, looking around the room as though for inspiration. “Well...” She took a deep breath.

“I don’t like the stable. It’s a cold, colorless environment. Ponies aren’t meant to be cooped up, with no sunlight, no places to run and gallop.”

“And...” Boss waved her hoof, as though to solicit a better answer.

“The orchard’s different,” she continued. “Things can grow here. After looking at the cold grey metal halls here, it seems like the orchard and the agriculture is what makes me feel alive. Like I’m a gardener.” She smiled. “I always think that if I weren’t in the stable I’d have a garden. It’s... it’s kind of refreshing. You do honest work, and you’re rewarded for it. You put a seed into the ground. You tend to it and you care for it, and if you do it right it’ll grow into something beautiful. It’s the most worthwhile thing I can think of.”

Boss sat there, watching her, her expression totally blank. A knock came at the doorway, however, rousing them from their thoughts.

“Uhh... Overmare?” asked a timid colt standing in the doorway. “There’s somepony here for you.”

“Can’t it wait?” Boss asked.

He smiled painfully. “Well...”

“My son can’t go without food!” cried a mare’s voice.

“Oh boy...” Boss sighed.

A mare stepped into the room, the colt sidestepping to avoid her.

“You cut my son off from the food rations?” she asked.

“Well...” said Boss. “Yeah. I did. Assuming you’re talking about the colt I think you’re talking about and not someone else. But yeah.”

The mare sputtered. “But... but how? How can you do that?”

“Easy,” Boss said. “I’m the Overmare. So it’s very easy.”

The mare stared at her.

“Oh,” said Boss, “you mean why. Got it. Well, let me explain it to you.” She got up from her seat, standing tall. Seeing the Overmare in her full height made the other mare take a step backwards.

“Your son was stealing from the food storage. He’d taken a key and was breaking in. He’d been doing this, to my knowledge, for weeks, and it’s been quite a concern. And let me tell you something – when you steal, you don’t just steal from the storeroom. You steal from all of us,” she said. “And that’s what your son did. For three weeks he stole from all of us, and so for three weeks, he won’t get anything. I think that’s a fairly fitting punishment for the crime.”

The mare’s posture slacked. “I... I know that what he did was wrong. But please...” she pleaded. “Have some pity.”

Boss looked coldly at her, before turning. “All right,” she said, looking at the pies. She walked over to them and picked one up in her hoof. “Here,” she said, holding it out to her. “I’m not revoking the punishment, but I left a loophole. If you don’t want him to starve, you can share your food with him. You know, that, right?” She smiled. “Here. Take this. You can share it with him.”

The mare took a step forward, a relieved smile crossing her face. “Thank you, Overmare, thank you–” But when she reached out to take it, Boss pulled it away. The mare stumbled and fumbled as her hoof clutched at empty air. And Boss slipped into SATS.

Time froze, and the priceless, surprised expression on the mare’s face was frozen for Boss to admire, to frame in her mind for all posterity. She would have to remember it – it was too good to let go. Numbers flashed around her body; her head, legs, tail, main body. But there was only one number that interested Boss: the 97% flashing on that priceless expression on her face.

The pie slammed into her face, the filling splattering all over her front. When Boss took her hoof off and backed away, the tin stayed stuck on her face for a few seconds before slowly sliding off of her face and clanking to the floor. Lemon Tart stood with her mouth agape in utter silence.

“There,” said Boss. “Now you can just head back and he can lick it off.”

However, her chance to soak in the satisfaction of the moment was interrupted by a note that popped before her vision in the Eyes-Forward Sparkle. Overmare Required at Stable Entrance.

She grumbled, raising the PipBuck to her face and, with all the annoyances that came from turning knobs with her mouth, tuned in.

“Hey, Boss? This is Security Officer Staunch,” said the stallion’s voice. Boss left the kitchen and walked off down the hall. “We have something... unusual at the stable’s entrance. You should probably come here to see.”

“What is it?” asked Boss.

Security Officer Staunch, the charcoal-grey stallion, was already at the door to the stable, the impassive metal wall that served as the only thing between the peaceful world of the stable and the uncertain, unknown world of the outside. Books was there, as well, standing at the control panel.

“I think,” said Books, “that you should hear this.”

“Hello?” asked a voice over the intercom. “Is anyone there?” It was the voice of a young stallion. It was weak, pathetic, and pleading.

Boss looked from the speaker to Books to the security guards. “What is this?” she asked.

“Please...” said the voice. “If there’s anyone in there, please... let me in... I... I don’t want to die out here...”

“Twenty minutes ago, somepony just starts pounding on the door,” said Officer Staunch.

“It seems he figured out how to access the console outside,” said Books. “Enough to use the intercom.”

“I... I can’t die out here.”

“Okay...” said Boss. “So what, we let him in?”

“I’d advise against that, Boss,” said Staunch. He looked ominously up at the door. “We open that door, there’s no telling what gets in.”

Boss looked over at Books. The old stallion’s face said nothing, simply looking at her.

“And you?” asked Boss.

“I don’t make the calls,” said Books. “It’s your choice. But.” He looked up at the speaker. “In here there are a lot of ponies. Safe ones at that. And out there is one pony who is not safe. He’s scared. He doesn’t know if we’ll answer his plea. He doesn’t even know if we’re alive.” He turned his gaze back to the console. “It’s your responsibility.”

“The ponies in here are her responsibility,” said Staunch.

“Yes,” said Books. “They are.”

Boss stood there for a few seconds, considering her options. She could just do nothing, leave the door shut and just wait for it to get quiet. Nothing would happen, most likely. Just a dead body outside the front door to the stable that no one would ever see. Well, until the day came that they left. Then the ponies would probably go “Oh, that’s the guy that one of the Overmares left to die. What a dick.” Or she could let him in. That might be risky, and after all, everypony already knew she was a dick.

Yet if she let him die, there would always be a nagging uncertainty that she could never let go of. She had to know.

“Please...”

“Fuck it,” said Boss. “Security, send for backup.”

“Boss?” asked Staunch.

“Do it.”

Staunch raised the PipBuck to his mouth. “All available hooves, report to the front stable door.” Within a minute, a half-dozen ponies had come, all armed with pistols and batons.

“Books,” she looked to the elder stallion. “Let him in.”

Books nodded. With a few taps on the console, the mighty stable door opened like the maw of a lazy metal beast.

A lone stallion, dark cucumber-green, shambled in. Blood dripped profusely over the stable floor.

Boss had never seen a pony like him. He was disheveled, unkempt, cut, bruised, broken and scarred all over his body. Torn clothing and barding seemed like it was only stuck to his body by the dried blood covering him. A worn gun hung by his side, as did a large pouch. His mouth was open, gasping for air and, Boss would bet, water.

“I...” he sputtered, blinking at the light inside the stable. As he crossed the threshold he stumbled over nothing in particular, and collapsed just inside by the inner door.

“Shit,” said Boss.” “Books, shut the door. Staunch, call in a medical team, get this guy to the hospital. Search him, get him stabilized, and call me when he gets up. I want to know who this guy is.”

“Understood,” said Staunch, nodding as he talked into the PipBuck again. “Security to Medical, we have a pony at the Stable entrance, need medical dispatch immediately.”

The door closed as slowly as it had opened, and Boss, done with this detour in her daily routine, started back down the hall.

She stood outside the door to the medical bay, her hoof pawing impatiently on the floor in front of her. Their guest had almost immediately passed out after they’d wheeled him in. He’d lost a lot of blood, and they didn’t know if he’d make it. He’d better make it, she thought. She had questions for him. Who was he? Where was he from? Why was he here?

What was it like outside?

The door opened, and the nurse walked out. The nurse was a small-framed, boyish stallion with a short mane, grey despite his young age.

“Well?” asked Boss.

“He’s awake,” said the nurse, “but there isn’t much we can do. Nothing except make him comfortable. And pray, maybe.”

“I don’t think that works,” Boss quipped.

“Didn’t say it did.” The nurse stepped aside. “You wanted to see him?”

Boss nodded and went inside. Most of the beds were empty, save for one in the corner, where the dying guest lay, his breathing shallow. She approached the bedside.

“Hi,” she said.

The stallion turned his head to look at her. It was at this point that the Overmare realized just how young he was. His features were all smooth, unlined by age save for scars. She imagined there were worse and far less flattering injuries beneath his bedsheets.

“I’m the overmare of this stable,” she said.

“Thought so,” he said, running his eyes over her. “Thanks. I thought I was going to die out there.”

“Well, you’re probably going to die in here,” said Boss. “So, if that’s better, then you’re welcome.”

“It’s better.”

“You’re welcome,” said Boss, growing tired of small-talk.

“My belongings,” said the stallion. “Where are they?”

“They’re with security.”

The stallion nodded. “I needed to get it in here. Somewhere safe.”

“It?” asked Boss. “What is ‘it’?”

“It doesn’t matter to you,” said the stallion. “Just... keep it in here. Just for a while.”

“Slow down, please,” said Boss. “I’m not good at keeping up with delirium.”

The stallion gave a weak laugh. “Sorry,” he said.

“Let’s start with something simple. What’s your name?”

“Emerald,” said the stallion. Boss raised an eyebrow. Certainly a more resplendent name than his coat implied.

“Hello, Emerald,” said Boss. “You are in Stable 51, designed to protect the ponies inside from the damage of a balefire megaspell. I am the Overmare of this stable.”

“Right, the stables,” said Emerald. “When this opened I was... I felt happy for the first time in six months. I didn’t know if it’d open.”

“Good for you,” said Boss. She leaned back and called, “nurse?”

“Yes?” asked the nurse, stepping into the room.

“Kindly get Chief Officer Staunch here, with all of our guest Emerald’s belongings,” she said. The nurse mumbled an affirmation and went on his way. “So, let’s talk about you,” said Boss, picking up the clipboard at the end of the bed. “How exactly does a pony show up, bleeding, at a stable door? Says here you’ve got gunshot wounds, slashing, your right foreleg’s been fractured several times, and... there’s an infection, some kind of poison we don’t know.”

“Bleak venom,” said Emerald. “Bastards cover their knives in it.”

“So there are other ponies out there?” asked Boss. “The surface is inhabitable.”

“Depends what you mean by ‘inhabitable,’” said Emerald.

Boss leaned over him, her eyes narrowed. “Try me.”

Emerald didn’t say anything. He lay there, just staring at the wall for so long that Boss wondered if he might have simply expired. But, at last, he spoke. “It’s bad,” he said. “Nothing grows and the ponies kill each other. They kill each other, or they hole up and let the rest of the world bleed.” He turned to her. “If you’ll take one piece of advice: stay in here.”

“Duly noted,” said Boss.

The security guard entered, carrying a bag. “Here’s all the stuff,” he said, plopping the bag on a nearby table. Boss turned and sorted through what was there. Most of the things didn’t surprise her. There was a canteen, some vials of liquid, a pack of bandages that on closer inspection turned out to be nearly used up, a compact shotgun, a small back of bottlecaps... Boss puzzled over that for a while – a letter, and, most curiously, a diamond.

The stone was as large as her entire hoof, a clear, multi-faceted gemstone. Light danced off of its faces, casting rainbow patterns into the viewer’s face. Yet it was not completely clear. Right in the center was a tiny pink flaw.

When she returned her attention to Emerald, she saw the pony lying, his head sunk into the pillow, staring forlornly at the gemstone.

“Keep it safe, please,” he whispered. “Don’t let anyone else in here, don’t let anyone take it.”

“Uh-huh,” said Boss. “Mind telling me what it is?”

“Just for six months...” said Emerald. “Just six months...”

“That isn’t an answer. Emerald...”

But Emerald wasn’t listening. He took one more look at the diamond, before looking at the ceiling. “Wish I could’ve gone home again...” He sighed.

“Well what is it?” There was a tap on her shoulder. “What?” She whirled around a very frightened-looking nurse.

“I’m sorry, Overmare,” he said. “But the patient needs his rest. I think it’s best you go now.”

Boss turned and walked towards the door. Before leaving, however, she stopped.

“Nurse?” she asked.

“Yes?” he replied.

“Do you like your job?” she asked.

“A lot of the times there isn’t a whole lot to ‘enjoy,’” the nurse admitted. “There’s some dirty work that needs to be done.”

“So that’s a no?”

“Well...” The nurse mulled over it. “I wouldn’t say that. It isn’t always a clean job. But I’m here for a purpose. I care for other ponies and I do the best job I can. Sometimes it hurts. It’s never pleasant to watch a pony die. And a lot of ponies die in here. But I guess it’s best if they die where there’s a pony there to watch over and take care of them. That, if nothing else, keeps me at peace. And even though ponies die in here, other ponies live. I like to think I’ve saved a lot of lives in here. And that makes it worth it.”

Boss looked at him for a moment. Then, she opened the door and left.

She didn’t head for her office immediately, however. Instead she went for the break room and sat down at one of the tables. She looked over at the busted jukebox in the corner. That would need to be repaired eventually. Something to add to the to-do list.

“So, you checked up on him?” asked a voice. Boss turned her head and saw Books standing in the doorway. “You don’t mind if I join you, do you?”

Boss shrugged and gestured to the seat across from her. Books took the invitation and walked over, taking the seat.

“That was a very kind thing you did,” he said.

“It wasn’t a kindness,” said Boss. “I wanted answers. They’ve turned out disappointing so far.”

“How is he?” he asked.

“Oh, he’s probably going to die,” she said dismissively. “Probably before he tells us anything useful.”

“Are we leaving the stable?” he asked.

Boss paused. “I’m going to call a meeting,” she said. “We’ll discuss it with the council.”

Books smiled. “Of course,” he said, nodding. “Anything else on your mind?”

She paused. “Books, I have a question for you.”

“Yes?”

“Do you like your job?”

Books paused, that soft, kind smile still on his face. “Yes, I do. I couldn’t take the job as long as I have if I didn’t.”

“You have been at it a long time,” she admitted.

“Yes. I’m an old pony,” he said. “I’ve seen a lot of ponies here grow up. And I’ve seen a lot of them die in my tenure. Some of them die before they should. That’s always sad. It’s my job to be a teacher and a guide. And usually that’s good. When a pony succeeds, I can take pride in that. But that means it hurts more when that doesn’t happen. I’ve watched you grow up, you know. You and your brother.”

“Disappointed?” Boss asked dryly.

Books chuckled. “But yes. I’m happy with my job. What about you? Do you like your job?”

Boss sat there, quiet. At length, she answered.

“No.”

All Stable 51 Board members are to report to the Overmare’s chambers for an unscheduled meeting.

So read the message that Boss relayed to her peers. The Stable Board had not been Boss’s idea, being the brainchild of some Overmare many years back who decided that the opinions of her peers were of some importance. The explanation was that some tasks were out of the Overmare’s sphere of expertise and as such the input of those directly involved was vital. It was also supposed to be some sort of democratic experiment.

Boss, however, figured that the Overmare had simply been lazy and wanted to delegate tasks she couldn’t be bothered with to others.

Emerald had died in the night. There was nothing the doctors or medical equipment could do. Worse yet, he’d told her very little of what she wanted to know. In the end she’d been more annoyed with his opaque non-answers than she had been upset about his death.

The arrival of a visitor brought along several implications. It could be reasonably assumed that the surface was not, in fact, an instant death sentence on any who walked there. It was also clear, however, that it was very dangerous. The pony had been carrying a weapon. He hadn’t told them who or what was trying to kill him. The stable probably was the safest place possible, but it seemed to her that maybe, just maybe, there was a chance out there. Maybe they could finally leave the stable.

Maybe she could finally leave the stable. Step into the outside, free from the confining metal walls of the stable and the low ceilings and the same corridors that she had memorized since she was a filly.

On the down to the command center, Boss had to pass the machine workshop. She heard the voice: an untrained but cutting tenor that belted out lyrics.

“Nothin’ ever grows in this rotten old hole

And everything is stunted and lost.”

She saw Rocker, building the only thing he had ever worked on in his life: a motorbike. The thing looked, quite frankly, like a complete heap of junk, cobbled together out of various bits of scrap metal he’d managed to get throughout his life. Boss doubted it would ever run.

“And nothin’ really rocks

And nothin’ really rolls

And nothin’s ever worth the cost!”

“So what exactly is the payoff here?” asked Boss. Rocker turned around, surprised at the Overmare’s sudden appearance. “You’re gonna bust out of here on your bike for all of twenty yards before it breaks down and we drag you back inside?”

“I’m not stupid,” said Rocker. “I know about the, about the dude that came in from outside.” He looked back at its bike. “We can live out there now.”

“Maybe,” said Boss. “I’ll have to discuss it. In the meantime, I wouldn’t get my hopes up. We don’t know what’s out there or if we can live there.”

“He could,” said Rocker.

“And he nearly bled to death walking in here,” said Boss. “And then he died. Kind of irritating.” She tilted her head and smiled condescendingly at Rocker, who appeared to be trying to look like he was ignoring her. “You’re so dead-set on that bike,” she continued. “You know, you’re not the first one who ever wanted to get out of here. I had a boyfriend, once. Thinking back on him he was pretty annoying. I’m not going to live the rest of my life in a hole in the ground, he says. Oh, we should go out and fucking run–”

“You had a boyfriend?” Rocker cut her off. Boss immediately drew back her hoof and smacked him across the face, and he sputtered and lifted a hoof to the red mark on his cheek.

She stared coldly at his shocked expression. “Don’t interrupt me.”

Boss entered the command center, filled with the bustle of ponies going about their business. She turned left into the main audience chamber. In the room there was a large table in the middle, where her council sat. Books, in charge of education, had his seat, along with Chubby Chuckles, who was in charge of foal-rearing. There was Lemon Tart, the mare in charge of agriculture, and Officer Staunch, head of security. Circuit, head of maintenance, slouched in her seat – she had been listless of late.

And, Boss smiled softly to herself as she looked at it, her Overmare seat off in the corner.

Her council looked up at her, as she entered. Officer Staunch stood at attention, though the others did not observe such a rigid formality. The others just sat in more attentive positions, save for the ever-slouching Circuit. Boss expected as much. Staunch was fiercely loyal, but she knew that although the others respected her authority, they did not “like” her. Or at least, she suspected they did not. Chubby made a point of trying to be friendly with everypony, but that might have been more out of a force of habit than anything. As for Books, Boss was never sure of him.

“So, you might’ve noticed we got a new body today,” said Boss, advancing towards her seat, while Chubby and Lemon Tart squirmed in theirs. She walked up to her seat and sat down, pulling a lever. The machinery hummed as she rose, the Overmare’s seat rising like a pulpit, like a sort of nest for her to sit on high. It was the ultimate symbol of her authority over the entire stable. On the sides of the seat were two large miniguns. She often suspected they were more for show than anything else, though – she had never gotten the chance to fire them. Circuits swore that they still worked, though.

“So that tells us a few things. One...” She leaned forward in her desk. “The outside.”

“What about it?” asked Staunch. The others looked at him. “We saw what happened to him. It’s not safe out there.”

“Safety is one question,” said Circuits. “But the simple fact that it’s apparently possible to live out there at all? That’s a pretty big deal. We were never meant to stay in here forever.”

Chubby Chuckles raised a timid hoof.

“Yes, Chubby?” asked Boss.

“Well,” he said, “I’m not sure if I’m really one to talk about this. I’m just the nursery-stallion. But, well... the pony died. I don’t want anyone to be at risk.”

“We already are at risk,” said Staunch. “Someone was after him. And now that we let him in, who’s to say that whatever was after him won’t–”

“Are you questioning my judgment, Officer Staunch?” asked Boss, staring down at him from her seat. The security officer backed down instantly.

“No, Overmare,” he said. “I just feel, in my capacity as an advisor, that we don’t subject the ponies of this stable to any more risk.” He swallowed, a little confidence renewed. “Furthermore, I think the pony wanted us to just stay in here.”

“For six months, at least,” said Books.

“Staunch, if you’d be so good as to show them what our unexpected guest brought with him,” said Boss. It wasn’t a question. Staunch placed the diamond on the table. Books immediately took it and began inspecting it. “I think whoever tried to kill this pony wanted it.”

“Well that’s easy,” said Circuits. “If they come after us we just give it–”

“No,” said Boss, cutting her off. The entire council looked at her. “A pony died trying to make sure that was safe. He trusted it to my care, and I’m going to make good on that.” Books leaned back in his seat. Boss wondered if that was a show of approval. “Furthermore, we don’t know what it is, exactly. I want to know what it is, and why he thought it was important enough to protect with his life.”

“If we do leave the stable,” said Lemon Tart, “I think we should be able to sustain ourselves for a time. We have plenty of food, and if there’s any arable land we could start farming.”

“And what if there isn’t?” asked Staunch.

“Well,” said Lemon Tart, “nopony said we’d have to abandon the stable. We could still use it as a base of operations.”

“First we have to determine if it is inhabitable,” said Boss. “Nevermind hospitable.”

“Well...” said Chubby Chuckles. “What do we do?”

Boss looked over them, thinking. “We send a few ponies out the front door. They’ll explore what’s out there and then report back.”

“Well, who do we send?” asked Lemon Tart.

“Rocker might be a good choice,” said Books. “He’s been wanting to leave the stable his entire life. If we granted him the chance to make that happen, I’m sure he’d gratefully take it.”

“More likely he’d run away and never come back,” said Staunch.

“We could keep him in line, I think,” said Boss. “The bike. He loves that bike more than anything. If he can’t leave without it, I know he’ll come back.”

“That’s a lot to stake on sentimentality,” said Circuits. She looked at Staunch. “Why not some of the security staff? They have training with weapons and can protect themselves if there are dangers.”

“And leave the stable understaffed?” asked Staunch.

“If anything, I think security is overstaffed,” opined Chubby Chuckles.

“Why don’t you go, Chubby?” asked Staunch. “You don’t really do anything useful here.”

“Leave him alone, Staunch!” said Lemon Tart.

“Will all of you shut up?” Boss hissed. Her voice cut over them like a knife, silencing them in a hush. They looked up at her, even Circuits seemed affected. Only Books remained unfazed.

“What is your decision?” he asked, in his ever calm voice.

Boss stood and looked over them. “I will go,” she said.

Footnote: You have created a new character!

Name: Boss
The Overmare of Stable 51. Imposing, but not very tough, she is a stern leader who is able to get other ponies to listen to her.

Strength: 4
Perception: 7
Endurance: 4
Charisma: 8
Intelligence: 8
Agility: 4
Luck: 5

You have selected the following Traits:
Skilled: You have spent more time honing your skills. You gain +5 to all skills, and you get +2 skill points per level! However, you do not gain as many special abilities, so your perk rate is reduced from one every level to one every two levels.
Claustrophobia: A lifetime of being cooped up in the stable does not suit you, and enclosed spaces make you uncomfortable. When outdoors you gain a +1 bonus to all SPECIAL stats. However, when indoors you take a -1 penalty.

You have selected the following Tag skills:
Guns - 33%
Speech - 41%
Science - 41%

183 days left.