Fallout Equestria: Time Lord's Plight

Chapters

Chapter One: All in Good Time
Chapter Two: Just in Time
Chapter Three: O Times, O Mores!
Chapter Four: Good Times, Bad Times
Chapter Five: An ill-Timed Remark
Chapter Six: To Hell in No Time
Prologue: Once Upon a Time...

Chapter One: All in Good Time

Chapter One: All in Good Time

"Welcome to the equine race."

I opened my eyes with a yawn. Waking up had always been a pleasant experience to me. What could possibly be better than to greet the newborn day as the sun peeks through the thin blanket of white clouds and the birds begin their morning rehearsal for the ultimate song of life? Get up, make myself a cup of fine tea, check my TARDIS... Time Lord-y stuff, you know?

Well, I can say that morning was slightly different. The first thing that I noticed upon lifting my weary eyelids was the fact that I was, to put it bluntly, lying in the middle of some desert, with no buildings, or ponies, or at least some greenery for miles around. Moreover, I didn't feel the usual pleasant grip around my neck, which led to the conclusion that I had somehow lost my tie. And that, ladies and gentlecolts, had never happened before. I mean, I may have got drunk and lost my sonic screwdriver (and my sanity, at that) more than once... but a true gentlecolt never, I repeat, never loses his tie, which, as you all may have already guessed, is the main symbol of pride and dignity for him. That is, me. 'Cause I'm a gentlecolt, you know?

So, my tie was gone, and that surely didn't add a pleasant taste to the generally disgusting and steely flavour of the morning. I pondered for a moment as my lazy brain tried to make the gears in my head reel. Taste was indeed the right word, for I could very much physically sense a disturbing taste of steel in my mouth.

Oh. There was a gun in my mouth. And it was indeed pointed at me. My awakening had suddenly acquired new shades of puzzlement and confusion. I took an experimental lick at the barrel. I mean, anypony would have done the same, right? Natural reactions and all that jazz. And not because I'm gay. Because I'm not. Throughout my Time Lord career, I've been asked this question a lot of times, and the answer still stands: no. If you're interested, you can ask my friend - one of the few true friends I've ever had, and probably the only one who didn't turn his back on me when I regenerated into a pony. Just stopped hitting on me. ...You know, you probably don't want to meet him. Or know him. Or know of him... Ahem! Anyway. The gun in my mouth. Yes. A much more interesting topic to speculate on.

So, either I had somehow ended up going to bed while chewing on a steel barrel or-

"Wake up, bitch!"

-or somepony had, apparently, put it in my mouth moments prior, thus bringing about my awakening. Something (natural Time Lord intelligence?) told me that it was the latter, no doubt. While the form of addressing left much to be desired, the loud masculine voice carried a weight of dominance, which, supported by the weapon that the bearer was holding, made me slowly raise my hooves in an attempt to show that I, indeed, had woken up.

The barrel was immediately removed from my mouth and I slowly turned my head towards the source of the voice. I wish I hadn't done it, for what I saw surely didn't add any fuel to the fire of my morale. Next to me was standing a muscular grey stallion, his body covered with fearsome scars, his green spiked mane certainly giving the impression of deviant behaviour. As my eyes drifted towards his flank for a moment, I saw his cutie mark to be a spiked mace, with a drop of blood on it. I surely didn't want to know if it was a part of his cutie mark of if the blood was real: my stomach was already slightly retching at the unpleasant sight. He was holding a rifle in his magical grip (the unicorns; ever so lucky to have telekinesis!) in such a way that the barrel was just an inch away from my face... Actually, screw that. It was just a centimetre away from my face - we have accepted the metric system in the UK, after all! British stallions know their business well, mind it, even if they are in the middle of Celestia-knows-where.

It is usually advised that, in such situations, one shouldn't make any sudden movements, or try to escape, or, Celestia forbid, start running around in panic. Being the smart stallion I am, and keeping in mind that precious advice, I slowly turned my head towards the grey unicorn, my eyes widening as I saw another one standing next to him: a pink earth pony with an orange mane, a true epitome of brightness and cheerfulness, one might say, especially compared to the bleak surroundings. He looked like one of those ponies that usually greet you in amusement parks and hand out free coupons for something-or-the-other. Were it not for the fact that he was holding a spiked club in his mouth, a weapon perfectly resembling the one depicted on his flank. I gulped, trying not to think how he had got his cutie mark.

"May I get up?" I wondered softly, trying to maintain my politeness and keep my composure while being taken aim at, which, believe me, is not a particularly easy task.

The unicorn chuckled, revealing his ugly, rotten teeth, looking like a true book-ish villain at that particular moment. "You'd better get up, or I'll shove this gun here up yer ass till it comes outta your throat!"

Oh, thank you for the detailed explanation. From what the grey stallion had said, I could deduce three major points. First, his pronunciation left much to be desired, and his breath was as foul as toxic waste. Second, he was probably not familiar with equine anatomy, for the rifle could not pierce a pony's body in such a fashion... I guess. And, last but not least, he was holding a big gun, and commanding me to get up. Yeah, make that first.

Obeying the Mr. I-Don't-Brush-My-Teeth's command, I stood up, not too hastily, in order to avoid annoying my two... captors? I guess that's a suitable word for the situation. While my brain was pathetically trying to deduce where I was, what was going on, and how the hay I had managed to end up in such a situation, the grey stallion turned to his colourful friend, if such ponies could ever make friends.

"I don't think we'll get much caps for him," he said with a frown, betraying all rules of proper English and thus, Equestrian, grammar. "He's pro'lly a good-for-nothing scum. After all, what can his special talent be with a cutie mark like this?" The colourful stallion nodded in agreement, the club in his mouth preventing him from speaking.

As if you're the one to speak... I thought, eyeing Mr. Spiked-Hair's cutie mark. At least mine wasn't depicting a tool of crime, 'cause, you know, you can't murder anypony, or anyone at all, with an hourglass. At least there haven't been any attempts that I've heard of.

Oh, I haven't really told you anything apart from my name, have I? I'm a stallion. A British stallion. A British stallion who is also a Time Lord. That's the point where you give me a standing ovation. Thank you very much. Now, since I really didn't choose what to regenerate into, I ended up being an earth pony. Not that I hold anything anything against earth ponies, given that I'm one. Just... no magic, no wings... What to live for? ...Saturdays. I live for Saturdays. Just saying. I love Saturdays.

So... I've a brown coat and a black mane. Not too short, not too long: a perfect proportion. Guess that's it. Oh, and I can also travel through the fabric of Time and Space via my time-spaceship, TARDIS. But that's not really interesting to you, is it? I've a sonic screwdriver and I like playing cricket. That pretty much sums it all. Now, back to the point where I was being humiliated by two ugly ponies.

The grey stallion prompted me to follow him as he began his way through the lifeless desert. Now that I thought about it, it seemed more like wasteland to me. Deserts have sand, and some cacti, and scorpions, and what-not. This piece of land, on the other hoof, seemed dead: the scorched ground streaked with cracks and occasional bones (I really hoped those were not equine bones) surely did make an impression of a sombre, neverending wasteland.

Although I tried not to look back in an attempt not to give my captors any reasons to act funny, I could very well feel that I was being followed by the colourful earth pony, his club just an in- a centimetre away from my flank, and that surely didn't add a pleasant tingle to my stomach.

"You wanna know who we are?" Mr. I-Can-Magically-Hold-A-Weapon-And-Speak-Simultaneously wondered as we walked through the rotten wasteland, my hooves already sore from stepping on rough, insufferably rough ground.

Although some more important questions were haunting my head, of which I have already told you, I nodded, for my interest in who my captors were was pretty strong.

"Name's Broken Bone," he said, turning his head towards me, his weapon firmly aimed at my head. "This here," he extended his hoof, pointing it at the colourful stallion, "is Bloody Club, my pal."

Oh. Well, that explains everything. Broken Bone and his pal Bloody Club (a very fitting name, if I may say) were just walking across some lifeless wasteland, saw a poor sleeping Time Lord with no memories of the past few days whatsoever, and decided to sell him somewhere. Makes perfect sense. With the exception that it doesn't.

"So... where do you presume to take me now?" I enquired, trying to keep my tone as soft and nonchalant as possible. Like... a tea party. Yes, a small, cosy tea party with two friends on the verge of stuffing my rear with a rifle. Sounds amazing, I know.

Apparently, either my phrasing was too sophisticated for the unicorn or my voice wasn't sweet enough, because he frowned and tossed me a dangerous look.

"Shut your hole, bitch," was his reply, and that was more than enough for me to obey and close my mouth, keeping my speculations and questions to myself.

Unfortunately, my brain didn't want to contribute to my thinking process that much. I had no idea where I was, why I was here, and what was going on in general. I was lacking my TARDIS, my sonic screwdriver, and, more importantly, my wonderful green tie. I had gone off to sleep the previous day, and had woken up here some half an hour ago. Those were the facts, which I recited in my head over and over; alas, the pieces of the puzzle didn't want to fall together, no matter how hard I tried. My head ached and my stomach was retching dangerously. I considered concussion to be a possible reason for all of this.

The route we were following had reached some form of a proper road now: scorched, lifeless soil gave place to a badly cobbled stone path, which looked particularly lonely in the middle of the wasteland, leading all the way up to the horizon. I couldn't see its end; not that I wanted to, of course. If anything, I was waiting for something to change the situation, for someone to come and save my sorry flank, as it had always happened before, each time I found myself between a rock and a hard place.

No such luck. Apparently, all heroes around here, if there were any, were either busy with their heroic affairs or unwilling to lend a helping hoof to a confused and disheartened Time Lord. Ah well.

I can't really say for how long we had been walking. Funny, right? A Time Lord who doesn't possess the ability to tell the time? But facts were facts: even though I could travel through time, I still needed a watch, or a clock, to know what time it was, like any other pony. I presume we'd been walking for hours, for my poor hooves ached painfully, unused to covering long distances at such pace, and without making any stops, no less. At least the sun was hidden behind a thick curtain of clouds that was covering the whole sky for some reason, some reason which I had no will to think about. What mattered to me was the fact that the sun wasn't burning my spine as I walked, and I was perfectly fine with it.

Suddenly, Mr... Broken Bone (now that I knew his name, there was no reason for me to give him fancy nicknames) stopped dead in his tracks, the barrel of his rifle no longer pointed at my face, but instead at something in the distance. I squinted my eyes and saw three blurred dots approaching us. I couldn't make out what exactly they were, though - we Time Lords aren't particularly well-known for good eyesight. I even wear glasses when I read something! And I look good while wearing them. Just saying.

Bloody Club left his place behind my back and stepped forth, readying his bloody club for battle. (See what I did here? Excuse me while I laugh at my hilarious joke.)

"Shit. Radscorpions," Broken Bone cursed and aimed his rifle at one of the growing dots.

Radscorpions? As in, scorpions? That certainly did add a point to my "scorched desert" theory, as opposed to the "lifeless wasteland" theory, which had just lost one. ...But I digress here, right? Before my brain could process the new information, my instincts had already kicked in: realising, albeit on a subconscious level, that my escorts' attention was now diverted from me, and so were their weapons, I took a very quick and an immensely reasonable step. I turned, and ran away.

'Cause, you know, running away is what we Time Lords do best. Travelling through Time and Space and running away. If there ever were some kind of Olympic Games for Time Lords, those would be the only two disciplines. But I digress. Again.

Trying not to pay attention to the pain in my hooves, I galloped away, not really watching where I was going, the wasteland (desert?) looking all the same to me. I heard gunshots from behind, but no hoofsteps, apart from my own: that meant that my ex-captors were too occupied with shooting scorpions to chase me.

A bullet ripped through the air, just above my shoulder, making my hair stand on end. Or they were simply sure that they'd shoot me without giving chase. Well, let them try. I gritted my teeth and appealed to all the resources my body had in order to outrun the deadly lead that was now swishing through the air all above me. I took a turn to the left, another bullet piercing the air in the exact place where my right hind leg had been a second before. Praising my intuition, I ran on and on, until the sound of gunshots could no longer be heard.

I stopped, breathing heavily, sweat pouring from my brow, my legs trembling terribly. I was exhausted to the bone from running, and my poor lungs couldn't get enough oxygen from the air, as if the atmosphere was... polluted with something? Taking a quick glance around and sending a mental prayer to Celestia with a big "thank you" for making my ex-captors decide against following me, I collapsed onto the sandy surface, which was adorned with rocks and occasional cacti (desert! Told you it was a desert!) and exhaled in relief. I was safe, at least for the time being. All thoughts left my head, making it heavy, albeit empty. I yawned and rolled over.

The world could wait. So could my thoughts... and those ponies... and cacti... Why am I thinking about cacti?.. At this point, my eyelids grew heavy and I drifted off to sleep.

***

Have I told you how unlucky I am yet? No? Well, I am. I mean, some ponies are naturally unlucky, and I sure as hay am one of them. It's not that kind of unluckiness when you lose your tenth poker game in a row, or trip and break your leg every other month or so, or something like that. No, ladies and gentlecolts, I am the epitome of unluckiness. Because every Celestia-damn time I wake up, I find myself in the middle of something, and that something is rarely pleasant. My each and every day begins with some kind of adventure and, while some four hundred years ago it was exciting, now it just freaks me out.

I woke up, lazily licking my dry lips. My mood was somewhat high, due to the fact that I was, a) alive; b) alive; and c) alive. These three little facts surely meant the world to me at the moment. Only now had I realised how good it was to wake up without a rifle in your mouth, knowing that you woke up at the exact place you'd gone off to sleep, and, more importantly, alone.

My eyes inspected the bleak surroundings, which, as I may have already mentioned, left much to be desired: sand, stone and occasional cacti were the only forms of amusement for an inquisitive mind, which once more drove me to the conclusion that I was lying in the middle of some desert.

I yawned and rolled over, with a clear intention to take my time and think over the situation. I mean, there must be a reason for my being here, with no TARDIS, no tie and no ideas about the past or the future. Or the present, for that matter. Alcohol? Barely: I didn't remember drinking anything the previous night. Besides, my alcohol tolerance is supreme. You can compose myths about my alcohol tolerance. Stuff of legends, you know?

Time-Space rift? Possible, but unlikely: although it had happened to me many times (like, many many times), I had ensured that TARDIS was in its "No-time-travelling" mode before going to bed. Never want to end up somewhere (and sometime), with no idea how the hay you had ended up there, right? Oh, wait a minute, there's something I'm missing here...

...Scorpions? No, that wasn't a suggestion. That was reality. As I rolled over, the gears in my head turning idly, I saw three kings of the desert, three regal insects, their sting deadly and ever so swift. If I said that my eyes widened to the size of saucers, that would be a severe understatement; they outstretched far wider, almost popping out of my head like in one of those old cartoons; my breath became shallow, almost silent, and I was pretty sure one of my two hearts stopped for a moment. Oh yeah, we Time Lords have two hearts - neat, huh? I mean, even for an earth pony! ...Though, neither of them would probably help me live longer if I got stung by a scorpion... A very big scorpion, at that. A hell of a scorpion, to be exact. I'd go so far as to call it a giant scorpion, from my point of view. What did those guys call them? Radscorpions? Yes, seems to be it.

Anyway, I felt that the fan had just met a certain old acquaintance, if you know what I mean, and damn it if it weren't facing me. Because it totally was. Three scorpions... erm, radscorpions, whatever, were slowly approaching me, their tails up and prepared to land a killing blow.

In such situations, contrary to what you may have read, or heard, one's brain simply ceases to function properly. It's a natural reaction, to think about something else, anything but the approaching danger. I, for one, started searching for reasons why those creatures were moving in groups of three. I mean, really? Some unwritten law? Or, maybe, a rule-book for vicious killers?

Fortunately, my subconscious wasn't as stupid as the conscious part of my brain, so my body, tense and trembling, was trying to find a way to escape. I began slowly crawling away from the scorpions, very slowly, centimetre by centimetre, not diverting my eyes from any of them. My brain finally managed to get back on the route of thinking about survival (triple hooray), and I considered getting up at the first convenient point, as soon as possible. The scorpions were following me just as slowly, not rushing, however, and that gave me a smidgeon of hope. I just had to stay silent... Yes... another centimetre, one more... And another one... A few more, and I-

Crack.

Crap. I don't know what freaked me out more at this moment: the fact that I, apparently, had crushed a bone under my hoof, not looking where I was retreating, or that the scorpions stopped at once, lifting their tails even higher. One way or another, I yelled on top my lungs, forgetting my thoroughly-planned escape, and jumped up, running away. Needless to say, the vile creatures gave chase.

Oh crap. I ran with no intention of looking back, letting my feet guide my brain, for once in my life. Erm... make it twice. In a day. I couldn't see my chasers, but I could very well feel them: the tingling that was travelling down my spine non-stop told me that the scorpions were near, but I was determined to survive.

You know that feeling of determination, right? When you've used your last regeneration to turn into a pony (because ponies are cool, as you may already know) and you have not a single urge to die in a desert (or wasteland; doesn't really matter as of now), stung to death by radscorpions? Well, apparently, you don't. But believe me, this is a very strong feeling. It gives you wings. Yes, just like Red Pegasus (TM or something).

I ran on top of my abilities, ravaging my energy resources, and, to my delight, the tingling faded gradually. I was leaving them behind. I was bucking leaving them behind! Well, aren't I just the fastest living thing ever!

...Fate's a bitch. Sorry, I don't usually swear, but I think that this is an appropriate moment. Fate is a bitch, and I should have learned it long ago. Every time you think it's going to get better; every time you think you've overcome something; every time you think, "damn it, I'm good!" - Fate will crush you like a bottle of pickles. ...All right, that was a crappy metaphor (simile? Told you I was no writer); still, you get the point. Fate will cut you down, crush you into pieces and drive to utter misery.

So she did now. I assume by default that Fate, just as Luck, is a lady. If bitches can be ladies, that is. Anyway, as I ran without really looking where I was running, my little splash of cheerfulness diverted my attention from the road (imaginary road, if I may add), and I tripped over a stone, falling onto my back. The scorpions shortened the distance between us with glee, if scorpions can ever feel gleeful. These ones could, apparently.

I tried backing down, but my back propped up against something hard and cold. I took a quick look over my shoulder. Of course. A rock. A big, dumb rock just sitting there in the middle of the desert, waiting for an occasional Time Lord to stumble upon. The radscorpions drew nearer, clanking their claws, their deadly tails aimed at me like gun barrels.

Crap. Crap crap crap! Remember that part where I said I didn't swear? Well, forget it: I do, even though I try to keep it gentlecolt-ly. Yes, that's a word. I invented it. As the poisonous tails almost reached my body, being just a few centimetres from it, I closed my eyes in fear. It's a natural reaction. I'm afraid of death, too, you know? Well, I thought, at least I've lived a long and exciting life. Or something. Yes, I know, I'm not really good at last thoughts, I admit. I should've thought about something more heroic, like... I dunno, Life, the Universe, and Everything?

BLAM! BLAM! BLAM!

Huh? My eyes shot wide open, my ears perked up from the loud sound, and I took a quick glance around. What I saw surprised me greatly; in a good way, though: the scorpions lay dead, their once impenetrable armour shattered, disgusting goo pouring out of the bodies. I looked closer: a small object lay on the ground near my unlucky chasers, something resembling a round bullet. I placed it onto my hoof, inspecting it closely.

"Custom-made," came a voice from above, a very low masculine voice, carrying those notes of dignity and confidence that most stallions lack these days.

I looked up. Off in the distance stood a brown pegasus, his coat resembling mine in shade, although his was somewhat... dirtier? His short mane was silver grey, even though the stallion wasn't very old, judging from his muscular and lean complexion - that was a sign of experience weighing on him, a hard pressure indeed. A strange contraption was strapped to his back: a saddle with two guns on each side; grey-ish smoke was erupting from the barrels, driving me to a conclusion that this pegasus was my saviour; not that there were any other ponies around to have shot the scorpions, of course. What shocked me greatly was the fact that his cutie mark, or at least the place where his cutie mark should have been, was adorned with a scorched scar of some kind, which resembled a... thundercloud? Don't judge me - I told you my eyesight was far from perfect!

Anyway, I decided it was a good moment to express my gratitude towards the pony who's risked his life saving mine. 'Cause, you know, otherwise I'd be a dead Time Lord; a very dead Time Lord. And being dead sucks.

"Thank you, sir," I said with a polite bow, which came out rather clumsy, given that I was sitting on the ground.

The pegasus silently approached the corpses and began inspecting them closely. I blinked at his lack of reaction. Well, maybe he had difficulties with hearing; that stuff happens, right?

I cleared my throat audibly, just as the brown stallion took out a knife out of his saddlebag (quite skilfully, if I may add) and began cutting one of the three corpses.

"THANK YOU, SIR!" I shouted into his ear, moving closer, eager to deliver my gratitude one way or another. "THANK YOU FOR SAVING ME!"

He dropped the knife and turned his head towards me, a frown on his face. "Yell one more time, and your death will be swift."

Oh. Well, apparently, he was far from being hard of hearing; or from having good manners, for that matter. I mean, who in Equestria responds like that to a genuine show of emotion?

I struggled to get to my hooves - took me a while, though, as my hooves were trembling from running (not fear, of course! As if Time Lords can be afraid of a few insects!) and my whole body was shaking. Oh, and my stomach was protesting wildly against my very existence. Like a Celestia-damn anarchist. Hate those. A thought rushed through my head that I was apparently hungry. Which was kinda logical, though: I hadn't had breakfast yet, and throw your rocks at me if you know a single British stallion who'd miss the most important meal with glee and excitement. 'Cause there aren't any.

Meanwhile, my saviour had already taken the knife once more and was cutting some random pieces from the scorpions' bodies. Mmm, meaty... What? Don't look at me like that - I was hungry!

I watched him do his job in silence, and he surely had no intention of breaking it. He collected a few pieces of something-or-the-other from the corpses and put them into one of his saddlebags, promptly getting up and turning away from me. Only now could I see that his cutie mark was scorched at both sides of his flank. Not that I usually look at stallions' flanks. Just... Argh, moving on!

The pegasus got up, his brown coat gloriously reflecting the heat of the desert. And no, I'm not saying it was beautiful just because mine is the same colour. Just... Look, I'm trying to be a writer here. It's called "descriptive language", okay? As he began walking away, slowly, I followed him, a little offended by the fact that not only did he not reply to my "thanks for saving my life", but also took a French leave. So I followed him with a clear intention of fixing that! ...Who am I kidding - I was in the middle of some Celestia-damn desert, with no survival skills or a clear view of what was going on around me; of course I had to stick to him, at least for the time being, no matter how rude he seemed to me.

We walked in silence for a while. At first, I tried to clear my throat politely every minute or so, but soon gave up any attempts, just following his lead. The desert around me didn't really suit my fancy, if you know what I mean. And I mean that it was bland, plain and really dull. Boring. Gloomy. Choose any adjective you want. I occupied myself with trying to guess how many shades of grey the desert contained; and, believe me, I'd already counted to fifty or so when my companion finally turned around.

"What. Do you want?" he rapped out the words with good measure, his blue eyes fixed on mine, as if he tried to penetrate my very skull. How nice of him.

"I want to thank you for saving my life," I replied, stopping with a little bow of my head as he stopped as well, eyeing me curiously.

"Gratitude doesn't bring in caps," he said grimly, turning away from me as he continued his way through the desert, me following him in confusion.

"Caps?" I wondered. As in, cricket caps? Oh, at least I'm not the only one here interested in cricket! Great! Sure, he may have acted like a ruffian and what-not, but at least he had some respect for the best game in the world! That adds a few points to his profile for sure. Oh, yes, and the fact he'd saved me. Can't forget that.

The stallion sighed without stopping or even looking at me. "Caps. Bottle caps. The main currency here in the Wasteland."

"The Wasteland?" Damn. There goes my Desert theory. Aw well, if he says it's a wasteland, let it be a wasteland. After all, it seemed that he surely had some experience in this strange place.

Now, he stopped and pierced me with that Why-are-you-so-damn-stupid look of his. Sticks and stones... "The Wasteland. The fucking shithole we're in. Where are you from? The fucking moon?"

Wow. That sure was an impressive wave of profanity. I shook my head. "No. Not exactly. But I've found myself here this morning, with a gun pointed at my face, and now I have no idea how I ended up here in the first place," I explained, supporting my words with an idle hoof gesture. "I'm a time traveller," I carried on, immediately recognising the "Oh yeah, sure, and I'm Princess Celestia's auntie" look that he gave me. "I'm serious. I don't know a thing about this place; I usually travel through Time and Space on my spaceship, TARDIS," I said, deciding that it was for the better to be completely honest with the pony who'd saved my life so valiantly, even if he didn't believe me in the slightest.

The pegasus sighed and shook his head in defeat. "Look, I don't know whether you're a junkie or just insane, but you can stick to me for the time being." He looked at the horizon, as if he could see something more than the scorched earth and bleak surroundings. "Or maybe you're really some time-travelling pony; I don't give two shits." I winced slightly, not used to such a way of expressing one's attitude. "Just don't be a bother and try to be helpful." He cast an estimating glance at me and frowned. "Forget it. Just try not to be a bother."

My mood rose slightly as I followed the brown pegasus cheerfully. Even though I hadn't had breakfast yet; even though I had no idea what this whole place was and where this affair would lead me; even though I had been dancing on the edge of dying twice that day - I had somepony to stick to, somepony experienced enough to keep us alive. At least, that's what I told myself.

"Where exactly are we going?" I asked after a few minutes of walking in silence. All right, maybe after a few seconds. I'm impatient by nature, you know?

"Where I am going," he distanced himself from me as he said it. "The tower."

I waited for him to elaborate but he just kept walking on and on, not paying attention to me, while I was trying to catch up to him, his pace being faster than the one I was used to.

"What tower?" I asked, trying not to offend my saviour and companion (at least for the time being).

"Not Tenpony, that's for sure." He let out a chuckle, and I felt obliged to smile as well, even though I had no idea what he was talking about. Some kind of inside joke, I assumed.

We walked in silence for a while. My head started to feel heavy; my sight grew slightly dim, and the de- the Wasteland seemed to lull me with its constant sameness. I really wished for a change of scenery, for I couldn't let myself fall asleep here, lest I be devoured by some scorpions or sold into slavery or whatever these crazy wastelanders (I guess that's a word) used to get a kick out of.

"What shall I call you?" my companion asked suddenly, making me snap out of my sleepy state and blink in surprise. A-ha! After all, he did care for me, at least a little! "So that I know what to call you when you may come in handy."

Or not. Or he was just looking forward to using me. Well, he did have such a right, after all - I owed him, and I owed him my life, no less.

"Doctor," I replied. "My name's The Doctor."

"Doctor who?" he asked idly, not looking back, which, as I assumed, was his usual manner of speaking.

"Just The Doctor. You can omit the 'The' when addressing me," I explained, wincing at my own lexical repetition. I hate those. Almost as much as anarchists. But not that much. A little less. Grr, there it is again!

"So you know a thing or two about medicine, huh?" my saviour continued in an idle tone, although I could sense a hint of curiosity in it as he asked me that question.

"Not exactly." I shook my head. "I'm not that kind of doctor. I tend to people's souls rather than bodies."

I could feel him frown even though he didn't turn round. "Another useless preacher, then," he concluded with a sigh. I thought it for the better not to argue. After all, I had told him I was no preacher but a time traveller. Unfortunately, I had no proof. I resolved to learn a little about him instead.

"What shall I call you?" I wondered, trying to maintain a little nonchalance. To no avail, as you may have guessed: my voice was trembling with excitement and my eyes were shining vigorously. Not that I could look into my own eyes... Just... I felt like they were shining vigorously. "In case I need your help," I added hastily, lest he assume that I had opened my sorry mouth out of pure curiosity. Which I totally did.

"Turner," he said in his I-won't-look-at-you-while-speaking-to-you manner.

"Pleased to meet you, Turner," I said, extending my hoof politely. To my dismay, he either hadn't noticed my friendly gesture or pretended not to have noticed it, and just trotted on. "So... Can you tell me a thing or two about this Wasteland we find ourselves in?" I wondered, trying to hold my excitement at the prospect of learning something new and trying to sound business-like at the same time.

"Long ago, the bombs fell upon Equestria," he began explaining on the go. "Destroyed everything. Now we try to survive in this shithole. The radiation doesn't add a pleasant bite to it."

Well, look who's being laconic. My pegasus saviour, if you haven't guessed. Still, his explanation was enough for me to understand that this planet, once a peaceful land of Equestria, was destroyed by some kind of nuclear conflict and this wasteland was all that was left. I've seen worse things, just so you know. But... it still struck my heartstrings a little. I mean, as a pony, I used to spend days in Equestria. It looked like a utopia to me. And now this utopia lay in ruins before my very eyes... Not a very heart-warming sight, what?

"I see."

We walked in silence for a while, until Turner stopped dead in his tracks, extending his hoof to his right, motioning for me to stop as well. I obeyed, looking around in concern. However, I couldn't see, hear, smell or sense, in any other way, anything that could be out of place.

Apparently, Turner could, for he reloaded his saddle thing-y (some sort of battle saddle, I guess? With guns and stuff) with a swift kick and bit on the string connecting it to his mouth, his tongue waiting to push the button.

"What's the-" I began, but was interrupted by a brown hoof that was shoved into my mouth. Ouch. Turner turned (you get it? Get it? Turner turned! Aren't I just a natural comedian?) his head towards me with a glare. He let go of the control string for a moment and whispered to me only one phrase, and that phrase came out rather grimly, if you ask me.

"We have company."

***

Footnote:

Level up!

You're S.P.E.C.I.A.L.! ...but you know that already.

Strength: 4

Perception: 7

Endurance: 6

Charisma: 7

Intelligence: 10

Agility: 5

Luck: 7

Traits:

Seasoned - You are over nine thousand years old! Okay, well, make it nine hundred. Still, that sort of experience lets you begin your journey across the Wasteland with maxed out INT. Aren’t you just lucky to be smart? And they say getting old is a bad thing...

Diplomacy - You really do have a smooth tongue. Your ability to pass speech checks is twice as great as any common pony’s.

New Perk: The Earth Pony Way - You're an earth pony. Earth ponies are cool. You gain +1 to Strength and Endurance when standing on soil undamaged by radiation. As if you can find such soil in the Wasteland...

Chapter Two: Just in Time

Chapter Two: Just in Time

"You learn about life by the accidents you have, over and over again."

Have I told you how much I hate violence? No? Well, I do. I mean, progress has allowed us ponies to solve our problems in a calm, intelligent manner, in a peaceful way, not via the medium of violence. I would always prefer a talk to a fight, you know? Apparently, the Wasteland had other thoughts on the matter (great, now I'm thinking of it as a living being), for the group of ponies that had appeared before us looked by no means friendly or inclined to partake in a conversation.

The three unicorns (okay, now I was pretty sure everything came in threes at this crazy place) that were now standing in our way looked rather frightening to me: each one of them was muscular, in addition to having some sort of weapon in their magical grip. The snow white stallion on the left was holding a rifle, which resembled the one I'd almost been shot with some half a day ago (with the sky covered with clouds, it was really difficult to tell day from night), his long brown mane dirty and dishevelled, creating a disgusting contrast with his pristine coat. The orange stallion in the middle was levitating a large machete, grinning, his dirty, almost black teeth resembling his mane in colour. The dark blue stallion on the right had a weapon of a different design: it looked like a metal apple... some sort of grenade, I concluded. Every other second, he tossed his purple mane aside, which, honestly, was freaking me out a little. Okay, maybe more than a little. But then again, who was I to judge?

"Hey there," the orange unicorn greeted us with an unpleasant grin on his face. I assumed that he was the leader of the three. "What'cha doin' in our domain?" Wow. And here I was, thinking that with an accent like that he didn't know the word "domain".

"Passing by," Turner hissed through his teeth, his muscles visibly tense. I really hoped he was not preparing for a battle. 'Cause, you know, violence is not the answer to all questions. Or any questions at all, if you ask me.

"Passin' by, eh?" The orange stallion let out a bark that only slightly resembled laughter and waved his machete at the blue stallion on his left. That is, on our right. 'Cause we were standing opposite them. "Can you hear it, Boom? Them's passin' by!"

The blue unicorn joined in the laughter. Only now did I notice that his cutie mark was some kind of supernova - probably something connected with explosions; hence the stupid name, I guess.

"You can't jes' go passin' by like that. Yer need t' pay," he continued, addressing us in his disgusting accent, which seemed to grow worse and worse with every passing second. Like a plague or something. I hoped it wasn't contagious.

All right, time to call upon my super-powers. That is, super-negotiation-powers. Which I totally possess. Sometimes I wonder if my special talent really is time-travelling or somepony had mistakenly given me an hourglass cutie mark: quite clearly, it should have been a... tribune? A mouth? Something connected with negotiation... A hoofshake? ...On a second thought, screw that. The hourglass looks nice.

"We are very sorry, fair travellers," I began, stepping forward, putting on my Charming And Disabling Time Lord's Smile [TM] in order to, well, charm and disable the unicorns. At least metaphorically. "But we do not have any bits... caps at the moment..." I reminded myself of the strange currency that for some reason was the main one in this Wasteland. "But I am quite sure we-"

"We aren't paying."

I blinked at stared at Turner in disbelief. Did he... Did he just say that? Knowing that we were facing three (!) armed (!!) stallions, who could easily kill us?!

I chuckled nervously, before any of our offenders could say a word. "Sorry, we need to have a word in private," I said, turning Turner (oh, that was rich!) round as I turned round as well, creating some sort of conspired mood around us. At least I hoped so.

"Are you even sane?" I hissed, looking into the pegasus' eyes, noticing off-hoofedly that they were dull blue, just like the cloud-covered sky. "They have-"

"Shut up and listen to me," he interrupted me rudely, his voice carrying so much power that I obliged instantly. "I am not sharing my caps with a bunch of raiders. So, either you stand back and let me fight or you help me fight," he concluded, turning towards the... "raiders" he called them? - leaving me no choice but to do the same.

"We have considered our options..." I began carefully, trying to buy some time for Turner to prepare for the inevitable battle. *Sigh* A Time Lord who has to buy time... isn't that just pathetic? Anyway, as I was saying, I tried to buy some time for my saviour to get ready for the fight, for I, of course, had no intention to fight. Don't get me wrong - I respect chivalry and all that stuff, but I'm not much of a fighter. What did I tell you? Make peace, not war. Or something along the lines. I continued, "And we have decided..."

"We aren't paying," Turner concluded for me, chewing on the control battle string of his battle saddle (all right, I'll be calling it just "controls" from now on) and firing a perfect shot that cracked open the skull of the white stallion with the rifle, his brains splashing out on the ground, his body collapsing, his rifle thrown away by the blow. Eww. I wrinkled my nose in disgust, stepping back and lying flat on the ground as I covered my head with my front hooves, lest I receive any damage.

Meanwhile, the orange pony charged at Turner with his machete, swinging it wildly. I watched in awe as the pegasus avoided the blow with an elegant step to the side, developing a mighty kick that shattered the unicorn's bones. I swear I could hear them crunch. He finished the raider off with a stomp of his hoof that turned the unicorn's head into a mess of gore and brains. Well, Turner was really good at turning things, I say! Yes, I find time to crack lame jokes even at times like this. Deal with it.

Behind the pegasus' back, the dark blue unicorn readied his explosive, taking aim. My eyes widened in fear as I realised what was about to happen. "Turner!" I yelled, running towards the brown stallion, mostly out of instinct. My hooves acted without corresponding with my brain. Turner turned round (not really in the mood for puns, sorry), his eyes widening when he saw the metal "apple" cross the air, flying towards him as the blue raider threw it.

I bet you've read many stories that say, "Everything became slow-motion" or something like that. For me, it wasn't so. On the other hoof, everything happened too fast. I almost reached the pegasus, turning my back at the approaching grenade. And then I bucked it. Hard.

I couldn't see anything, for I had closed my eyes (out of fear, to be honest), but I could very well hear the grenade explode. Somewhere in the distance, presumably, since I didn't feel the shockwave at all. I opened my eyes and looked at Turner, noticing that he was indeed surprised: he raised his brow, looking at me, and nodded, pointing his hoof at some point behind my back.

I slowly turned round. In the distance, I saw... something. I came closer. It looked like a pile of broken bones, and guts, and... was that liver? Or heart? Never have been into medicine. Only after a few seconds of pondering, I realised that this was all that was left of the blue unicorn. The grenade had torn him apart. It had killed him. I had killed him. Trying to save my saviour (the irony), bucking the grenade away in his direction, I had killed him.

You know, some say that when you kill a pony, you feel bad, guilt filling you from the inside. Some say you feel sad, tears in your eyes and all that stuff. I've known some ponies who would say that killing was just as easy as taking a shit, if you pardon my rough language. Most ponies say you just feel empty. Hollow. I didn't feel any of it. I mean, maybe I was so hollow that I didn't even feel hollow, if that makes any sense. The only reaction which my deed triggered was me vomiting heavily on the ground.

It was disgusting, and I should have felt disgusted, but all that the kill - my first kill - brought about was this pitiful natural reaction. I wiped my mouth with a hoof. I was a little surprised and even ashamed that I didn't feel guilty; but that's the way things were at the moment. I felt a hoof on my shoulder. I turned round.

"Never killed a pony before?" Turner asked me. There was no sympathy in his voice, no warm indulgence, no soothing calmness. If anything, his tone was bland, and cold. I wondered if he could feel any emotions. I wasn't really sure he had any.

Nevertheless, I shook my head, stretching my limbs. For some reason, they were really tense, and I made a mental note to have a good ten hours of sleep as soon as possible. Maybe a massage. If there were any masseuse in this post-apocalyptic Wasteland. Strange how my mind quickly jumped from the unpleasant topic to the more pleasant one, isn't it?

"I haven't killed anypony," I emphasised the word. "Or anybody at all. I have fought, and I have neutralised enemies. But never killed." I spoke the honest truth. I had served in the Time War, but the weapons we were armed with were trans-dimensional guns. They didn't kill; they merely neutralised the enemy, sending them to a random time and place in the endless Universe.

"Well, there's a first time for everything, isn't there?" he wondered idly, turning away from me just in time as I sent him a glare. I, for one, had wanted this particular first time to never come.

"Let's go," I said simply. Turner looked at me in surprise, turning his head towards me for a second. I could swear I saw a hint of disbelief in his eyes.

"Aren't you going to scavenge the corpses?" he asked. What. Scavenge... the corpses? As in, claim dead ponies' items?! Okay, now I knew what I was feeling. I was feeling angry. Very angry at this damn pegasus, who, as it seemed to me, had no respect for the dead.

"No," I hissed, trying to hold my anger at bay, mostly because he was my saviour and... Oh, wait a minute. I had saved his life too. Totally. "If you're that fucked up, go on. I won't stop you." Great. Now I'm swearing. What's next? Drinking myself into oblivion? Oh wait, that totally happened.

"No." Turner's voice was just as bland as it had been a minute before. "Scavenging corpses is the only rule of the Wasteland I'll never accept." With that, he began trotting away. I followed him in a moment, my anger fleeing away, replaced with a hint of admiration (at least we agreed on at least on one point) and curiosity. If I was going to survive, and I was going to survive, I had to learn those rules by heart.

"Any other rules?" I wondered nonchalantly, or at least faking nonchalance. "Of the Wasteland, I mean." I mentally scolded myself for that stupid addition. Of course, in the Wasteland there were so damn many rules to choose from! Of course, he would think I was talking about cricket or some other shit! Suddenly, I had noticed I had begun to swear more than I used to. Aw well. Not the most troubling matter, at the time.

"Rule one," he replied without stopping, me following him obediently. "You don't wanna kill, but you have to kill. To survive."

After this, he fell silent. I contemplated the fact, looking at it from different angles, and, whatever angle I chose, I could see Turner was right. You kill or you get killed, simple as that. All reasons, all questions about how I had ended up here and what-not faded into nothingness, became muddled, replaced with the new directive: remain alive.

"Rule two." My ears perked up, eager to absorb valuable information. "There's no rule two."

My face faded a little as I heard that. That was it. Survive to survive. Stay alive to kill and kill to stay alive. There was a certain dialectic beauty in this conclusion. Something reminding us all of the freedom we'd never had. But who needed freedom at such a high price? Or maybe some ponies did, after all?

We had trotted in silence for a few minutes when Turner suddenly said, "Thank you." He frowned a little, as if those two words hurt his throat coming out. "For saving me."

I blinked in surprise. Did he just talk? Like, begin a conversation? "You're welcome," I replied.

The short verbal exchange was far from a full, proper conversation. But that wasn't the thing that was troubling me. The thing that was troubling me was the simple fact that I was hungry. Honestly, after a few minutes of walking in silence that was all I could concentrate on. Yes, I'm a slave to my own stomach. Sue me.

I very seriously started to consider eating cacti, and tried to think of a way to avoid piercing my delicate tongue with the poisonous spikes (it wouldn't come as a surprise if they were radioactive, too), when a sudden, bright idea entered my mind. Well, not bright, and maybe not that sudden, but hey, I'm trying to be a good writer here!

"Turner," I said carefully, weighing each word. "Can we have a little break and have a meal?"

The brown pegasus didn't stop, his silver grey mane swaying slightly in the vernal breeze. "We don't have food."

Aah. Ever so laconic. But this time, he was wrong - I was fairly certain I had seen him pack some scorpion meat in his saddlebags some few hours ago. Meaty scorpion meat... And I wasn't even bothered by the lexical repetition this time - dealing with my hunger was far more important.

"We do," I retorted boldly. Now that we were quits, it was easier for me to talk to him. It felt as if we were on the same level, even though he was experienced in the ways of the Wasteland, while I was not; even though he was cold and emotionless, while I, despite being over nine hundred years old (yes, I'm old; laugh at me), was vigorous and quite active. I didn't know if the feeling was mutual; but at least he was replying to me! That's something, you know.

"We do," I repeated. "The scorpion meat that you have in your saddlebags, remember?"

To my surprise, Turner merely chuckled. "If you wanna get poisoned, be my guest." I blinked. "Those are radscorpion poisonous glands."

Oh. That made sense. Except it didn't. Why would he... why would we - since we were now travelling together and all - need poisonous glands?

"Why would we need those?" Yes, I'm always fast to voice my thoughts.

"Bullets," came the reply, and Turner fell silent, the sound of our hoofsteps hitting the ground being our only companion. I decided not to press the issue further: after all, I was a newbie here, while my companion was a real veteran. I mean, really! You must have seen the ease with which he evaded those attacks and the calm power that was flowing through his entire body. A real vet.

Instead, I looked up to the sky, inspecting the thick, silver cloud layer that was covering the whole semi-globe that, as far as I knew, should've been blue. At least some spots of it. This sky, however, was different: the clouds weren't exactly dark, but they looked rather... grim? If such an adjective can be used to describe clouds. I'm no writer - told ya! I couldn't exactly make out whether it was day or night, for no light pierced through the everpresent clouds. The general sombre attitude of this wasteland was only topped by the mild darkness that the cloud curtain provided.

The subject piqued my interest and, as any curious Time Lord, I resolved to enquire into the matter, my only source of information being a particular brown pegasus. He'd been round for quite a long time, I assumed, so he'd seen things.

"Turner?" I called out, hoping that the stallion would turn round at least now, being called by name directly. No such luck. He kept on walking so I decided to carry on. "It's not going to rain any time soon, what?" I faked a chuckle, because, you know, talking about weather has never been my forte. Yes, I'm British. No, I don't see any contradictions.

"The cloud curtain is permanent," Turner answered my unspoken question, instead of replying to the one I asked. Cutting to the heart of the matter? Good, I like that.

"How come?" I wasn't sure if I really wanted to know... no, screw that, I really did want to know!

A few uneasy seconds had passed before the pegasus finally replied, "The pegasi locked up the sky when the bombs fell. To protect their kin, and separate themselves from the rest of Equestria."

Wait, what? No, that actually did make sense. I mean, right, the pegasi control the weather, right? So they locked up the sky with clouds and... and that's where Turner's minute speech ceased to make any sense. To begin with, why 'they'? It should be 'us', both gramatically and logically. Fast to voice my concerns, I didn't hesitate to do so. "You're a pegasus, too. Why 'they'?"

To my deepest surprise, Turner resolved to live up to his name and turned round, facing me, a painful frown on his face. "I'm not a pegasus, not anymore." He sighed. "Not a real one, at least."

"But... You have wings?" I blinked in lack of understanding. Aah, that, ladies and gentlecolts, is a perfect example of yours faithfully being stupid. Cherish it, for such moments are rare in a Time Lord's lifespan. "You can fly!"

"Tear my wings, and then I'll fly," Turner replied in a somewhat sombre tone.

Great. Now he was speaking in riddles. Or something. I'm not really sure if that could be qualified as a riddle. If I wasn't in the middle of nowhere at the time, I'd definitely consult the dictionary. Either way, it sounded really creepy and made me want to forget any attempts of speaking on the topic. However, to my genuine astonishment, it was Turner who began the conversation, just after the path we'd been following widened a little (still nothing special to cast a glance at, apart from the sands and the cacti, of course).

"I'm an outcast," he stated in a bland tone, raising his head up to the sky, as if he were trying to pierce the cloud curtain and see his brethren. "A Dashite. One of the few who preferred the barren idleness of the Wasteland to the peaceful Enclave."

Dashite? Enclave? I felt a sudden urge to widen my vocabulary with those words, and my ken at that. "What is a Dashite? What is the Enclave?" I wondered, trotting after the stallion, whose head was now hung low grimly, instead of being up and determined.

"The Enclave is... a state that the pegasi formed when they locked up the sky. To put it simple, one does not simply leave the Enclave. Those who do..." He tapped his flank, where a scorched scar was crowning the place a cutie mark should usually be at. "They branded me an outcast just because I wanted to leave. They did allow me to leave, though. So, now I'm a pony without a special talent, without a cutie mark... A pegasus without the sky." He let out a sad chuckle. "I feel that, soon enough, I'll forget how to fly altogether."

Seeing Turner so emotional threw me into the abyss of misery and useless sympathy. I knew I couldn't do anything to help, not to mention the fact that I was having a hard time adjusting to the circumstances myself. Well, at least, it could get my mind off the thoughts about TARDIS, and how I got here, and... Oh, wait a minute. Now I'm totally thinking about it again. Damn.

Fortunately enough, my stream of consciousness was interrupted by a sudden change of scenery. As we marched on and on, the path became wider and wider, and, judging by the increasing difficulty of walking, we were walking upwards a hill. Or something. Listen, I'm no poet, and describing the scenery has neer been my strong point. Let's just say it became less... desert-y? Occasional patches of worn-out grass were crowning the ground here and there, and the cacti became pretty much non-existent. The trail led us to the top of a small mound, which we did not hesitate to climb.

As we reached the top, a picturesque scenery opened up to me: apparently, this wasn't a hill; on the contrary, we had travelled some sort of cavity, and reached the normal ground level only now. Before my eyes stood a small town, if it could be qualified as a town, of course: five crushed skyscrapers crowned the plain covered with dirty asphalt, while small huts filled it, leaving almost no space to wander about. Still, all the free space, no matter how small, was crowded with ponies - ponies of all colours and complexions.

Seeing so many equine creatures in a place so desolate sent my heart aflutter (yes, it's a word) and a wide grin made its way to my face. From what I'd gathered, this Wasteland was basically post-apocalyptic Equestria, and I had long lost hope to see so many living beings here, not to mention a whole town, albeit made almost entirely from debris, save for the skyscrapers that looked especially proud and stately in their silent grimness.

Wow. I'm really getting a grip on that 'descriptive writing' thing, aren't I?

Ahem, anyway. Turner didn't seem half as impressed as I was, and carried on, unperturbed by my awestruck gawking. I followed him post-haste as he trotted past a row of lopsided huts that crowned the edge of town, foals playing nearby cheerfully. I couldn't help but steal a glance at their happy, innocent game.

A yellow foal, presumably a colt - although it was hard to tell, given how generally dirty he was - was holding a stick in his magical grip, beads of sweat forming on his forehead and his blue mane as he concentrated on channelling the power through his little horn.

"I'm a Steel Ranger!" he yelled in his high-pitched voice, charging at another colt, who was blue, and amber-maned. The two formed a pleasant show of colour as they wrestled each other on the ground, fighting for dominance. I smiled, passing them. They kept shouting at each other, something including "Steel Rangers" and "Raiders". Colts, what can I say? If I tell you what kind of thing I was some seven hundred years ago... Though, I didn't swear half as much. I mean, seriously! Swearing like an ex-marine sergeant at such an age? No, I fully respect Her Majesty's Navy, but... saying 'fuck' four times a sentence? Really?

Speaking of fucks, one of which, contrary to popular assumption, I did give. "Where are we going?" I asked my companion, who was heading somewhere, following a route that to me was unknown.

"The shop," was his reply. Well, I guess Turner wasn't in his talkative mood. If he ever had such a mood, that is. Oh, wait a minute. He probably didn't. So... the shop, eh? I wondered if he was talking about a bookshop, or a sweets shop - I sure as hay wouldn't have minded one - or some other kind of shop.

As he stopped before a dirty hut, its grey concrete walls breathing with ancient dignity. Breathing, you get it? Like, you know, it's been scientifically proved that stones do indeed breathe? ...Science puns. Not everyone can get them. But then again, could concrete technically be considered a kind of stone?.. Well, the joke's on me, then.

Anyway, shopping! I love shopping, by the way. No, really. I can spend hours choosing a new tie, for example. (Because ties make the best examples.) There are just so many colours and patterns! Green ties, semi-green ties, dark green ties, light green ties, a-little-greener-that-light-green-but-lighter-than-dark-green ties - everything a gentlecolt needs in his collection!

However, as my pegasus companion opened the door, my high hopes popped like a toy balloon. The only room turned out to be a dimly lit storehouse of some sort, with the rusty metal shelves filled with weapons, ammo and goods I had never seen before. If it weren't for the counter and a bored grey unicorn behind it, who was obviously the vendor/seller/shop assistant/whatever suits your fancy, I wouldn't have guessed that this was a shop. The evident lack of price labels told me that we were going to bargain, and, well, I never was one to be good at it.

Just as we entered the building, yours faithfully closing the door conveniently, lest we be interrupted, smooth music entered my ears - my kind of music, music bound to be loved for ages. Of course I'm talking about jazz. Sweet, smooth, irresistably bawdy jazz that now took the form of Frank Sineightra's voice, with I've got you under my coat. The lyircs were familiar to me, and so was the tune: it was the music from the time I lived in Ponyville; from the time I met Sineightra in person. Funny thing is, he looked absolutely like a ponification of Frank Sinatra, can you believe it?! And sounded like him, too! Coincidences happen, what?

While I was enjoying the pleasant feeling of music penetrating my ears, Turner had begun talking to the grey unicorn, whose mane, by the way, was grey as well; but not the silver grey that usually comes side-by-side with age or experience, just the usual dull grey. Just thought you'd want to know. Apparently, something was going not so smoothly, for the vendor was shaking his head while my pegasus companion gritted his teeth in irritation.

The song ended on an upbeat note (only Sineightra was allowed to swing like that, in my view; well, maybe also John Coltrane... You get it - Coltrane! Ha!) and was replaced by... the voice. No, wait a minute. I'd better emphasise that. The Voice. Or, even better, The Voice. Celestia bless italics. The most wonderful, the deepest and smooth voice in the world... No, make that the whole Universe. It was a relatively low, raspy masculine voice, but not the kind of a-cat-run-over-with-a-truck raspy; on the contrary, the Voice carried gentle, sweet raspiness that wanted you trust the bearer of such beauty with all of your heart. Needless to say, I fell in love with the Voice immediately. ...That's not gay, right? I mean, I fell in love with the voice, not the stallion! That's not gay in the slightest! ...I think.

Good evening, ladies and gentlecolts, this is Mr New Pegas, and, believe it or not, I've got some news for you. The New Coltifornian Republic has rising concerns about the negotiations between the tribes that have been occupying Neighvada for a few dozen years already-

I didn't understand what he was talking about - The New Coltifornian Republic? Tribes? Neighvada? - but that wasn't necessary: the sound of his voice alone was enough to soothe any wounds, to heal any injuries, to invigorate and inspire. It was flowing like a slow, refined river - uphill, downhill - without any rough deviations from the calm, professional tone.

"Hey!"

Apparently, Turner was saying something, but I didn't really care: I was lost in the magnificent, radiant beauty of the voice - Mr New Pegas' voice, apparently - and nothing could make me stray from the path of fervently digging into each word. I guess that was what people called love. I idly wondered if pony-voice marriages were legal in this part of the Wasteland. If there were any laws here, that is.

"Hey, you!"

I winced, diverting my attention from the oh-so-nice news broadcast and on to Turner's not-so-nice form of addressing me. "I'd rather prefer 'Doctor', thank you very much," I mumbled as I tried to cope with the terribly difficult task of avoiding falling back into the soothing cradle of Mr New Pegas' voice.

"I need you to look after these glands while I attend to..." Turner made a pause that only evoked interest in me; such pauses are usually meaningful and carry a lot of 'second', or even 'third' meaning to the phrase. "Some business."

Ah well. He put it that way; well, let him put it that way. While I was curious as to what that 'business' was connected to, and why in the wide world of Equestria, albeit a wasteland, he couldn't take the scorpion glands with him, I still concluded that, generally speaking, I wouldn't mind doing that, especially if it meant staying at this marvellous place for some more time and listening to The Voice. Celestia bless italics once more.

My pegasus companion trotted towards the door, his saddlebags visibly lighter without the meaty glands that were now lying on a conveniently placed bench just at my right. While the shopkeeper's face expressed mild disapproval and general irritation (I bet all of my bits that they just couldn't settle on a price. I mean, if I had any, that is...), Turner's expression was plain and unreadable as he opened the door, letting in a little... um, I guess I can't technically call it sunlight, for it wasn't sunlight. It was a poor resemblance of sunlight coming from behind the thick cloud curtain; still, it made a contrast between the inside and the outside.

I wanted to tell the pegasus about the basic concepts of politeness, like saying 'Thank you' or 'Please' - what they usually teach you in kindergarten - but decided against it. Dunno why: just... a feeling, I'd say? A premonition that it was better for me to silently nod and watch Turner leave, focusing my attention on the news broadcast again. We Time Lords have those premonitions occasionally, and, well, mostly, they turn out to be true. At least 5% of them. Because 'mostly' is a broad term. Relativity theory, what can I say?

So, I focused my attention on the news broadcast. Which, by now, had ended, replaced with a cheerful jazz instrumental. That Mr New Pegas really knew how to bring some bright contrast into the gloomy wasteland, what? Strangely enough, the music made the shop look really cosy; homely, even. The dirty counter looked nice, and all the stuff filling the rusty shelves seemed looked alluring. Among other things, I noticed some scrap metal, some kind of battery, and... a billiard ball? Yes, indeed, there it was - a black billiard ball, with a white number 8 painted on top of it. I wondered if it was some kind of fortune-telling ball. You know, like those that you shake and look at to see it answer your mental question. I never had luck with those; they would always tell me that 'the future was vague' or something along the lines. Oh well.

Anyway, the only thing that could make the atmosphere even more peaceful would be sunlight. Flickering light punctuating the shelves, falling onto them in a peculiar manner through the stained glass window... Only there was none. The cloud curtain, I reminded myself. The pegasi who had locked up the sun and stuff. Which led me to a thought... I hadn't seen a single pegasus in town, apart from Turner. And the weird looks he was receiving all around surely signified that the ponies about here weren't used to seeing pegasi either. And if the pegasi were living in safety somewhere above the clouds, why was he down here? What could possibly lead to such a decision?

"Like what you see 'ere, pardn'r?"

I blinked, turning the old lump of clay towards the shopkeeper. That was a metaphor for 'body', by the way. The 'clay', not the 'shopkeeper'. 'Cause... The Bible and stuff? Actually, I don't think you ponies have read it. So... Moving on, I guess!

Surely, his form of addressing was more than peculiar to me. I mean, I wasn't his 'parnd'r', technically speaking. Sure, I wouldn't mind having a share in a small business like this - regular income and all of that stuff. 'Cause we Time Lords don't really get paid well. Not that we get paid at all, to think about it... I suppose we need to form a trade union of some sort. That would be easy, given I'm the last of my species. I, me, and myself - what a lovely trade union that would be! Also, I have grown to associate the phrase 'like what you see' with certain not-business-not-in-the-slightest situations, mostly involving mares. Sometimes, stallions... You know, actually, forget that one last sentence. It didn't exist. It never existed.

"Beg your pardon?" I replied, faking ignorance. That's what I'm good at. That's something I could do - fake ignorance. Sometimes I think I'm too good at it; so good that I forget that I'm actually a genius!

"I said, like the wonderful stuff I have to offer?" he asked, making me wonder how he managed to keep a Marexas form of addressing, not actually using a Marexas accent. I'm not using the politically correct term, 'Southern' because ponies don't speak that way in the South of Gallopfrey. Or anywhere but Equestria.

I took a quick glance over the 'wonderful stuff', which mostly consisted of rusty metal and bent tin cans, and raised my brow questioningly, basically saying, 'Oh really?' Or something of the kind.

"The radio, I mean," the stallion clarified, immediately commanding my utmost attention. He certainly had an eye for potential customers, that was certain! Indeed, the wonderful box, albeit old and rusty, was music to my ears, if you pardon the lazy (and lame) pun. Most importantly, it contained the most wonderful voice in the Universe - Mr New Pegas' voice. Now, I know radios just transmit the sound, but hey, all's good in love, war and lyrical narration, what?

All right, play it cool, I told myself, faking nonchalance. For your information, I'm just as skilful at that art as I am at faking ignorance. Maybe even better; I haven't estimated. It would be nice to have some sort of device that could record the level of your skills and depict it in figures... Nah, dreams are for rookies.

So, I needed to give him a clear impression that I was not interested in buying a radio from him at all. Because I wasn't. No, actually, I was. I just wanted to get it for free. Also, the fact that I had no bits whatsoever surely hindered the possible transaction.

"Oh, you mean that piece of junk?" I wondered lazily, eyeing the Wonderful Rusty Box of Magical Voices not without a hint of envy, an emotion that I tried to hide from the shopkeeper's piercing gaze. "Yeah, it's kinda nice... I guess," I quickly added, lest my faithful vendor assume that I had any interest in barter.

The grey unicorn chuckled, levitating a stained mug to his mouth, taking a gulp of some dark brown liquid. I had no idea what that was, and I was in no mood to guess; I assumed it was some sort of alcohol, for the stallion grunted in content and slammed the mug against the table, making me wonder how in the world in didn't shatter. "Don't lie to yourself, son. You know you want this baby." He grinned, revealing a row of rotten teeth. Oh, looks like somepony doesn't know how to handle a toothbrush.

Great, now I wasn't a 'partner', but was a 'son'? Please, I'm over nine hundred years old, for buck's sake! Moreover, what did he expect? Maybe he thought I would fall onto my knees, wailing, "Oh, yes, forgive me, the wisest of all, I was blind but now I see! Just sell me this radio and take all you wish in return, inlcluding my flesh, freedom and soul!" or something of the kind? Well, he was gravely mistaken, for we Time Lords-

"Of course I want it! I just don't have any money!"

Wait, what? Who said that?! ...Don't tell me it was me. Oh Celestia it was me. Why? Why would my tongue disobey the commands of my brain? It was a clear violation of subordination! ...Dammit. My tongue had just broken the smooth plan I'd been outlining, and now I found myself at a disadvantage, having revealed not only my intention but also my lack of funds. And here I was, thinking I was smart. Still... You know what? Blame my tongue. My brain is smart. My tongue is not. Obviously, that slimy red organ is the one to blame. I mean my tongue. 'Cause it's red and slimy. ...On with the narration!

"No caps - no radio," the stallion barked, sending me a somewhat cold glare. I usually don't like those, but this one was rather justified. Not to mention that it eased my inconstancy by killing any chance of my acquiring the magical box of awesome.

After a minute of silence or so - I'm not really good at estimating time, as ironic as it may seem - I sighed, admitting my defeat. "What do you call this place, if you don't mind my asking?" Yes. Might as well make conversation. Still better than standing in place, doing nothing and waiting for Turner to return. ...I think I have just committed a pun. Again. Somepony call the Coltness World Records!

"Nuketown," the shopkeeper replied with a very-much-visible frown, paying me as little attention as possible. Oh well. I guess I was no longer important to him, being a potential customer no more. So long for high hopes.

Nuketown? "Wait a minute... It isn't like this town is centred around an atom bomb, is it?" That would be creepy. And plainly terrifying, to say the least.

He eyed me in a very are-you-stupid manner, shaking his head. "No, that would be just dumb. Where have you gotten the idea?"

Ouch. 'Gotten'. I knew it was inevitable, but to see, or, rather, hear, my long-time nemesis to strike so soon was unpleasantly evocative. Seriously. How can ponies use that long-forgotten word and feel all right with that bugs me. 'Gotten' is dead! Stick to 'got', for Celestia's sake! But I digress.

"Just crossed my mind." I shrugged. No, seriously - a town built around a nuclear explosive? That would be plainly silly. Not to mention terribly dangerous.

Aaand cue in awkward silence. Well, at least it was awkward to me. I mean, that one moment when you've just been turned down on a very peculiar offer and now you don't know what to do? You don't want to experience that one moment. Trust me. I'm The Doctor. (Punny Time Lords are punny.)

"So, you want that radio pretty badly, eh?"

I eyed the stallion's contemplating smirk, his bawdily emphatic eyes filled with false compassion. Clearly, he was just trying to get the best of me. Hell, turn me into a slave, possibly?! Now, lemme tell you something: Britons never ever ever ever ever ever shall be slaves! Add a couple of "ever"s, to your liking.

"Well," I began with caution. Always say "well" when unsure what to say. "Well"s save lives, just so you know. Here, let me ponder for a moment and try to turn it into a pun. ...No, I've got nothing. Aw well, back to the narration. "Well," I repeated, casting an estimating (and utterly love-struck) glance at the radio, then a slightly-less-estimating (and by no means love-struck) glance at the vendor. "Let's say, I am quite interested in this particular item," I said with dignity, tossing my mane slightly, so that he would know just how serious and determined I was. Time Lords. Serious business.

"I think we can arrange something." The vendor's words were smooth, even silky, and that certainly gave away the fact that her was trying to swindle me. Ha. Let him try.

"I believe this 'something' is a reasonable arrangement?" I wondered, voicing my concerns. To be honest, I didn't really have a right to argue, being completely penniless and all; only my natural Time Lord skill for barter kept me going.

"I will give you the radio in exchange for these," he pointed at the loot Turner had collected from the scorpions recently, "glands here." The stallion frowned, making me wonder if he thought that that was too cheap for a radio of such quality.

I frowned, pondering over the suggestion. On one hoof, those scorpion glands weren't mine; they were Turner's. On the other hoof...

Good evening, ladies and gentlecolts, this is Mr New Pegas, and I'm back with some music. Part of my mind wondered why he was using such a greeting, given that it wasn't evening as the radio came alive with The Voice again, but a more emphatic part of my mind could only squee in the wake of listening to some more raspy goodness. Now some folks say I'm not real; that I'm just a recorded voice... Mr New Pegas chuckled, sending a shiver of genuine pleasure down my spine. Well, lemme tell you something. Come to the Lucky 56 and meet me in person, if you have your doubts. Now, as promised, some classics.

As Colt Stewart started rasping his Forever Young (still 20% less raspier than Mr New Pegas), I realised that, regardless of the price, I had one thing I had to accomplish: no matter what, I just had to get to that "Lucky 56", wherever it was, to meet the bearer of that rough, smooth, raspy voice. Since I had no idea where my TARDIS was, anyway. Having a goal always seemed to give my life a purpose, in some twisted way.

What were those glands worth if I could have an infinite supply of The Voice in return?

"You've got yourself a deal." I extended my hoof, but held a proper pause. The vendor's face seemed to light up as the morning sun. "These glands for the radio..." I smiled, casting a glance at one of the shelves, where, among rubbish, lay an object that, to put it plainly, was quite appealing to me. "And these shades." Yes, the sunglasses would definitely look cool. I mean, I usually look cool by default, but a Time Lord with swell shades? That would be much cooler. How much exactly? You can do the math.

The grey stallion smirked, nodding in approval. "You know your shit well, son." Oh, really? I haven't noticed. He took the radio, turning it off, to my displeasure, and levitated the sunglasses. Those unicorns and their fancy magic. "Don't have much need for those, since there's no sun and all." He'd still have to learn that shades weren't meant for protecting one's eyes against the sun: they were meant to unleash the wearer's coolness.

If it weren't for my business-like attitude, I would've squeed in delight as the vendor took the glands, thus sealing the deal. Not only did I have awesome shades now, I could also listen to Mr New Pegas any time I wanted! A win-win situation, really.

Now, I take it you are familiar with the term "party pooper". A person described using the aforementioned term is an individual who is genuinely delighted to rain on your parade, so to speak, and tends to do so fairly often. Now, I wasn't sure if Turner was into killing all fun ten kilometres away on a daily basis, but right now he was a book-ish example of a party pooper as he entered the little shop, his expression as grim as ever, a frown on his face radiating an unpleasant chill all about the place.

"We're leaving," he barked, not even sending me a glare. Not that I minded it, of course, but a stern glare would've definitely topped up the general disgruntled impression he was leaving to a curious eye. "Get the glands."

Oh. Here come problems. I could hear them knocking at my door. How was I to explain it to him? Sorry-Turner-I-Just-Love-Mr-New-Pegas'-Voice-So-Much-That-I-Sold-Your-Stuff? Not a very good explanation, I admit. But was there anything else I could say? "Well, um, you see..." I chuckled sheepishly, attracting an expected glare from the brown pegasus. Finally, the image was complete. "I kinda exchanged them for this radio..." I tapped the magical box of wonders. "And, well, these amazing shades." I put on the sunglasses, only to take them off immediately in the wake of Turner's glare, now improved in terms of grimness and irritated-ness. I know the right word is "irritation". But that wasn't irritation. That was sheer, pure irritated-ness.

Strangely enough, and a little disheartening, he didn't say anything. He didn't ask, "What?!" or yell at me, or anything of the kind. Instead, he turned sharply to face the vendor, whose smile had faded a little by now. All shop assistants probably had some sort of trouble-o-metres, and his was surely click-click-clicking.

"You will give me my stuff back," he said firmly, closing the distance between him and the counter. If I got it right, shit was going to get real. Very real. Top-tier real, even. "I'm not responsible for whatever trade that idiot makes." Hey! I'm no idiot! I'm a goddamn genius, with an IQ of 9001, which, as you can clearly see (if you're good with figures), is over nine thousand. Ain't that something?

Still, I knew better than to scowl at him. I didn't want to be a dead Time Lord; being alive seemed much more alluring. The vendor, on the contrary, did scowl, and quite unpleasantly at that. He shuffled, not averting his eyes. "I'm not reversing the transaction. Blame your friend."

Turner intensified his glare even more. "He's not my friend. Give me my stuff back." I winced. I thought we were friends! ...Not really. "Those glands are worth ten radios." Oh, and here I was, thinking that my estimations had been correct. Well, time to add maths to the list of the things that Time Lords are not good at. The pegasus stood his ground, firm, majestic, a little sweaty... Oh Celestia, was I getting excited?! Please don't tell me I was getting excited looking at his strong, muscular- Grrrr, brain! My worst enemy. "Or else..." he finished on an unstable note, his glare almost literally cutting the air.

The vendor squinted his eyes in disgust. "Or what?" he hissed, drawing dangerously close to my winged companion. "You would kill me?" He tapped his chest, his eyes wide and daring. "Go on! Kill me! And if my friends try to get you? Kill 'em too!" The grey unicorn suppressed a cough: it was obvious he was having trouble yelling like that. "You aren't new to wiping out entire towns, after all," he concluded grimly, in a low hiss.

Well, now I expected bloodshed. Don't get me wrong - I'm all for solving problems in a completely non-violent way, but that remark? Hell, I knew Turner wouldn't let this one slide, especially given that... it was true? Could it be true? I guess it could. Given the infinite number of parallel universes, my companion could easily be a mass-murderer in this one. Celestia, even I could be a mass-murderer in some galaxy far far away!

However, the bloodshed never came. Without as much as a twich of an eye, the brown pegasus turned towards me, pouring pure hatred all over me with his glare. I wondered if it could make me melt into a pile of goo. What a miserable death it would be, killed by a glare. Maybe I would get a Marewin Award, at least.

"You." Turner pointed his hoof at me, but I saved the remark about his action being impolite. 'Cause, well, I didn't want to be melted alive by his stern gaze. "You will repay me. By Celestia's shiny beard, you will repay me, in caps," he specified, glancing at the door. "Until then, you will be travelling with me."

Wait, what? I blinked, trying to fight my confusion. So, he was just going to drag me along? Well, that was just what I needed! Having somepony to protect me, with a wide knowledge of the Wasteland, and such strong, muscular legs, and... Let's just stop there. Anyway, that was right up my street, and if I had to pay him some bits - erm, caps - in process, then so be it!

I tried hard to suppress a grin as Turner headed towards the door. It was going to be one hell of an adventure, if I understood it correctly. And what Time Lord doesn't like some adventure? And the best thing?

Now I had a radio, packed with Mr New Pegas' soothing voice.

***

Footnote:

Level up!

New Perk: In Love With The Voice - You've totally fallen for the raspy awesomeness of Mr New Pegas. Who wouldn't, though? You gain +1 to all S.P.E.C.I.A.L. stats when the news broadcast is on.

Chapter Three: O Times, O Mores!

Chapter Three: O Times, O Mores!

"I don't desire to change anything in Equestria except the weather."

'Cause I've got spurs~

That jingle jangle jingle~

As I go trotting merrily alooooong~

And indeed, I trotted merrily along the cobbled stone path, singing cheerfully as the radio on my back radiated smooth swing for metres around. I considered buying saddlebags as soon as I got spare money. After I'd paid Turner back, of course. Speaking of Turner, the pegasus was walking along the trail with disinterest, his recent grimness replaced by mild disapprovement of my choice in music. Or the very existence of music, apparently. Still, I could swear I saw a glimpse of smile on his face when he glanced at me, probably thinking I wasn't looking.

Either that, or light just resonated off his face in such a fashion. Oh, light. That this area lacked, with the cloud curtain firmly covering the sky, letting only a few tiny rays of sunlight through the holes that were being constantly fixed by some force above. Pegasi, I assumed. Well, some light would've suited the Wasteland indeed. I mean, what's the point of my wearing sunglasses if there was no sun?

To look cool, that's why. Now, if only I had real shiny spurs that would go jingle jangle jingle, my life would be complete. The bleak, desert-like surroundings didn't bother me in the slightest. Every few minutes, we would come across a nice set of cacti, or a neat pastoral of bones, equine or otherwise. Ah, what a picturesque scenery! ...That was sarcasm, if you didn't get it.

Well, one way or another, no aspect of the grim surroundings could distress me, so long as I had the wonderful Box of Many Wonders! So I marched on through the sandy dunes, and stone trails, and scorched land, as Mr New Pegas launched one song after another. I wished he'd speak, but I was definitely content with the music. Even Turner seemed to be enjoying himself, if his slightly-less-than-more-than-stern look was any indication. Oh, and if he could ever enjoy himself - a fact I wasn't sure of.

He still was a pretty cool guy, you gotta admit. I mean, the only punishment I had to undergo for my selling away his stuff was to travel with him - a pony who, apparently, had deep knowledge of this wasteland, in addition to being a sharpshooter. I mean, could it be any better?

Well, yes, as a matter of fact, it could. I could be sitting in my TARDIS right now, sipping on a cup of tea. Or having some fun time with Twilight in Ponyville. Stop it, you perverts. Fun time means 'fun time', nothing more. Well, to think about it, being anywhere but here would be just wonderful. But hey, beggars can't be choosers, what?

I thought about the situation I'd found myself in. I mean, that was certainly not the first time I'd got into something like that, being a time traveller and all. I had found myself in strange places. I had travelled between alternative universes. I had even been parted with my beloved TARDIS a few times. But by Celestia's shiny beard, I'd never found myself in a post-apocalyptic desert! Erm... wasteland.

Or maybe I had... Maybe another me, from another universe or dimension had. Or maybe I from this dimension had already been here, only been here before after I went had gone here... Damn, those thoughts were giving me a nifty headache. And a stomachache.

Wait. A stomachache? Where did that come from? Indeed, my stomach grumbled, drawing Turner's attention for a moment. Good, maybe, if I was lucky, he'd look at me for so much as four - or maybe even five! - seconds. Someday.

So, hunger. One of the evil minions of Lady Destiny that make my life a nice and warm living hell. Along with anarchists, Labourists, and the like. You know. I had quite a powerful desire to sate that hunger of mine, and - guess what? - I resolved to share my longing with Turner, if only because he was the only one to talk to around here. Not much diversity, what?

"Hey, Turner?" I called out in a vain attempt to draw the stallion's attention. You'd think he'd give a shit. Welp, you'd be mistaken. Seeing as he carried on with his idle trotting, I pressed the issue. "Could we stop for a quick bite?"

Turner. Never turning to me since Celestia-knows-when. That'd make a good ad, don't you think? "I'm not hungry," said my ever-so-disregarding companion, not sparing me a single glance. Oh well.

"Well, I am!" I protested sourly. I mean, I hadn't had a meal in what - a day?! Well, to think about it, neither had Turner. Unless he'd snatched a snack or two while I was utilising my outstanding barter skills at the shop in Nuketown (still a silly name, if you ask me).

Finally, the pegasus turned his head towards me for a second, tossing me a mild glare. I'd give it a 5/10 on the glare-o-metre scale. Even though he was silent, his eyes spoke for him. And they said, "Do I look like I give a damn?"

I ran ahead of him and met his eyes with my own stare, lifting the shades. Time Lord stares, people. Serious business. My eyes replied, "Well, I don't care! I'm hungry!" 6/10 on the glare-o-metre.

Another flash of eyes from the brown pegasus. "And what are you gonna do about it?" Seven outta ten.

"Well, I-" I said aloud, just before I came to a conclusion that I was hopeless in the wake of a) my being unable to compete with Turner's glare; b) my being is his charge; and c) my owing him money. So, naturally, I shut up and fell behind, trying to find salvation in the soothing jazz music.

Just as the music gave way to the news and Mr New Pegas began to rasp out sweet information, the radio whizzled and screeched and retched with noise, and the sound died, leaving me aghast and disheartened.

No! No no no no NO! Fate couldn't be that cruel! Take my firstborn, but leave my sweet radio alone, dammit! My mind frantically roamed about my head as I tried to think of my next action. Naturally, that would be changing the batteries, but... Now, class: who's smart? What's the issue here? Right you are! Stuck in the wasteland with no spare batteries! Bingo!

All right, I'm done with sarcasm. If that was sarcasm. I always mix those up: sarcasm and irony. More difficult to distinguish between than two halves of one flank, I tell you. Anyway.

Blaming myself for not having bartered a pack of batteries, I shivered, giving the now-deceased Box of Many Wonders a swift kick in hope of reviving it. No such luck. Apparently, radios didn't work that way. Oh well. My TARDIS did, though! Aaaaaaand cue in miserable reminiscing.

I shook my head vigorously, trying to catch up with my pegasus companion. No sombre thoughts, now. I had to run to keep emotions at bay. Always running; that's what I'm good at. I can't say I'm the most enduring pony out there, but I'm sure as hay am the most enduring Time Lord! (Mostly because I'm the only one, but seriously, who gives a damn? I, for one, don't.)

I raised my head, eyeing the rocky path ahead of me. A black dot waited for me at the horizon: it had to be a settlement of some sort. It had to be. And a settlement meant food, rest, and spare batteries.

I chuckled to myself, stretching my legs. Who's a tough British stallion? I asked myself, trying to build up determination inside myself. Who's a damn tough British stallion?! "I'm a tough British stallion! Allons-y!" I roared aloud and quickened my pace in an attempt to outrun Turner. In retrospect, that was rather ironic. I mean, using a French phrase while pumping up my national pride and what-not. Ah well.

All I had to do was to repeat that holy mantra over and over again to keep my weary legs moving. Who's a tough British stallion?! "I'm a tough British stallion!" I rocketed forth, outrunning Turner, who didn't seem surprised, from the side glance I managed to sneak. Who's a tough British stallion?! "I'm a tough British stallion!" The stone burned beneath my hooves, but I galloped towards the black dot that, by now, had taken the form of a distant settlement; a town, even! Just a few more minutes and-

-And I fell flat on my face. Ouch. That's what I thought: Ouch. What I said (or, shouted, rather), however, was slightly different, and could be roughly interpreted as, "Fuck my arse with Celestia's wings!" I got up, grunting (At least my shades are all right, I mused), observing the place of my unfortunate demise.

A rock.

A damn rock! I kicked the silent offender aside, cursing rocks and making a mental note to put them on my hate list, just below anarchists and Labourists (but above hunger). Turner passed by idly, dropping, "And here I was, thinking that with an accent like yours, you'd say 'Blimey' or something."

Oh! So he was finally making an effort to partake in conversation! I smiled and trotted alongside him, making out a dozen of small buildings at the end of our cobbled trail. "You see, contrary to popular belief, 'Blimey' is not a swear, but a way to express surprise or-"

Turner glared at me, shutting me up. Okay, apparently, he still did not want to partake in conversation. Then why'd he address me? Probably to make fun of me. Or something. Anyway, his look confirmed my suspicion that the amount of fucks he gave was less than one. You can do the math.

After a few minutes, or, well, dozen minutes, of trotting towards the settlement, I could clearly make out at least twenty buildings, most of them one-storey rusty houses; but at least those were not huts. There were no ponies to be seen, but I assumed that, since it was a town of some sort, there should be inhabitants. Otherwise, the point of building a town is kinda lost, don't you agree?

Anyway. We entered the settlement via the aforementioned cobbled path, and Turner immediately turned (this is getting old) left, leaving me practically no chance to inspect the surroundings. Not that there was much to marvel at, though: apart from the buildings, the settlement was pretty much plain (in addition to it actually having been built on a plain): piles of rubbish were lining the dusty road that was piercing the town, and the sombre rust on the walls wasn't adding to a general pleasant impression. I decided to follow my companion, who approached an ordinary house that wasn't really that different from the other ones, and knocked at the door six times. Probably some secret code or something.

Apparently, it was a secret code of some sort, for the plain wooden door opened (wood was still a nice change from rusty metal, I had to admit), revealing a rather sleepy-looking brown unicorn. Did I mention it was probably either early morning or late evening, given the lack of light? On second thoughts, though, it could just as well be the middle of the day, the cloud curtain covering the sky and all. Maybe the host was just a heavy sleeper?

One way or another, the brown unicorn's eyes widened, and it seemed that his greying mane stood on edge as he saw us. Well, not us; Turner, probably. Unless he was a huge fan of Time Lords, that is. Off-hoofedly, I noticed that this wasteland was rich on brown ponies. Not that it was a bad thing, of course; I'm brown, Turner's brown - a little brown never hurt anypony! Hell, we could be the Brown Musketeers: a pegasus, a unicorn and an earth pony (who is also a Time Lord, but that's not a topical issue)! This stallion's shade of brown was lighter, though, more resembling his grey-ish mane, with little hints of orange-like tint.

"Captain!" the unicorn exclaimed, throwing his hooves in the air and waving them frantically. Well, rather, idiotically; but for the sake of political correctness and whatever you ponies are fond of nowadays, let's say that he was doing it frantically. More peculiar was the fact that Turner did not only reply to the strange greeting ("Captain"? Oh really? Did Turner look like a captain?), but even smiled. I know right?! Insane, I tell you. Up to that moment, I hadn't even been aware of the fact that my pegasus companion (okay, that's starting to sound like a title) was able to make his facial muscles work that way!

One way or another, Turner smiled and proceeded into the building. Needless to say, I followed him, mostly out of curiosity. Well, that and the fact that I was hopeless on my own in this Wasteland of theirs. Oh, and I owed him money! Can't forget that.

The interior left much to be desired. Apart from a knife-cut-adorned wooden table by the window and a three-legged chair, there was really nothing to catch my eyes. There was also some kind of rug in the corner, which distantly resembled what you could call a bed, and - rather anti-climatic - two stoic, not-a-millimetre-moving, large earth pony stallions standing in the middle of the room, armed to the teeth. Literally, mind you: they were holding a pistol each in their mouths, glaring at me in a similar fashion. Truly interesting, though, was the fact that they looked astonishingly similar themselves: same barding (well, lack thereof), same coat colour (purple; don't ask me - I didn't invent ponies' coats' colours), same neatly cut short manes (lavender; a different shade of purple, that is) and similar weapons. Since I was no expert in that field, I assumed that these were of the common variety, probably. The pistols, I mean. Not the stallions. Because, hell, where'd you find two purple twins?!

Anyway. As soon as the brown unicorn closed the door behind us, Turner proceeded straight to the table, standing nearby, his smile already gone. When I tried to follow him, though, the two identical purple ponies simultaneously pointed their guns at me. All right. Wrong move.

Freezing in place, I cast a somewhat pleading glance at my pegasus companion, who, by now, had shaken hooves with the brown unicorn that immediately occupied his place on the half-ruined chair. Well, twenty-five-per-cent-ruined chair, to be exact: three legs out of four were still intact, and one of the three was bent in such a fashion that it was supporting the rest of the chair. Ahem. As exciting as chair-observing was, I had more pressing issues at hoof, the most urgent one being not getting shot.

Fortunately, Turner had caught my begging look and eyed the Purple Twins of Purpleness indulgently, yet a little sternly - a peculiar mix of emotion, if you ask me. "Don't shoot him yet," he said. "He owes me money."

'Yet.' Oh, well, thank you! While I'd prefer a protective "He's with me" any day, at least the earth pony stallions paid heed and lowered their weapons, still glaring daggers at me. I considered making a face, but decided against it: I wasn't a foal, after all. Besides, they'd probably shoot me if I did.

"What brings you here today, Captain?" the unicorn wondered, idly toying with a pencil in his hooves. Wait, where did that come from? I could swear I hadn't seen anything on the table, apart from piles of papers; no pencils of any kind! And he didn't have saddlebags... All right, better not to think about it.

"Call me Turner," my pegasus companion replied, and not in a "Please, do call me Tuner" polite fashion, but rather in a "Call me Turner, or else" fashion. Which, needless to say, resulted in an immediate nod from the unicorn. Good, 'cause the name 'Captain' didn't suit Turner in the slightest. How the hell had that guy even come up with it?!

"I need to ask you some stuff, Shafty," the pegasus said, exchanging I-Know-What-We're-Gonna-Talk-About looks with his interlocutor. However, it wasn't the looks that commanded my attention to the unicorn. "Shafty"?! Seriously?

"What is your name?" I blurted out, instantly regretting my decision as the Purple Twins of Purpleness pointed the barrels of their guns at my head, prompting me to take a precautionary step back. As if it would save me... I thought, biting my tongue. "Sir," I quickly added. "What is your name, sir, if- if you don't mind my asking, that is..." I finished meekly, reminding myself of Fluttershy, one of the friends I'd gathered during my time-travelling frenzy.

The unicorn smiled, showing off two rows of somewhat-dirtier-than-white-but-still-okay teeth, and waved his hoof in the air dismissively. The PToP (for the sake of convenience; not like I was going to ask their names, anyway, minding the possible dramatic outcome) lowered their pistols again. "Long Shaft," the unicorn replied with a playful grin. "Wanna know why they call me that?"

"No!" I shouted, blushing involuntary. Catching stern looks from the PToP, I momentarily amended my phrasing: "No, sir." And, on second thoughts, added, "Though, thank you for presenting the opportunity, sir." Wow. Seems like my military training on Gallopfrey actually turned out to be useful! And earlier training as a humanoid Time Lord, as well. Ah, how long ago it was...

Before I could actually give in to pleasant reminiscing, Long Shaft... (Celestia, that name!) roared with laughter and almost got up from his seat. Almost is the key word here, because Turner actually cast him a look, and the unicorn placed himself on the chair again. "I like you, colt!" he concluded along, chuckling. Oh, a 'colt', eh? I'm over nine bucking hundred years old, just for your information! "Now shoo! We need to discuss some private matters."

'Shoo'? I'll show you how to 'shoo' a Time Lord! I thought, but, upon seeing the PToP, swiftly put a smile on my face and asked, trying not to let my sarcasm show, "And where can I spend my leisure time while you discuss 'private matters', sir?" Okay, maybe I wasn't really good at hiding sarcasm. Hey, at least I didn't emphasise the inverted commas with my hooves!

Still, Lo- Shafty (for Celestia's sake, I'll be referring to him as Shafty from now on) was either stupid or forgiving, because he simply replied with a shrug, "The bar, of course. The only building with a neon sign; can't miss it. Now..." He made a shooing gesture with his hooves.

Gritting my teeth, I turned round and left the building, much like a prominent actor hooted off the stage due to the ignorance of a shameless audience.

***

A 'neon sign' was definitely an over-statement. As I sat at the bar counter, on a dirty wooden stool, I could only wonder how I had been able to find this place: the 'neon sign' turned out to be a slightly-lit-up wooden plank reading, T.VERN, which, as I assumed by the missing letter, stood for "Tavern". I assumed that a bar on a bar reading tavern was a little too ironic. Still, it didn't seem like there were other places that served drinks around here.

Oh, since we touched upon this topic. Drinks. Now, I'm not what you would call a heavy drinker. I mean, I can swig down a cider or two, maybe accompanied by a nice glass of whisky or three, with a pleasant touch of gin and rum, in moderate proportions. Moderate. Ergo, I'm not a heavy drinker. But then again, 'moderate' is relative...

Regardless, I was very much in the mood for going for a drink at that wasteland bar as I sat grimly on the stool, eyeing the bartender, a dark brown unicorn stallion, who made me wonder if my colour was nothing special, to think of it. Now, class, who's smart? Who can guess why I was sitting all alone and sombre, glancing wistfully at the array of bottles behind the bar counter from time to time?

Bingo! Because I had no. Damn. Money.

Now that was a good reason for me to be upset. The sight of ponies of different colour and complexion drinking merrily all around me, sitting at their round wooden tables with their dusty mugs and shots, surely added some fuel to the flame of my sober sorrow. Make it sombre sober sorrow. Ha! At least I was still in the mood for lazy puns. If that could ever qualify as a pun, that is.

"You sure you don't want anything?" the bartender wondered for the umpteenth time over the past half an hour, cleaning a mug with an old rug that made it even dirtier, if anything.

"No, thank you," I hissed, trying to pierce him with a classical Time Lord Glare [TM] - that kind of glare that is rumoured to be able to make holes in ponies' bodies. Either that was just a rumour, or the bartender's skin was ridiculously tough, but I could see no hole. Maybe it was just too minute for me to see.

The stallion looked at me curiously, as if I were an abstainer. For buck's sake, me - an abstainer?! What's next - ponies thinking I'm a Labourist?

Before I could give in to pleasant thoughts about the role of a Time Lord in the course of history and what-not, I felt a not-so-gentle shove from the side. I immediately turned to the source of distress, determined to give the offender a piece of my mind, only to see...

Let's say, the most beautiful mare I had ever laid eyes upon. That's to put it simply. If I were a poet, I could write verses about her gorgeous cyan coat, and her brown mane that put my own shade of brown to shame, and her mesmerising lavender eyes, and... All right, I think you get it. She was really beautiful.

The insult died on my lips as I stared at her, watching her occupy the stool on my right and unzip her leather jacket magically. To think about it, ponies in this wasteland of theirs were really keen on wearing clothes, for some reason. I mean, in my time and space, ponies didn't use to wear clothing. I think Rarity would've been proud.

Some distant part of my mind reached for memories of my friends from Ponyville, their ultimate destinies, and their possible place in all of this, if they ever existed in this universe; but the other part of my mind directed my full and complete attention to the mare on my right, who was wearing a charming (and quite sexy, if I may add) smile.

Without as much as saying hello, she winked at me in what seemed to me a seductive manner. "Hey, big boy, wanna buy me a drink?" With that, she swished her tail against my side.

Now, I'm quite smart, as you may have already guessed, but at that exact moment the genii of my mind decided to make my mouth fall agape and mumble something completely incomprehensible.

"What was that?" the unicorn mare wondered with a grin that gave away her utter position of dominance over my emotions. Not that I minded. Hey, maybe she did like to top... Brain, I addressed my partner in crime as soon as that idea hit my head. Listen to me, brain. What are you doing, brain? Stop. Brain. Stop.

"I'm very sorry, my fair lady, but it seems that I am a little short of money at the moment," I replied, gathering my wits. Okay, well, meant to reply. What I did say, however, was something more along the lines of, "No... money..." Confound this brain and its inability to work properly. Or should it be, 'his'? I mean, I'm male, so, naturally, my brain should be male as well? Ahem. Anyway.

"Two whiskies," the mare said to the bartender, without dropping her smile, disregarding my stuttering slip. "On me," she addressed yours faithfully, putting me in an unpleasant situation. I don't know how it is wherever you live, people, but on Gallopfrey, stallions usually pay for the drinks. So, basically, I was hard put to accept the offer, considering my gentlecolt-y upbringing and what-not.

Still, my very upbringing told me that I had to accept the offer, because you don't look a gift pony in the mouth or whatever they say. Dammit, it seemed that in Soviet... erm, Equestrian Wasteland, mares bought drinks for you!

The bartender topped up two shots, eliciting a frown from me: who drinks whisky from shots, for buck's sake?! Weren't they familiar with the concept of glasses in that wasteland of theirs? Still, beggars can't be choosers, so I decided to down the shot in a single gulp.

Now, in my life, and my life had been long enough before I ended up in the Wasteland, I had consumed many a drink. There had been good ones, mediocre ones, bad ones... But there hadn't been anything so utterly disgusting as that Manticore-Pissed-into-the-Glass-flavoured swill that I consumed at that unfortunate moment. My insides protested, and I barely held the urge to vomit, my stomach grumbling and retching mercilessly.

"The stuff's too hard for you, big boy?" the mare wondered with a smirked, not even wincing as she downed her drink. She probably had a stomach of a cow or something.

"That's not whisky!" I shouted, covering my mouth as I coughed fervently, trying to get rid of the awful taste. "And my name's The Doctor. You can omit 'the'." A-ha! Not a single lexical repetition this time! Take that, the Great and Difficult English language!

"Oh, so you're a doctor?" The mare's lavender eyes pierced me, making my face hot and my legs tremble. Or maybe these were the side effects of the drink. "That's wonderful, 'cause I've been having these terrible itches, down there..." She leaned in, her hot breath falling onto the sensitive skin of my ear. The most sensitive part of a Time Lord, by the way; just so you know. "Wanna help me with it?"

Help her with... Oh. Oooooh. Oh ho ho. She was hitting on me! Well, no wonder! I'm pretty attractive, you know? Sometimes I can't even avert my eyes from my own reflection in the mirror! Okay, well, maybe not to that extent: I'm not that narcissistic. Still, being the handsome stallion I am, I decided to play it cool and ran my red hoof through my mane. Wait... Red hoof?

Of course, Mother Nature had other plans in mind, raising my blood pressure and making my whole body turn a deep shade of pink, dancing on a rather red-ish edge. "I'm not that kind of doctor," I muttered lamely, as if I were coming up with an excuse. Damn you, Nature, for ruining my public image!

However, the mare didn't seem to care much, leaning in to me even closer, which, to me, had seemed impossible. "I don't give a fuck," she whispered, almost hissed, in what seemed to me a desperately passionate tone, if 'desperately' is word I want. "Come on and rut me silly already!" Ouch. Such vocabulary; and coming from a lady, no less!

Maybe it was the swearing - in retrospect, it probably was the swearing, mostly - but, suddenly, the offer didn't seem so enticing anymore. The way she talked, and craved for instant intimacy, really contrasted with her beautiful outlook; and I didn't like it. Not in the slightest. Still, I decided to be at least polite about my refusal. (I resolved to turn down her offer, despite, or, maybe, in spite of, my Time Lord hormones telling me to give in. I'm stubborn just like that. I know.)

"I don't even know your name, you know," I said, raising a brow in a seemingly stern manner. Well, at least I hoped so.

The mare groaned and let out a heavy sigh. "For fuck's sake, you don't need to know my name to stick your cock in my cunt!" And there it was again, the heavy swearing. Fortunately, it made me want any kind of contact with the mare even less. (Not to mention that I believe in love and all that jazz; not one-night stands. Yeah, I'm also old-fashioned and conservative. Sue me.) "All right." She lowered her voice and extended a hoof. "Name's Blue Curacao, pleased to meetcha."

I blinked in surprise and shook her hoof. "Um... Blue Cu-" I began, but she cut me short at once. Speak about bad manners...

"Just Kira. That'd be better for everypony." She cast a sharp glare at me, the kind of glare that could most certainly kill a squirrel on the spot. "And for your safety." Oh, okay. Kira it is, then! Still...

"Wouldn't it be more logical to call you Kura?" I wondered. "I mean, as in, short for-"

And once again her ill manners ruined the moment as she interrupted me harshly. "Forget it, fatty." Wait, what? 'Fatty'? For the love of all that's holy, I'm not fat! Not even chubby. Dammit, I'd even prefer to be called 'big boy'. Not like there were any proper forms of addressing a stallion. Like, you know, 'sir'. Or, at least, 'mate'.

"That sounds like a zebra name," Kira hissed. "That 'Kura'," she clarified. A look of disdain rested upon her face as her muzzle scrunched in a painful grimace. She said, "zebra" with such emphasis that I wondered if she, for some reason, held a grudge against all zebrakind.

"So what?" I wondered with as much innocence as I could possibly muster. Now, that may have come out slightly rude, but hey, I wasn't really in the mood for dealing with domestic racism, you gotta hand me that. Or, rather, hoof me that. Wait, I'll go get my shades.

"Fucking zebras," the mare clarified, meeting my dumbfounded look. "Those striped motherfuckers." Ouch. I bet that hurt. Sticks and stones... Well, anyway, that was the last straw. I mean, that was clearly offensive, especially given that I'd made good friends with Zecora back in the universe where I belonged. If I truly belonged in any universe, that is.

"You know, zebras are people too," I said in a low tone, lest I be heard by the other patrons. I mean, what if it was some kind of racist bar? I didn't want to end up in one of those situation with all of the bar glaring daggers at you, their expressions saying, "Oh, so you vote Conservative, huh? Time to kick someone's arse..."

"Yeah, people who destroyed Equestria," Kira retorted boldly, downing another "whisky".

"What?" Um... Nothing to say here. I really was kinda shocked.

"Are you from the fucking moon?" Dammit, why was everypony asking that?! First, Turner, then, her... or was it 'she'? Hmm, I'm pretty sure it's 'her'.

"Kinda." I decided not to argue. "Mind enlightening me?"

"Almost two hundred years ago," Kira began, "there was a war. Those striped fuckers destroyed our land with their Megaspells. Glad we could nuke 'em as well."

So... wow. So... damn. Damn it. It seemed that this whole apocalypse had happened due to a war... between ponies and zebras. And, judging by the word, 'nuke', I could assume that there had been some nuclear weaponry involved. Or, rather, nuclear magic. Didn't know it even existed.

Of course, just like any bright and prominent individual, I didn't trust my interlocutor at once. Freedom of doubt and all that stuff. So, I clarified, "Are you sure? I mean, is there any written evidence?"

Kira huffed indignantly, eyeing me in an "Are you kidding?!" manner. "You calling me a liar, fatty?" Ouch. There it was again, that form of addressing. "I'm speaking the truth." The cyan mare paused. "As for 'written evidence'..." She emphasised the inverted commas with her hooves. "It's not like anypony can read round here."

Wait, what?! What? What?! I resisted the urge to gasp. Not only was I in a racist town, but also in the company of barbarians! Those ponies couldn't even read! Now, I believe I must make myself clear: if you can't read, you're no friend of mine. Full stop. That's the rule. I love to discuss literature with my companions, and inability to delve into its wonderful world is a red light, regarding your friendly interaction with me. So... Dammit. I really was in the middle of some shithole, wasn't I?

Suddenly, a thought struck me, and my face broke into a slight grin. So you're telling me you people can't read, right? I thought satisfactorily. "So... How about that sign above the door of this very establishment, then?" I wondered, trying to hide my smile. They had to be able to read! They'd put up the right sign, after all! (Albeit without the letter "A" in "Tavern". Oh well. We all make mistakes from time to time.) Otherwise, they'd just have put up an image of a mug or something, right?

"Just an old wooden plank the owner decided to put up." Kira shrugged. I felt my hopes pop like a toy balloon. "Anyway, you gonna rut me or what?" She put on that sultry tone again, ruffling her brown mane. "Wanna stick your long shaft into my cavern, big boy?" Okay, so, apparently, I was a 'big boy' again. Well, at least it beats 'fatty' any day. Aaaand her phrasing made me think about Shafty. Damn.

So. On one hoof, she was hot, beautiful and interested in me. On the other hoof, my upbringing strongly spoke against one-night stands... Also, she swore a lot and was racist towards zebras. (I'd still have to enquire deeper into the history of pony-zebrican relations, I mused.) ...And she couldn't read. Who was I to sleep with a mare who couldn't read?! A disgrace to a Time Lord's name, I tell you. So, there was only one natural reaction.

"No."

"All right, let's- wait, what?!" she exclaimed, visibly dumbfounded by such a reaction from yours faithfully. "You said no?!" Yes, definitely dumbfounded.

"I said no," I confirmed, nodding ever so slightly. "Firstly, I do not like you attitude or behaviour. And secondly, back in my day, we used to date for a while before engaging in intimacy."

"You..." she hissed maliciously, making me back down a little. Which was a hard task by itself, for, let me remind you, I was sitting on a stool. Still, such advanced acrobatics wasn't outside my field of proficiency. "You turned me down?!"

I gulped, but still put on a brave face, for the sake of my dignity. "Yes, I did." I wanted to add something, but couldn't quite phrase it right; so I opted for meaningful silence instead.

"You. Turned me down." Suddenly, her face faded into a mix of shock and misery, making me wonder if she'd ever received such a reply before. Seemed like she hadn't. She chewed on her lip, her confidence not so evident anymore. "You know, you are the second pony to turn me down," the cyan unicorn mentioned thoughtfully, her gaze averted in the direction of the plain grey wall.

"I'm feeling special," I said, trying to brighten up her mood a little. However, my attempt turned out to have been in vain, for Kira frowned, her eyes unfixed, her breathing heavy. Finally, she stood up and left without a word.

Now that struck a nerve. I mean, sure, she had her flaws, but I'd never intended to sadden her. I sighed and looked at the empty glass before me. You know, at that moment, I would've even gone for that piss-flavoured whisky that that place served.

The patrons were drinking their booze, sharing their stories and laughing light-heartedly. I felt like an alien there, and Kira's sudden mood swing didn't add any pleasure to my general emotional status. This place wasn't for me.

I stood up, eyeing the establishment lazily, my mood somewhat low and damp like wet fur. The lights were dim, and so was my attitude. After all, I couldn't always hide my worries behind a brave face and a facade of jokes.

I turned, and walked away.

***

I let my hooves carry me out of the "T.VERN", inhaling the fresh breeze coming from the West. At least, I assumed that it was coming from the West. Basically, we all, or most of us, tend to assume that all good comes from the West, while the East brings us sorrow and despair. Sorry, I tend to get philosophic when I'm down; one of those terrible habits of mine.

Approaching the only other building I was able to recognise around here - the one Shafty lived/worked in - I stopped just before the lopsided steps, directing my gaze into nothingness. There are times when a Time Lord has to think about his life, the universe and his place in it, and so on.

Well, lemme tell you, that wasn't that kind of moment. You see, while I have long said goodbye to puberty - for a few hundred years already - my mood still listens to jazz. Get it? 'Cause it swings. I cannot dwell on dark thoughts for long; but just as well I cannot stay happy and cheerful in the wake of even a slightest melancholy brought about by the circumstances.

So, after spending a few minutes in dark contemplation, I told myself that everything was all right (even though it wasn't) and went on to thinking about something pleasant, just to freshen up. No use giving in to sorrow, am I right? I mean, happiness leads to grief, grief leads to frustration, frustration leads to tranquillity, which, eventually, leads to a certain degree of happiness. That's the course of things. The only difference for me being that I experience all of those in quick, rapid succession. Moderation is for pussies and Labourists, anyway.

I believe I must digress a little (not that I don't do it every now and again) and once more apologise if what I'm telling you seems rather bland. I'm a Time Lord, not a writer, after all. But hey, I'm struggling: that's what counts, right? Also, if you have somehow got offended by my narration (e.g. you're a Labourist), again, I apologise. With that being said... Where was I?

Oh, yes. Here I was, standing right before Shafty's humble abode, if abode is the word I want. I'm pretty sure it is. Anyway. I found nothing better than to inspect the surroundings. And I'm not talking about the little town; I mean the broader picture. Thanks to my perfect Time Lord eyesight (never believe those who say that I have poor eyesight; even if it is I myself), I could see the general panorama of the Wasteland.

It looked beautiful, in a way. The Wasteland seemed to be a neat blend of a good old desert, with the sand, and the scorched ground, and a semi-barren land, with occasional cacti and plants resting here and there. What I hadn't seen before, however, were the mountains. They crowned the horizon almost completely, so distant and stately. My mind wandered around, making me guess what could be lying behind those giants. Now, if only I could get some nice ambient music here... But guess what? Right. No radio. Well, I mean, no batteries. The radio was still with me, on my back. I mean... You get me, anyway.

I glanced at the sky. Judging by the occasional rays peeking through the cloud curtain, I assumed that it was already lunch-time. You know why they call it "lunch-time"? Because it's time for lunch. And, being a little short of money (read, having no money), I couldn't really afford lunch. All I could hope for was for Turner to come out of the hut... erm, abode, and offer me a meal. Which didn't seem likely to happen.

My contemplative reverie was shattered in but a few minutes by the door opening widely with a raw, dry screech. I glanced up, hoping to see my pegasus companion. but instead faced Shafty, who winked at me with a yawn. Dammit. I sighed and turned back to admiring the plains around me.

"So, colt, how do you like my little town?"

I turned round, watching the brown unicorn light up a cigarette and start puffing the smoke into the afternoon air in thin rivulets. I muttered obscenities under my breath. A colt, for buck's sake?! I was no "colt"!

"Would be nicer if I could get some food," I replied in slight irritation. Seeing the stallion's frown, and remembering the PToP (stands for Purple Twins of Purpleness, in case you forgot), I quickly added, "sir."

Shafty laughed, smoke erupting from his nostrils. How he could laugh and smoke at the same time eluded me. However, taking a quick glance at his rump (don't judge me), I saw his cutie mark to be a cigarette, with the amber tip, and the tiny stream of smoke, and all that stuff. By Celestia's beard, I'd never thought I would ever see a pony whose special talent was smoking. Either that or there was some deep psychological meaning to it. I don't know - I'm no Freud.

"Well, come on in, then!" he exclaimed, waving a hoof in a welcoming gesture. "It's chow time, and you, as Captain's..." He frowned. "I mean, Turner's debtor, are welcome."

That phrase, simple at the first glance, evoked three point of confusion inside me. First, chow?! What are we - soldiers? Well, at least it seemed that he saw me as a recruit. But still!.. Second, why was he calling Turner "Captain"? He wasn't really a captain... I hadn't seen a ship, or at least a parrot nearby. And, last but not least, being somepony's debtor actually gave me some privileges? Wow, I had thought it only brought trouble. Some food for thought, what?

Yeah, anyway, food for thought was nice and all, but what mattered to me much more was food for my stomach. So, I stashed the aforementioned thoughts in the "To Think" section of my brain and happily nodded, watching the door open by the touch of the divine food-giver. That is, Shafty, if you didn't get it.

I nearly galloped through the door, having great expectations about the glorious, gluttonous feast that awaited me. I imagined litres of hot tomato soup, with basil and all, and mashed potatoes, and buckwheat, and maybe some pancakes to top it up? I looooove pancakes!

What met my gaze, however, was not a feast. In fact, all my hopes were crushed the moment I saw the almost-empty table, and Turner sitting at the aforementioned table and munching on some canned food, his muzzle inside the can. Eww. There are spoons for that!

The PToP were nowhere to be seen, and that put me a little more at ease. But just a little. Turner just glanced at me before returning to his... erm, "meal". If canned food could ever be worthy of such a title. I slowly sat down on the floor opposite him, watching Shafty place himself on the three-legged chair.

"Suit yourself," the brown unicorn said, putting an open tin can in front of me. I took a cautious sniff, but couldn't possibly make out the scent. If anything, it smelt like burnt cat fur wrapped around a manure-covered pole, if not worse. "You don't smell food, you gulp it down, colt," Shafty advised, looking at me indulgently.

"That doesn't look like food," I mumbled, inspecting the can. Hmm... It seemed like it was food. Canned beans, best before... "These are two hundred years old!" I exclaimed, my eyes widening as I saw the date on the can.

"So I take it you're not hungry, then?" Shafty grinned and made a motion to take the food away from me. I grunted and downed the "food" in one gulp, wiping my muzzle with a hoof afterwards. What? It's not like there were any handkerchiefs around there!

It tasted... strange, to say the least. Not entirely disgusting, but not delicious either. I could barely describe it; the flavour was a kind of spicy blandness, if such a collocation is possible. However, it left a sore, unpleasant aftertaste in my mouth. Oh well, nothing a cup of tea couldn't help!

"A cup of tea would be nice," I addressed the unicorn. "Black tea with bergamot?" I suggested with a hopeful smile. Maybe they could find some bergamot and lemon? That'd make a fine blend!

Shafty blinked with a frown. "Tea? What's that?" he wondered, his eyes locked on me.

I couldn't help but gasp, recoiling in fear. Being unable to read is one thing, but being completely oblivious about what tea was... It was a serious offence, in my eyes. To say the least. I had to escape from that town. Post-haste.

"It's a drink." I glared at the unicorn. The best drink in the world, I added mentally. "But, you know, water would be just fine." That's it, Doctor. A nice, friendly smile. No need to murder a town of innocents because they don't know how to read or what tea is.

"Ha!" Dammit, he actually said that. I mean, he could've just laughed, but he said, "Ha!" out loud. "Ha," Shafty repeated, a little calmer this time. "That's a good one, colt." He reached out to tap me on the shoulder, but I evaded the gesture. "The only water around here is highly irradiated," he added seriously.

Irradiated water? Why would they keep irradiated water?! ...Oh, right. Some past conflict. Nuclear weaponry involved. All that jazz. Damn, I'd really need to enquire into the matter deeper... Still, at the moment, I had to sate my thirst. Thirst things first. Get it? Get it?!

"Give it to me," I half-asked, half-ordered, somewhat bold in the wake of PToP's absence. "A little radiation won't kill me." A remark: Time Lords don't suffer from radiation poisoning. Unless it’s, like, half a million rads per second. The more you know!

"A little won't; much will," Shafty retorted but levitated a bottle of water nevertheless. It looked clean, just like your normal water, but then again, radiation wasn't dirt, what?

I opened the bottle with my teeth and a little help from my hooves, and lifted it so that both stallions could see it. Shafty frowned. Turner was not amused. "Cheers!" I exclaimed, downing half the bottle in one gulp. Ah, water! The most wonderful, the purest liquid in the Universe! It washed away the taste of beans and the unpleasant dry touch of that "whisky" they'd served me, prompting me to dive into a somewhat pleased and relaxed mood.

I munched on thin air for a few moments, so that the aftertaste could set in, and took a few more gulps. Shafty smirked. Turner was still not amused. "May I keep the bottle?" I wondered politely. I could need that water in the future, after all.

The unicorn nodded, the smirk never leaving his face. "Say, you're quite a sturdy colt, sipping highly irradiated water as if it were fresh cactus juice," he remarked. Damn. I was still a "colt" in his eyes. Oh well. In a moment, Shafty addressed his attention to Turner. "Speaking about the information I gave you, was it valuable?" he asked. I assumed that they continued a recently paused conversation.

Turner nodded slowly. I wished he'd say "Quite" or something of the kind, at least.

"So, can I ask you for a favour, too?" Shafty enquired. "For the sake of old times?"

Turner nodded again, with a frown, without as much as a "Sure" or "Yes, carry on". Seemed like he wasn't a talkative stallion, from what I gathered.

"I want you to take my daughter with you," the unicorn said with a sigh. "She can't be forever stuck in this town. She needs to see the world, and besides..." His voice dropped to a whisper. "My colts can't take any more; she exhausts them."

"Exhausts" them? While that concept eluded me, the general prospect seemed fine by me. Having a lady in our party would be pretty nice, actually.

"She may aid you in battle," Shafty added. "You know how skilful she is."

Turner looked at the wall, all grim and contemplative. Finally, he sighed and hung his head. "All right, Shafty. I'll take her; but I'm not responsible for her." He cast a warning glance at the brown pony. Not me; the other brown pony. I mean, Shafty. Just so you don't get confused or whatever.

"I understand." Now it was his turn to nod. From a stranger's perspective, it could seem like a strange battle of nods. Hmm, sounds like a historical event. Battle of Nods... Anyway.

Shafty rose from his seat and trotted towards the door. "Kira!" he shouted, opening the door and looking into the street.

Kira? That name sounded familiar... Wait. Wait a minute. No. No, please. Please, don't tell me...

"Yes, Father?" A painfully familiar mare entered the hut... erm, abode, tossing her gorgeous brown mane aside. Upon casting her glance at me, she frowned. "You," she stated blandly. I tossed her a weak smile. "Turner." She bowed her head slightly at my pegasus companion. Seemed like she knew him... Well, at least she wasn't calling him "Captain".

"Kira, I remember you telling me that you wanted to 'get away from it all'," Shafty quoted, "so, here's your chance! I've arranged for you to accompany Cap- Turner and this fine colt here to the Lucky 56!"

"The Doctor," I muttered under my breath. "My name's The Doctor." Dammit, it seemed that this Kira was his daughter, and now I'd have to tolerate her ignorance on our way to... Wait a minute. The Lucky 56?! The very place where Mr New Pegas lived (and broadcasted)?! "We're going to the Lucky 56?!" I clarified audibly. Very audibly. So audibly that I actually made both Kira and Shafty flinch a little. Turner, as you may have already guessed, was not amused.

"I am going to the Lucky 56," my pegasus companion corrected me with (you guessed!) an unamused smile. "You two are just tagging along."

Oh well. At least there wasn't much disdain in his voice. I suppose. Still, Kira was somewhat displeased with the statement, and didn't hesitate to express her displeasure. "I didn't agree to tag along!" She huffed indignantly. "I'll never get laid with these two!"

Thank you very much. At least, now I was safe from being rutted to death by a mare. What a noble death it would have been! Still, I wanted to go to the Lucky 56 (because Mr New Pegas), I wanted to stick to Turner for the time being (because he was mighty powerful and stuff), and I didn't mind Kira tagging along (because, well, I was in a good mood; and I also wanted to find out more about the pony-zebra war). So, I came into play, putting on my Charming and Disabling Time Lord's Smile [TM]. "Wouldn't you get to get laid more, though?" I asked rhetorically, drawing circles in the air with my hoof. Always makes me look even smarter, that gesture. "I mean, get to know new stallions in the places we pass on our way? New faces, new ponies, new potential partners?"

Kira seemed to be lost in thought. Good. I have that effect on mares. "You know, for a fatty asshead, you seem reasonable," she let out finally, nodding towards us. I met her with a frown: I was no 'fatty asshead'! I'm a Time Lord, for fuck's sake! (Great, and now I'm swearing again...) Shafty grinned widely, visibly relieved to finally have his sex machine of a daughter out of town. Turner (guess what?) was not amused. Still.

"Well, good luck on your way, then!" Shafty cheered. "If you need anything, don't hesitate to get in touch with me." He winked.

Oh. Right. There was one thing I needed. "Can I get some spare batteries for my radio?" I pointed at my back, where the sad Box of Many Wonders was resting.

Shafty shook his head. "Sorry, colt, we don't have such stuff around here."

I replied with a frown and an understanding nod. Dammit. Well, even if I couldn't listen to Mr New Pegas' Raspy Voice of Sweet Raspiness, I was approaching the very owner of the voice, at least! No time to wail! Mr New Pegas was waiting for me, regardless of all the questions in my head, regardless of all circumstances, regardless of all the little things that kept nagging my brain. "Adventure awaits!" I yelled, rushing out of the "abode"-hut, the radio jumping up and down on my back, next to an almost-empty bottle of water. "Allons-y!"

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Kira following me at a trot, a grin on her face. It seemed that my enthusiasm was contagious. Turner was trotting behind us, and, believe it or not, I could swear the corners of his mouth were turned a little more upwards than usual. At that exact moment, as I ran, chilly wind hitting my face, I couldn't think of the war, or my TARDIS, or my debt to Turner. Only one thought rotated inside my mind as I ran towards a new adventure.

Now I was totally sure that everything came in threes at this crazy place.

***

Footnote:

Level up!

New Perk: Orator - You really do have a smooth tongue, after all! Just to think of all the things you can do with your tongue... No wonder that you are so popular with mares! And stallions, for some reason... If you have any companions, you have a chance to get them to pay for various items from vendors in your stead. This does not apply to Turner. He won't buy you stuff: you know that.

Chapter Four: Good Times, Bad Times

Chapter Four: Good Times, Bad Times

"Think you've seen it all? Think again. Outside those doors, we might see anything. We could find new worlds, terrifying monsters, impossible things. And if you come with me... nothing will ever be the same again!"

There are many benefits to running.

First of all, running is said to be incredibly healthy; and, given my Time Lord expertise, I can assure you that it is. Running involves many of your muscles that are normally unused by the body. Your blood circulation is affected positively as well.

Moreover, running is undoubtfully useful. When you find yourself in a difficult situation, it is always better to run away. At least, that's what I'm used to doing. Just run - and your problems vanish behind you, unable to catch up.

Last but not least, running enhances your thought process. When you're running, your brain is running as well. It is running through all the ideas you've been dumping there, all the thoughts and issues that you've needed to think over. Your mind is cleaner, purer, it's unspoilt by routine: you are running, and your mind is focused on what is really important, delivering you the answers to all questions.

However, there is one serious drawback to running: eventually, you get tired. That was exactly what happened to me after a few kilometres of running across the desert-like surroundings. I could barely lift my legs as I crawled forward, closely followed by a not-so-exhausted Kira and a not-a-single-damn-giving Turner. I wished that there were some nice ambient music, at least, to soothe my soreness; but my radio was as good as dead. Well, it was dead, in a way.

On the other hoof, the day seemed to be coming to an end, and, maybe, it was for the better. The lack of music, I mean. That ambience they tend to broadcast on the radio usually gets creepy during evening and late-night broadcasts.

The worst thing, however, was the sand. The sand in my mane, my tail, my fur... The never-ending, never-ceasing, ever-present sand. All around me. Eww. I sighed and grumbled, letting Kira pass by as she swished her tail against my flank. At any other time, it could be rather sexy; at that exact moment, though, it only made the tiny, minute shard-like grains of sand bite deeper into my skin.

"Didn't think you were so short on stamina," Kira chuckled, trotting cheerfully, her saddlebags covering her flanks from both sides, preventing me from observing her cutie mark, a detail I had failed to see previously. (I really hoped it wasn't a penis, especially given her... erm, excitable attitude. And, well, her attraction to, um, penises.) Well, technically speaking, her cutie marks; 'cause we have two of those, you know. Wait, saddlebags? Where'd she got them from?

"First, it's short of stamina," I corrected her with the usual Time Lord righteousness. "And second, I'm good at short runs." That was the truth: I couldn't run a hundred kilometres without stopping to catch a breath, of course, but when it came down to running from a bunch of angry cyberponies... Boy, my running performance was spectacular!

"Well, you won't give me a 'short run', for some reason," the cyan mare mumbled, levitating a green pear out of her bag and munching on it. I scrunched my face, trying to avert my eyes from the feast. Pears. I hate pears. They are an evil abomination that can easily throw a Time Lord into an abyss of misery and despair.

"Where have you got those bags from?" I wondered, disregarding both Kira's remark and her pear-eating offence. "I never saw you take those."

The unicorn shrugged and tapped her horn with a hoof, still levitating the half-consumed fruit. If pears could be called "fruit", that is. "First, I'm a unicorn: I levitated those when we left." She took another juicy bite that made me flinch involuntary. "And second, it's 'gotten'," she concluded in a somewhat lecturing tone.

I slowly felt my blood boiling, my breathing quickening, and my nostrils flaring with extreme irritation. Taking a few deep breaths to calm myself, I put on a fake smile, suppressing a glare. "I'm British," I explained. "We don't use that word." Brevity. The soul of wit or something. Also helps to hide your disapproval when you're hissing each word through your teeth.

"What's 'British' mean?" Kira blinked dumbly, chewing on her pear. Oh, dammit. Of course she couldn't know! I mean, not everyone is a Time Lord with the ability to travel to planet Earth, among other peculiar places. Still, the cat was out of the bag, or whatever they say, so I decided to brief her briefly (Ha!) on the subject.

"It's some kind of national affiliation," I said, wondering if she knew the word "affiliation". "I'm not really a pony, you see; I'm not even from this planet. I'm a Time Lord," I struck a heroic pose, awaiting excited gasps, murmurs or maybe even fainting. None of which followed. "A time-travelling species?" I chuckled sheepishly at Kira's blank stare.

Kira blinked.

"An alien?" I supplied without dropping the weak smile.

Kira blinked again. I cast a troubled gaze towards Turner, but my pegasus companion paid no heed to our verbal exchange, simply trotting ahead. My legs wobbled, reminding me about my sheer exhaustion. As if I could ever forget about it. Seemed like Turner didn't give a damn. As usual, though. I wondered if he ever listened to what I said. Or recognised my humble existence in any way.

"Great, now I'm travelling in the company of a rock and a madpony," the cyan mare mumbled to herself with a deep sigh. Ouch. Well, at least I wasn't a "rock"! Though, being a "madpony" didn't seem like a pleasant perspective either...

Slowly walking along the path of cracked asphalt, I tried to take in the grim surroundings that seemed to have become my new home, for the time being. Not quite as cosy as my TARDIS, I had to admit, but still quite peaceful. Nothing disrupting the lonely road in the middle of the desert, with sturdy sands and pale cacti growing all around. Nothing.

Except for a ruined two-storey building in the middle of the desert. "What the..." I began, rubbing my eyes. "What the hell is a building doing in the middle of nowhere?!" I exclaimed, slightly perturbed by the sight, and moreso perturbed by my companions' lack of reaction.

"Standing," Kira replied smugly, following the path that now led us right past the strange building. Oh, look who's being a smartarse here! Thanks, the Harbinger of the Obvious.

"Who would ever build a damn house in the middle of the desert?" I soliloquised idly, coming to a stop just left of the entrance, which was a rust-bitten metal door, hanging there by sheer willpower, it seemed.

"Ironclad Industries," Turner replied suddenly, stopping next to me. I jumped up in surprise a little, I won't lie. "It was common to build factories in secluded places, lest their secrets be found."

So... A factory, was it? The radio on my back didn't seem so dead anymore. "So, this Ironclad Industries company," I began, glancing at Turner, whose eyes were fixed on the building. "What do they do?"

"Were doing," Kira corrected me, standing next to me as well. "They were producing weapons during the war." I glanced at Turner for confirmation, but it seemed that my pegasus companion had already broken his limit of spoken words for the day.

All right. So, this building used to be a weapon-producing factory. What did it mean for yours faithfully? Metal. Lots and lots of metal. And cords. And, possibly, electricity. You get the idea? Batteries. Spare batteries for my radio. The Box of Many Wonders could come to life again, with a little help from a skilful Time Lord!

"Can we go inside?" I asked Turner, gazing longingly at the potential source of energy for my wonderful jingle-jangle-jingling device. "I think I may find some spare parts for the radio." I tapped the radio on my back for good measure.

"Why won't you come inside me, I wonder," Kira grumbled, glaring at me. "I think you may find it much more interesting." Damn, why was I travelling with a sex fiend again? To pay Turner back and get to the Lucky 56, I reminded myself. Anything and everything to get to meet Mr New Pegas.

"But yeah, Turner, let's take a peek," the cyan mare said, smiling at the pegasus. "May as well find some valuable loot there." Great! At least the sex fiend was on my side!

"We don't want to get sidetracked," Turner said with a frown. When I say, "with a frown", I mean, "with a deeper frown than usual".

"Well, I want to get sidetracked!" I exclaimed, on the verge of whining. (Whining: another useful skill that every Time Lord should have at their disposal.) "Come on, Turner, it'll only take half an hour!"

"I can't waste half an hour," my pegasus companion said grimly. "You two go ahead, if you want." Again, his not-giving-a-damn attitude. It actually started to irritate me, really.

"But how will we catch up with you?" I wondered. I didn't want to be left in the wasteland without protection, that's for sure! ...Speaking about protection, I didn't want to be left alone with Kira for long either. If you don't get how it is connected to protection, then you really do have a pure and unspoilt mind. Keep it that way.

"There's, like, only one road here." Kira nudged me slightly. "Come on, fatty, let's go scavenging!" With that, she ran off towards the door and vanished behind it.

"Hey! I'm no 'fatty'!" I exclaimed and ran, trying to catch up with her, noticing Turner turn round and start walking away along the cobbled path.

***

"Hmm, I thought it would be bigger," I mused idly as I inspected the spacious, yet single, room that met us with its grim darkness. But for the tiny specks of light rushing into the factory through the holes in the ceiling, the place would be pitch-black. I was honestly surprised by how empty it was. No conveyor belts, no factory equipment, nothing even slightly resembling anything that could be used for producing weaponry. Just a few broken tables, a ruined chair, and a few footlockers here and there. It seemed more like an office building, if anything.

"That's what she said!" Kira snickered, covering her muzzle with a hoof. Har har. How funny. You, ma'am, are witty. "Anyway, that's just because we haven't reached the second floor yet."

The second... floor? Oh. Of course. Two-storey building must mean there's a second floor somewhere. "I don't see any steps," I said, observing the almost-empty room once more.

Kira huffed and pointed her hoof at the dark corner, where - you guessed it - there was a nice set of steps that I had somehow failed to notice. Hey, my eyesight isn't perfect! Don't believe a word of those who claim otherwise. Even if it's me.

"Well, I'm used to open spaces, you know," I mumbled, directing my hooves towards the steps. Maybe that second floor held something valuable. Like batteries.

"You told me you lived in a box," the cyan mare countered, following me slowly as she checked the footlockers to see if any of them were open. None were, from what I could see.

"It's bigger on the inside," I retorted, regretting exchanging information with that devil of a mare. She'd just make fun of me, anyway. Not like she actually believed me.

"You are bigger on the inside," she said, poking my tummy... erm... muscle. Yes, muscle. "Fatty," she added with a grin. That didn't even make sense!

I resolved not to reply, instead opting for stepping on the cold stone staircase. It was rather dirty, so it took some effort to manoeuvre between the slime and mud. How did that even end up here? I thought with a hint of disapproval at the maintenance department of the building. If it still existed, that is.

"Though, don't worry." Kira grinned slyly, swishing her tail against my flank. "I like my stallions big." She winked. Oh Celestia. I thought my apparent 'madness' was a decent reason for her not to seek intimacy with me! Oh well.

The second floor met us with a somewhat more elaborate decor: apart from the tables and footlockers similar to the ones I could observe on the first floor - or, ground floor; but I doubt that such a building ever had a ground floor - there were also a few cupboards and what seemed to me a wardrobe. What was a wardrobe doing there? Hell if I know. But anyway. I winced at the bland grey-ness of the interior, wishing there were at least a few colourful posters on the gloomy walls.

Kira immediately started checking the footlockers and the cupboards, which, to her delight - and a squeal that pierced my ears sharply - were unlocked. What piqued my interest, however, was a table - actually, more of a desk - the corner of the room, on which a green-screened device was resting. Having no desire no listen to Kira's grunts when she opened an empty footlocker and her debilitating shrieks when she did find some rubbish, I drifted towards the desk, noticing a peculiar metal pod next to it. Since it was lidded with a matte sheet of glass, I couldn't possibly guess what was inside. Either some unnecessary rubbish or...

...Or something useful. Like spare batteries. Knocking my hoof against the lid and receiving no reply, I sighed and looked at the green, dimly-lit screen. Judging by the keyboard, it was a simple model of some kind of computer, without the Full-HD and all the sweet stuff we have on Gallopfrey. Oh well. Maybe it had internet connection, at least?

I stood before the desk - why would they not place a chair in front of it eluded me - and poked at one of the keys. Seemed like ponies round here didn't mind wasting energy, for the device was already on. Not logged on, though. The screen erupted with a tiny flash and offered me to enter the password. Dammit, always with those passwords.

I sighed, blaming my sonic screwdriver for its absence, and tapped my hoof against the desk absent-mindedly. The password... Relying on Lady Luck, who generally wasn't on my side, I typed in, 'PASSWORD'. That was silly, to think about it, thinking that somepony would be dumb enough to...

Somepony was dumb enough. With a loud ding, the system let me log in. Damn. Never in my life would I have thought that somepony actually had 'password' as their password. Oh well. I still had some things to learn, it seemed.

"Wow, you hacked the terminal?!" Kira exclaimed from behind, making me turn round frantically. Dammit, didn't her father teach her not to creep ponies out like that? "You must be a computer genius!" she exclaimed in an amused tone.

I brushed my hair back. She wants to think of me as a computer genius? Let her think so. Besides, I learned that that particular type of computer was called a "terminal". The more you know! "Yeah, kinda," I said smugly.

"You know how hot that is?" she whispered into my ear, shifting closer to me. "I wanna fuck you right here, right-"

Oh dear. I backed down, pressing my back into the desk's surface. Time to break the impression. "The password was 'password'," I mumbled lamely, hoping that the truth would calm her down.

It didn't. "Well, the offer still stands~" she cooed, advancing towards me slowly, breaking my inner creepy-o-metre by all parameters.

"Maybe some other time." I evaded her approach, eliciting a grunt from the mare. "When pigs fly," I added under my breath.

Examining the screen of the terminal, I found, to my dismay, nothing but a single line reading, >OPEN THE POD. No information? No documents? Hell, no games, even? That was certainly one boring terminal. "Must be that one pod," I muttered, taking a glance at the matte glass of the cylindrical object in the corner.

"Didn't know those could connect to pods," Kira said, looking at the screen as she stood to my right, just between yours faithfully and the aforementioned pod.

"I thought you were knowledgeable about those 'terminals'," I said, pondering whether to enter the command or not.

"Yeah, but the one we have in our house just holds documentation," the mare replied with a frown.

"Wait." I glanced at Kira. "I didn't see a terminal in your house." Were they hiding it, for some reason? Secret documentation and all that jazz?

"It's in the backroom." Kira yawned, levitating a small number of bottle caps - which she, no doubt, had just found, while I was playing the role of a technical mastermind - into one of her saddlebags.

"You don't have a backroom," I retorted, my hoof dancing above the enter key. Should I open it? I mean, there could be some batteries there, or at least something I could make batteries of (or with), but I couldn't take that chance for granted...

"We do," Kira said simply as she opened one drawer after another, checking them for emptiness. "It's well-concealed." She shrugged at a pencil that she'd ejected from the top drawer.

I decided to avoid any comments from my side. Maybe I really hadn't noticed it: I mean, my eyesight isn't perfect, whatever anypony says! Also, wasn't I the one to be living in a blue box? Um... To have been living in a blue box, I mean. Damn, at that moment, I really did miss my TARDIS... Trying not to give in to sombre thoughts, I hit the enter key to open the pod.

Sheer curiosity came over me as I watched the lid move, painfully slowly, just like in those films where you have a mad scientist and a medical pod and what-not. Kira yawned and inspected a nearby dustbin, extracting a few caps from there. Eww. Those must be dirty, I mused, somewhat perturbed by her cheerfulness.

I had to avert my eyes as she took a dusty hairslide/maneslide/whatever suits your fancy (from the same bin) and placed it in her brown mane with an idiotic smile that mares tend to have when they think they've found something beautiful. "How do I look?" the cyan mare wondered in what seemed to me a sly tone, but I was delivered from answering her, for the lid finally opened, revealing a round metal object attached to the top of the pod, hose-like tubes adorning it from the bottom.

The mechanism clicked, and (without any dramatic white smoke, unfortunately) the object, which looked more and more like a robot, blinked with a red light and hovered out of the pod immediately upon turning on. "State your business," it beeped in a screechy tone.

"Fascinating!" I exclaimed, shifting closer to the robot at once. When I was in Equestria last, they had no robots! The progress must have been fast-moving, even with the nuclear apocalypse and all. I wished I had my glasses with me at the moment; not because I have poor eyesight (it's actually near-perfect), but simply because I look even more like a genius when I'm wearing those. Yes, I know: "Doctor, how can you be even more genius-like?!" Believe me: I can.

I touched the hoses, which were a unique blend of metal and rubber. "Flexible metal," I mumbled to myself, inspecting the robot. "Amazing." Damn, progress had been fast-moving indeed!

"State your business," the machine repeated monotonously, to which I paid no heed. Science first, talk later! I love science. And technology. Just saying.

"Doctor..." Kira tapped me on the shoulder, but I shrugged her off, enveloped in my research. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the mare back down a little, her eyes wide and lips trembling. Those mares... Why would she-

"State your business or be exterminated." The hose that I was holding pushed me back with formidable force, and, to my shock, I saw rotating razor blades extend from the hoses, pointed at a certain Time Lord. That is, me.

Dammit, the moment I heard the word 'exterminate', I knew I was in big trouble. As in, really big trouble. I'd had unpleasant encounters with some robot-ish beings that tend to overuse that word. And guess what? Nothing good ever came out of those "encounters". I backed down, while the robot hovered in the air in place, and turned to Kira, who seemed stuck in place.

All right. Time to turn to the greatest Time Lord battle technique. That is, running away. "Run," I whispered to Kira, my legs ready for a sprint. The cyan mare only trembled in fear.

"You haven't stated your business," the machine spoke calmly, making me gulp and freeze in place. In retrospect, I should have come up with something to talk it out of fighting, or, well, "exterminating" us. But... fear, you know? "You will be exterminated, zebra scum!" Oh great, the robot was a racist too. Kira must have a lot to talk about with it.

Speaking of Kira, she just trembled harder, as if intense tremor had taken over her whole body. The robot charged at us, and I had to act quickly: seeing as the unicorn mare had no intention of running, I dashed into her, knocking her off her hooves, just as the razor blades cut the air at the place we'd been standing a second ago.

"You can get your hooves off my butt now," Kira whispered meekly as I lay on top of her in the corner of the room. Embarrassed, I noticed that, during my successful attempt at saving her life, I'd accidentally grabbed her posterior. Such things happen, all right?!

"There's no time for stupidity!" I yelled, somewhat outraged by that mare's ability to find sexual even at a near-death state. "We need to get out!" Thankfully, Kira understood me, turning serious all of a sudden (thanks Celestia), and, thankfully again, the robot seemed to be on slow side.

It charged at us at the speed of a tortoise (turtle, whatever), but a tortoise with razor blades attached to its body. Which was a little scary. Well, maybe more than a little. The tin can's (hehe, get it?) slow reaction allowed me to grab Kira by the waist and prop her up, just as I jumped up, landing straight on my hooves. Looks amazing, right? Years of training, what can I say?

We rushed towards the staircase, evading the razor blades with remarkable efficiency, if I may say so. I chuckled to myself, gleeful at the ease with which we dealt with the hard situation. On one hoof, I didn't find any spare batteries, but on the other hoof, I didn't die! Yay!

A searing pain struck my left thigh, accompanied by a whoosh sound rushing through the air. I fell onto the floor, grunting and cursing my very existence. Another bolt of pain, lower this time. The robot couldn't have reached us so fast! I managed to turn my head, only to see one of the hoses wildly firing red beams at me and Kira, who had managed to avoid them, but was held back from reaching the stairs.

"It has fucking lasers!" Kira yelled to me, dodging another bolt. Celestia rut me till it's not funny anymore! It had lasers?! My opinion of pre-wasteland Equestrian technology lowered significantly. Who the hell would put damn lasers on a damn robot at a damn factory?!

"I've noticed!" I yelled back, grunting in pain. You know, all those books and films where the protagonist gets shot a gazillion times and trots on like it's nothing? They lie. In fact, even a smallest wound leaves you cowering in pain, not to mention two laser shots! So, I could do nothing but lie there and watch the robot shoot at Kira, shamefully thankful that those bolts weren't being directed at me.

"Then get your flank up and run!" Kira hissed, taking a leap towards my fallen lump of a body, trying to nudge me towards the exit.

"I can't!" I roared as another beam hit me on the shoulder. That's gonna leave a scar, I thought off-hoofedly, watching Kira mutter something under her breath and throw her saddlebag off her back. Which gave me a nice scenery of her flank, by the way. Erm... Her cutie mark, I mean. Which, if I squinted my eyes (bad eyesight, you know it), was... a long, oval-ish object... No. Please, no. Don't let it be a penis, Celestia. Please.

I let out a sigh of relief when Kira picked me up with her telekinesis, and I saw her cutie mark to be not a penis, but a syringe half-filled with some green liquid. Probably the Wasteland version of heroin. Or something. "Dammit, you're heavy!" she exclaimed as she magically placed (well, dropped, to be exact) me on her back. It was kinda soft. And warm, I had to admit. Very, very cosy. In fact, if it weren't for a killer robot chasing us across the room as Kira dragged her hooves towards the stairs desperately, followed by the steadfastly advancing tin can with razor blades and lasers, it would be quite peaceful.

The robot advanced slowly, halting the lasers and instead extending all its hoses, the razors almost touching Kira's fur as she limped, groaning, her legs wobbling. Calculating the possible outcome (Time Lords can stay calm even during drastic situations), I assumed that it was impossible for Kira to get out while carrying me; so, I said what I had to say. "Drop me, Kira." I smiled at the mare knowingly. "I'll deal with it somehow. Run away."

"You're an idiot," the cyan mare hissed, still crawling towards the steps that were getting closer and closer with each second. "I won't leave you here. Besides-" What she wanted to say remained a mystery to me, for her legs gave out and she collapsed on the floor with a shriek. Involuntary, I rolled over and ended up half a metre away from Kira, wincing from pain.

The robot reached us, hovering right above the cyan mare. "Dammit, stupid machine! Come at me!" I yelled in a desperate attempt to redirect the dumb tin can's potential attack. I mean, I still had a regeneration left. Sure, I didn't like to waste those, but still... The benefits of being a Time Lord!

However, it seemed that the tin can wasn't in the mood for hunting Time Lords. Instead, it pointed one of its razor-adorned hoses at the cyan mare, who could do nothing but cower in fear and exhaustion, closing her eyes instinctively. All right, now, I wouldn't mind a miracle. Please? Celestia? Luna? A miracle? A little one?

The razors were a few centimetres from Kira's neck now. I grunted and tried to stand up, but failed miserably, sharp pain from my wounds preventing any kind of action. Idly, I noticed that my flank was turning red from blood, and so was my shoulder. Dammit, Celestia, Luna, what the hell are you doing there in Canterlot?! (If they were still in Canterlot, that is. ...Were they even alive at the time?) I need a miracle! Right now!

A blur of brown and silver grey rocketed up the stairs, colliding with the robot and pushing it away from the cyan mare. Wow. Now that's what I call a miracle! An A-film-tier tension breaker! Turner (because it was him, if you still haven't guessed) placed a couple well-estimated kicks on the tin can, eliciting a weak cheer from yours faithfully. Great! Seemed like my saviour was here to save my sorry flank again and-

"Where the hell are you going?!" I yelled, watching the pegasus approach the green-screened terminal casually, even leisurely. The robot whizzled and resumed its hovering, albeit a few steps away from me. Two of its hoses were broken, but one was still rotating its oh-so-sharpy razors at a very scared and wounded Time Lord. (Read: me.)

Turner didn't reply, tapping at the keys with the fervent speed of hackers from cheap flicks, completely disregarding two ponies, one of whom was at the near-faint point. I don't mean myself, of course. The robot crept towards me slowly, ever-so-slowly. I gulped and closed my eyes. What the hell was Turner doing out there?! I mean, sure, it was for the better (somewhat) that the murderous tin can (which, by the way, had gone silent; a pleasant diversion from Daleks' never-ceasing "EX-TER-MI-NATE") chose me as its target, and not Kira, but hell, I could use some help here!

"No time to check your mail!" I shouted at the brown pegasus, trying to crawl away from the Tin Can of Assassination (remind me to trademark that one) to no avail. As usual, Turner just disregarded me. Oh well. Time to regenerate, I guess. I opened my eyes. Look straight into Death's eyes and whatever they say all the cool people do. The razors almost touched my neck. I felt the tiny rivulets of wind created by the rotation. The odour of rusty steel pierced the air. My throat went sore and the ungulped saliva froze in my mouth. My tongue was weak and sour.

They say your whole life rolls right before your eyes before you die. Well, I guess that either they lie or that Time Lords' life span is too huge for such a thing to happen. The only thing I felt at the moment was an urgent need to visit the bathroom and a silly phrase rolling around in my head, Too young to die, really, way too young to die.

The blade pressed into my neck and... stopped. I opened my eyes, looking, not without a certain amount of surprise in my gaze, at the metal sphere, ex-killer-robot, now lying at my hooves. I glanced at Turner, who now stood by the terminal, looking at me indifferently. "You... disabled it?"

"This model has remote control," the pegasus said simply. "I know a bit about terminals." If he'd adopted a smug grin, I would have labelled him classy and over-powered, but he just trotted up to us, touching Kira on the shoulder gently. "Can you move?" he asked with a faint touch of sympathy. Must be just my imagination. Turner plus sympathy equals impossible.

"Barely," the mare grunted. "I'm kinda tired. Can I just sleep here?" She yawned genuinely. "Thanks for saving us, by the way." Wait, that's all? No offering a "special" reward? Damn, Turner sure got less attention from that perverted mare! I really wasn't sure whether to be glad or offended.

"Come on, Kira, get up," Turner urged. "I need you to heal him." Him? Oh, right. Me. 'Cause I was bleeding out. Funny how the wounds began to hurt again just as I remembered about them. Psychology, what?

"Can't you heal me?" I grumbled, shifting uneasily. I could bet Kira would try something funny while tending to me. And I really didn't want it, for reasons stated somewhere above. Take me on a date first, learn to read, and then we'll see.

"I'm no expert in medicine," my pegasus twice-saviour replied, taking Kira's saddlebags in his mouth (eww) and placing them before her. "Here."

The mare nodded and, digging through some stuff that I had no name for, extracted a vial with some purple liquid. It didn't look like any alcoholic beverage I'd previously consumed, so I assumed it was some kind of medicine. With an exhausted grunt, the mare levitated the vial (lucky unicorns), crawling a couple steps closer to me. My assumption was proved as Kira poured the purple liquid onto my wounds: I could really feel them get better. I got better too, and my mood rose significantly. The pain was dull and fading. Yay, I was alive and kicking! I started feeling happier already. Hell, I could kiss Turner right now! ...Which wouldn't be a good idea. And could lead to my immediate death. Yeah. Better avoid that.

"Now, a Med-X to keep you safe," Kira mumbled, taking out a syringe. Sweet Celestia indulging in anal pleasure! Now syringes weren't something I took to. I mean, each time I regenerate, I get some new quirk, or a few. This time, it was syringes. So... scary... and... hurtful...

"No!" I yelped, jumping to my hooves, my wounds crying out loud for my unthoughtful action. "See, I'm good! Good as-" With that, I fell down on the floor, groaning as blood started dripping from my shoulder. Huh. Seemed like the wound was still fresh.

"Lie still, you idiot," Turner chastised me sourly. "Now we have to spend two healing potions on you." He sighed and shook his head in utter disapproval. Well, at least now I knew what the purple medicine was called. But... Turner couldn't actually be that indifferent. I mean, he'd come up to save us, right? That must equal to something!

"Hey, Turner," I called out with a smile. "You do care about me."

The stallion raised his eyebrow in disbelief. Good, at least it was a nice change to the usual emotionless expression. "What gives you the impression?" he wondered finally.

"You came here to save us," I said, letting my tone become thankful. 'Cause I was thankful, you know? You usually are grateful towards whomever saved your life, especially on more than one occasion. "And you did," I added. "Thanks."

"I came here to save Kira," Turner said off-hoofedly as the cyan mare got up, her knees wobbling, and leaned against the stallion, who, to my surprise, didn't protest.

"Then you could have disabled the robot after it killed me, you know?" Dammit. Confound this Turner, he drives me to doubt.

"I saw no point in that." Turner cast an estimating glance at me. "Besides, you still owe me those caps." Oh well. Using me like there's no tomorrow. I guess some things just never change.

"Come on, Turner, is it so hard to accept that you saved us because you're kind, deep inside?" Kira whispered into the pegasus's ear, yet loud enough for me to hear. Turner's facial expression didn't change in the slightest, but I could make out a faint hint of... a blush? He was blushing, if only for a moment! Point proved! He did care!

"You're blushing!" I grinned. "I knew you cared about us." Suddenly, the world seemed a little brighter, even though we were in a dark building, and the sky outside was thickly covered with clouds.

"Shut up before I lose my temper," Turner warned me, softly guiding Kira towards the steps. "Come down to the ground floor and we'll rest a bit. She can use some sleep." I nodded, and got up gradually, not to bring myself more pain.

"Wait." Kira limped off the pegasus, walking towards me with another vial in her telekinetic field. "Here. You need this." With that, she applied the healing potion to my shoulder, much to my pleasure, and just as much to Turner's chagrin, as it seemed. Maybe this mare wasn't really as bad as I had initially assumed. Besides, she was a doctor (a real doctor, as it seemed), and her cutie mark made perfect sense now. Still, needles... *shudder*

"Thanks." I smiled at the cyan mare warmly. "You know," I called out, just as she leaned onto Turner again, making the mare turn her head towards me. "Your cutie mark."

"What about it?" Kira raised a brow, Turner stomping against the floor impatiently.

I grinned. "I'm glad it's not a penis."

***

On second thoughts, I shouldn't have said that. As we walked through the desert-like surroundings, my cheek still hurt from the impact of Kira's hoof. Still, a few hours of rest did wonders for my laser-inflicted wounds. Oh well, I guess. You win some, you lose some. Which, by the way, made me wonder if Kira's mean slap was more powerful than a killer robot's laser. Hmm... Welp, it only made sense that she got all the stallions she wanted in her hometown! (Presumably.) The fact that she was the mayor's/dictator's/whatever's daughter certainly helped as well, I suppose.

I sighed, frowning at the monotonous surroundings. Those certainly didn't qualify as something that would make a good lyrical narration. How can professional writers describe deserts? It's plainly impossible, unless you're planning on using the word "sand" at least a thousand times per chapter. "Damn, this wasteland of yours is really boring," I mumbled, trotting at Turner's right, the pegasus being the barrier between me and the offended mare. Who would have thought Kira would take offence to such an innocent observation of mine? That mare held surprises, I tell you.

"It's not boring," Turner dropped without paying me so much as a single glance. "It's what it needs to be."

Huh? Why had he got so philosophical all of a sudden? One way or another, he was actually talking, so I had to seize the opportunity. "In what way?" I wondered, adding, "All I can see is a barren desert with few ponies and settlements. A post-apocalyptic wasteland that holds nothing but a quest for survival." I shuddered, remembering how I had almost been killed by a malprogrammed robot. (If killing ponies hadn't been its programme, of course.)

"It's more than that," the pegasus rapped out, looking straight ahead. If the horizon were visible at the moment, I would have assumed he was looking at it, and beyond it, at something concealed far, far away. But it was covered with clouds. Oh well. "It's more than a quest for survival. It's a society." He held a pause, and I let the information sink in. "Since there are few inhabitants, and the civilisation has all but ceased, it is a fresh, new start for the equine race. And other races." I cast a look at Kira, who didn't even flinch. That sneaky racist mare. "We have no laws, no universal government. All we have is our morals, which are flexible. Homophobia, racism, sexism - only a small percent of the wasteland dwellers embraces those concepts. We have more freedom, and we are more moral than the ponies of the pre-war Equestria. Our morals aren't preserved or supported by the government. They are protected by us, by sheer force. We are free..." The pegasus chuckled, slowing his pace for a moment. "But we are also damned. There's no future in the Wasteland. We are, in some way, damned to be free." With that, he fell silent and resumed walking.

Hm. That certainly sounded smart, and had a nice ring to it - philosophical and sombre; but I couldn't really agree. We passed an out-of-place bus stop in the middle of the desert. Wait, I don't remember any buses in Equestria... Note to self: think about the possibility of this being a parallel universe (which I hoped it was, 'cause then my friends wouldn't have died, and so on) and refresh information about vehicles. Looking at the lonely object, I realised that it did indeed possess some unspoken beauty, like a painting of a cliff, or a lonely mountain, like a photograph of a well in the middle of the forest. Something out of place.

Speaking about places, I still didn't like the Wasteland's appeal. I would prefer homophobia, racism and what-not to being in constant danger of getting killed. But... Anarchist-like as they were (Turner didn't look like an anarchist to me, though), those thoughts held some wisdom. So, instead of arguing aloud, I mentally soliloquised to myself that I would have time to think it over later, when we get some real rest, and not just a few hours of lying on the floor of an abandoned building. Wait...

"We need to go back!" I yelled, and was damn ready to not just go, but run back at full speed! "I forgot to take out the batteries from that robot so I can fix my radio! (My trusty box of wonders. Never leaving my back, except when I fell down. Never caught any laser beams, that little radio, too!)

Turner silently reached for his saddlebags with a hoof and took out a set of wires. "It was powered with these. You may have those, if you want, but we are sure as hell not going back." Oh well. At least that was something.

I caught the wires. "Thanks, Turner. You're great," I praised my pegasus companion, who didn't even bother to nod in appreciation. Oh well. To work something out, I would need to stop for a while and toy with the radio a little. Where were those settlements when you needed them?!

Oh. There they were. Off in the distance, I saw a few buildings placed on the sides of the road we were trotting along. Cheerful smoke was erupting from the chimneys, giving me the warmth of a thriving community. "Can we go there?" I asked Turner, who, no doubt, seemed to be the legitimate leader of our little group.

"We don't have a choice." Oh come on, what's this deal about cryptic stuff? On a second thought, it wasn't that cryptic. The only road round here (the one we were traversing) led through the settlement ahead. We really didn't have a choice.

As we came closer, the smoke seemed more black than it used to seem, and now I could make out the red of flame. (My eyesight isn't perfect, remember?) Wait... The place was burning?! An array of thoughts rushed through my head, from "My fucking Celestia, we have to help them!" to "Run, Doctor, run away before it gets ugly!"

However, it had already got ugly by the time we approached the little settlement. The five buildings that formed the whole town were burning, the flames already licking the walls, having consumed the roof; and something gave me the impression that the reason for the fire wasn't a short circuit. The town was empty, abandoned, even. Well, no wonder the inhabitants ran away at the sight of the fire! Though, they may have wanted to put it out first...

My thoughts were interrupted as something (or, presumably, somepony) collided with yours faithfully, up-front. "Hey, watch where you're going, mate!" I called out, trying to sound both friendly and slightly irritated at the same time. The green blur (that turned out to be a green pony, of the earth pony variety; didn't look like there were any pegasi down here, apart from Turner) stopped dead in his tracks, looking at me in bewilderment.

"I won!" he shrieked, making me back down. Easy, Doctor. Easy there. Looks like we found a psycho. "I won the lottery!" He muttered something under his breath, giggling madly. Okay, Doctor, it would be for the better just to let the insane pony pass by.

"What lottery?" Dammit, Doctor! Fuck me and my natural curiosity. No matter how many times I remind myself that curiosity killed the Time Lord, it's always the hope of satisfaction bringing him back that makes me ask question after question.

"The lottery!" The green stallion roared with laughter. I glanced at his flank cautiously, expecting to find something connected to chronical gambling. However, it depicted a plough, so I could only assume that the pony was some farmer turned gambler. Or something.

The stranger galloped away, past us, along the road we'd came. Kira raised a brow. Turner didn't seem amused. We walked on, past the burning buildings. Both left and right, there were... crosses. Wooden crosses, with violently abused bodies of ponies crucified, huge nails penetrating their limbs. I felt a rising urge to vomit. Kira did just so. Turner was still not amused. Damn, it seemed that the inhabitants hadn't got away. They had been murdered, and mercilessly at that. One of the victims seemed to twitch in her dying agony. Kira noticed it as well, and rushed to the cross, levitating an array of different medicines from her saddlebags.

"Don't," a masculine voice reached my ears from the left. I immediately looked up, only to see four stallions who seemed to have materialised from nowhere. It was hard to make out their colour, for all of them wore red leather barding adorned with metal plates, and skirts. No, not skirts... Those looked more like battle kilts. However, it was obvious that all of them were earth ponies, since their heads were covered with light helmets, feathers crowning the sides, and I already knew pegasi weren't common round here. "You can't help her."

"Who are you?" Kira hissed, jumping away from the group and taking a defensive stance. "Did you do that?"

One of the stallions, the one in the middle, nodded and stepped forth. "Per procurationem the mighty Caesar, we have punished the wicked ponies of this town." Damn, those were legionnaires! Of course! I remembered Mr New Pegas talking about some Caesar, and these were, presumably, his Legion. Or a part of his Legion. Despite these ponies' desire to look all Roman-like, they still failed to pronounce their ruler's name correctly. "Kay-zar"? Really? Had nopony told them that that pronunciation was a barbarised Western variant, and not the way true Romans used to speak? The correct, Byzantine way of saying that is, "Tse-zar". Not "Kay-zar". Oh well, I guess not everyone can travel between multiverses and study different cultures.

Kira growled and was ready to charge, but Turner placed his hoof on her shoulder, and the cyan mare calmed down, exhaling loudly. Wow. Turner the mare-tamer. Hehe. Sounds like a title. My cheerfulness faded somewhat in the wake of standing in front of four ruthless killers. "And why would the mighty Caesar order a whole town destroyed?" Turner widened, without any sarcasm in his voice. And dammit, he pronounced it "Kay-zar" too.

"The ponies of this town were wicked. They indulged in drug abuse, homosexuality, and laziness," the legionnaire stallion said calmly. Oh, here we go: a legion of fanatics. Just what I needed. Not.

"Oh, so it's a valid reason to fucking burn the whole town and crucify them?!" Kira shouted in anger, but none of the legionnaires seemed to pay her any heed. Which was good, because getting killed due to that mare's lack of tact wasn't among my plans for the day.

"The mighty Caesar allowed us to make a lottery, in the name of the Goddess of Luck, with the winner remaining alive so that he or she can go and spread the word of the Legion's ferocity." Oh. So that was the deal with the "lottery". "You, too, should do so." The stallion hit the metal plate on his chest with a hoof. "Ave Caesar." With that, he passed us and motioned for his comrades (subordinates?) to follow.

I really wanted to ask who he was, but then again, I was fine with not getting killed because of a stupid slip. So, I just dropped, "Vale," sombrely.

The stranger stopped for a moment, shook his head, and resumed walking. Just as the legionnaires disappeared, Kira snapped, "What the fuck was that? 'Vale'? Are you speaking their crazy language?" She growled, "Are you with them?!"

"Hey, hey, easy there!" I backed down. "That's not their language, per se. And I'm not a Roman; I'm a Time Lord!" Sheesh, that mad mare. Couldn't she understand that I just so happened to have received proper education which included Latin studies?

Kira sat down on her flank with a sigh. "Can't believe such psychos exist. That 'Kay-zar', and their bigotry, and what the hell is up with that 'Goddess of Luck'? Everypony knows there are only two goddesses - Celestia and Luna." Hmm, I'd grown accustomed to thinking of them as princesses, not goddesses... Apart from a mental prayer to Celestia from time to time, ponies didn't use to worship the Princesses back in my day.

"You know that Celestia and Luna died," Turner remarked, placing himself next to the unicorn mare. Wait. What?!

"Tia died?!" I yelled, making my pegasus companion flinch a little. "I thought she was immortal!" I can't believe it. Celestia, dead? Luna, dead? No. It can't be. It just can't be.

"That's 'Princess Celestia' for you!" Kira yelled back, making Turner flinch again as his ears were assaulted from both sides.

"Well, I knew her personally, you know?!" I shouted, partly because I was irritated with the mare, and partly because I couldn't come to terms with Celestia, the powerful and magnificent ruler, having died. And little Lulu! I admit, we had never been close, but Luna still occupied a very special place in my heart. Oh well. Everything must cease. I know, I know. It would be foolish to think that there could be true, absolute immortality.

"Shut up, both of you!" Turner growled, making me spring away in fear. Kira sprang away as well. If Turner was raising his voice, then it really was high time to shut up. "We have a five minute rest, and then go on. The sun's setting." How he'd managed to deduce that the setting was setting down was a mystery for me, given the cloud curtain and all. But I knew better than to argue with Turner, so I placed myself on my rump, letting my legs enjoy the rest.

Now, I could finally fix my radio. Taking the wires (I made a mental note to buy saddlebags as soon as I had enough money; it was no easy task carrying all the stuff on my back), I glanced at the radio. All right. This should be easy, I mused, inspecting the Box of Many Wonders. All I had to do was to connect the relay to the oscillator, and get some zinc... Where'd I find zinc round here... Well, first things first.

"Doe anypony have a screwdriver?" I asked, pondering over my next actions. First of all, I had to open the radio; and, since I didn't have my sonic screwdriver, an ordinary screwdriver would do. Kira frowned and turned away from me (that mare!), but Turner reached for his saddlebags and took out a rusty screwdriver, tossing it to me afterwards.

"Thank you." I caught the instrument and nodded. I'll save you the elaborate description of the radio-opening and wire-attaching process, so, let's just say that I opened the radio and attached the wires correctly. Now, I needed some zinc... I played with the screwdriver, tossing it from hoof to hoof. The brass handle was certainly unusual, and... Wait. Brass handle. Brass. I could feel a light bulb light up above my head.

"Turner, may I take it?" I wondered. "Like, for ever?" Please say yes please say yes please say yes-

"Yes," the brown pegasus replied. Yes! A victory for the Time Lord theme! "Also, you owe me eight more caps," he added casually. Oh come on! I wasn't going to ever get out of debt, was I?..

With a grunt, I fiddled with the radio, searching for a piece of space to put the handle in. Okay. Once again, I'll save you the details, so let's just say that I worked my Time Lord magic for a while and, finally, the magical box came to life, first hissing for a few moments, and then blaring with music!

Heartaches by the number~

Troubles by the score~

Every day you love me less~

Each day I love you more~

I sighed in content and looked at Kira with a smile. "It's working!" I boasted, tapping the newly-fixed radio. The mare looked away, not without casting me a sombre glance. I looked at Turner, but the stallion seemed to be lost in thought, gazing at the clouds covering the sky.

I glanced at the radio. My little victory faded in the wake of the situation we found ourselves in. It seemed that the Wasteland held its surprises, and they didn't seem to be pleasant. We all had our stories, our past that haunted us; but at the same time, we had our common future ahead. What did it hold? Raiders? Killer robots? This "Legion"? The corpses of the crucified ponies swung in the wind. Soon, they would be devoured by stray birds; or worse. I could be one of those corpses, I realised. So could Kira. And Turner. Every minute, every second could be our last.

I sighed and lay down next to the radio. The upbeat song ended, replaced by a slower and calmer song. I closed my eyes and listened to music, trying to wash every single thought away from my head, if only for a moment. The radio sang, accompanied by the howling wind.

Into each life, some rain must fall~

But too much has fallen in mine~

***

Footnote:

Level up!

Skills note: Repair has reached 50%

New Perk: Mechanic - You sure do know your technology! All robots deal 20% less damage to you, and you, in return, deal 20% more damage to them. Also, all Repair skill caps are 5 points lower for you. Ain't that a package deal?

Chapter Five: An ill-Timed Remark

Chapter Five: An ill-Timed Remark

"Will you ever learn?"

The metaphorical rain from the song became accompanied by real rain erupting from the dark clouds above as we left town and resumed our walk along the badly-cobbled path. My fur was soaking, and I had to keep my head low in order to prevent my eyes from the falling water. Moreover, my hooves were aching terribly. I could bet I had got some kind of callosity; or a few. In addition to my body being downtrodden, my mind was downtrodden too. I couldn't cease thinking about Celestia, and Luna, and the Legion, and that "Kay-zar", and my debt, and what-not. The only thought that warmed me up inside, if only just a little, was the fact that we were going towards Lucky 56, towards Mr New Pegas, towards The Voice!

Still, I found it necessary to complain aloud, if only out of sheer boredom (and lack of desire to think about sombre matters). "My hooooooves huuuuuurt!" I whined, half-theatrically, half-naturally, pouring into it all the pain of my generation and what-not.

"Oh shut up!" hissed Kira, who, as it seemed, was still angry with me. Those mares, I tell you. That's why I prefer stallions. ...As interlocutors, I mean! "You are always whining! Your hooves are sore - you're whining. You got a few cuts - you are whining like you're dying. Shut up already!"

"Well, those were laser beam cuts, you know?" I protested, mostly out of spite. "The kind of laser beams that can turn a pony into a pile of ash, you know?" Not really. The temperature's not high enough for that; but Kira didn't know that, right? Besides, if you hit a vital spot, and it was hot, then maybe, just maybe, it could turn a pony into a pile of ash. Ergo, I'm no liar!

"Well, your wounds were no deeper than mere knife cuts! And you still whined as if you were bleeding out on the spot." The cyan mare huffed indignatnly. I glanced at Turner, waiting for a confirming nod or something. Turner, however, was not amused and just walked on in silence. My wounds... They couldn't have been so minor, could they? I mean, laser beams. Serious business. "You must have a tough hide," Kira said finally, as if in an attempt to make up with me. Or seduce me. Whatever. "Compensates your tiny brain." Oh well. Short-lived attempts, what?

I didn't feel like arguing any more, so I fell silent, lost in mental contemplation. (I didn't even tell Kira that the size of one's brain wasn't really connected to one's wits; well, let her remain blissful in her ignorance.) If Kira was right - and it seemed that she was right... About the tough hide, not the tiny brain, I mean! Then, the wounds should have been cauterised instantly, given the heat a laser emits. They shouldn't have been just bleeding, like your normal cuts. Now, I was beginning to feel that my wounds indeed had been minor; minor enough to fully heal over the span of a few hours. Was I more resistant to damage or something?

Oh well. No use scrutinising that. Every reincarnation of mine has something new. Once, I could heal my wounds, and even other people's wounds. Imagine how useful that would have been in that battle! Every reincarnation had its own (or, well, his own; or, to be even more exact, my own) perks; all the little things that made me different every time I woke up in a new body, reborn and vigorous (usually). My character changed as well, constantly, with each new reincarnation. For one, my present character seemed to be of the grumpy variety. Oh well. Still, all those reincarnations, all those Doctors had something in common: they were all me. I still was a discrete person, and felt like one. No, felt as one. Becase I was still The Doctor. My individuality always remained, albeit slightly altered. That is what all of those Doctors had in common. Oh, and, also, none of them were ginger. Oh well.

"Hey, Doctor?" Kira called out as we passed a peculiar toxic dump. What was a toxic dump doing in the middle of the desert? Hell if I know. "Take this." The mare levitated a small pill towards me. "It's RadSafe, a non-addictive drug." She motioned towards the barrels lying in radioactive waste, just to my right. "It'll reduce the amount of radiation you get from those."

"Firstly," I said, raising my hoof, "I don't do drugs." Kira huffed and opened her mouth to protest, but I silenced her, "If it's medicine, then, for Celestia's sake, call it medicine, not a drug!" The cyan mare frowned, but my tirade wasn't over. "And secondly-" I stumbled upon a rock and swore under my breath, eliciting a giggle from the unicorn and lack of attention (as usual) from Turner. "And secondly," I repeated, "Even if it is medicine..." Kira nodded, and I grinned in reply. "I don't need it. I'm immune to radiation!" I exclaimed, making my female companion raise her brow. Okay, well, maybe almost immune; but Kira didn't necessarily need to know that, right? "Look."

With a smile, I deviated from our path, directing my hooves towards the toxic dump. I heard Kira yelp as I stepped into the green irradiated goo. A bit thicker than water. Hehe. I could write a book about it. "Rad is Thicker than Water." Hehe. All right. I turned round, facing the surprised mare, who'd stopped dead in her tracks, looking at me in visible shock. "Hey, Kira?" I called out. "How many rads do you think there is here?" I tapped one of the irradiated barrels, feeling the touch of steel on my sore hoof. I wished radiation could heal it...

"I don't have a Pipbuck, but it's probably four or five rads per second!" the mare shouted, glancing helplessly at Turner, who had stopped as well, eyeing my little deviant detour calmly. "Get back!" She gulped down a pill of that "RadSafe".

"What's a Pipbuck?" I replied cheerfully, watching the dirt from my hoof wash away in the radioactive goo. Hmm. To think about it, it was water, albeit a little thick and irradiated... I carefully washed my face with a hoof. Yes. It definitely felt good to be clean. Or, at least, cleaner than I'd previously been.

"It's some kind of portable computer." Now I could very well see fear on Kira's face. "Come on, Doctor, get back! You'll get radiation sickness!" she called out to me in concern.

I chuckled. "I'm a Time Lord: we don't have that shit!" Yeah, I know, I acted a bit like a poser. Still, I had to make a point, all right? I took a hoofful of irradiated water and drank it. It wasn't that different from the water I'd tasted in Kira's town. Or, rather, Shafty's town. Just a little more... sparkly, if "sparkly" is the word I want. If there is such a word. Anyway, let's just assume that it tasted a tad sparkly. Which led me to a thought. "By the way, Kira, why do you guys only have irradiated water in your town?" Time Lords don't mind a little radiation in their water; normal ponies, apparently, do.

The mare blinked, forgetting, as it seemed, even her concern about my basking in the glow of radiation. "We do have purified water, and we offer it to anypony who has the caps." The mare boasted proudly, "That's why our town is called Friendsville!" Oh. "Friendsville", eh? Very friendly. Not letting a poor, penniless (capless, if you wish; though, that sounds off) Time Lord have a glass of pure water! Not even telling him there was pure water in the first place! Maybe I did have caps - who knows? ...Oh. Turner. Surely Turned had told them about my debt before I came in for a snack. Oh well. Still, you get the idea? Very. Friendly. The friendliest town in the Wasteland.

All right, enough with the sarcasm. I washed my hooves in the green goo again and stepped out of the irradiated site, grinning at Kira, who ran up to me, scrutinising me with her eyes. Hmm. They were beautiful indeed, to think about it. Just saying.

"Any symptoms of radiation sickness?" She asked as she checked my pulse and pressed her hoof against my forehead. "How do you feel? Aching limbs, headache, an urge to throw up?" she wondered, her voice trembling.

Never stopping grinning, I just brushed my mane aside. "I'm perfectly fine. I told you: I'm a Time Lord. A little radiation can do nothing to me." Maybe now she'll finally believe me? I mused, glancing at Turner, who just stood there dispassionately. Was there anything that would make him, I don't know, laugh, for a change?

"Hmm." Kira seemed content enough with the examination. "I don't believe of word of this Time Lord nonsense, but you seem absolutely healthy." The mare scratched the back of her head, messing up her brown-ish mane. Oh well. If she didn't want to believe me, so be it. Not like I lost anything.

"How do you know so much about medicine?" I wondered, partly because I wanted to change the topic, and partly because I was genuinely interested. "You haven't left your home town, from what I gather." Turner slowly proceeded on our way, so Kira and I started trotting along as well, following him.

"I fucked the local doctor from time to time," the cyan mare explained. "So he taught me about medicine." Kira grinned, making me flinch. Oh well. At least she didn't fuck The Doctor. Get it? Get it? Ahem, anyway. I nodded silently, deciding against enquiring further.

The path took us past the toxic dump and forth into the desert (or, back to the desert, one might say), and I took one last glance at the barrels, which lay and stood there magnificently, reminding the future generations about- "Wait!" I shouted, noticing a peculiar object resting atop one of the barrels, and dove right, running towards the green goo-ness. Drifting closer (even despite my perfect eyesight, I still had to check), I could make it out to be an almost-new, only slightly-goo-covered hat! And a Stetson, no less! Or whatever the Wasteland equivalent for Stetsons was.

Smiling at my newly-acquired hat, I trotted back, brushing off the goo from the hat. Kira frowned at me, backing down. "What the fuck is that?" she demanded angrily. Ouch. That language. And she dares to call herself a lady! ...If she ever called herself a lady. Let's say that, at the moment, I didn't really remember.

"It's a Stetson," I replied, tapping my hat. "Stetsons are cool." Kira tried to reach for my hat with her telekinesis immediately, but I grasped the leather piece of awesomeness in my hooves firmly. "What are you doing?!" I shouted. "Give it back!"

"It's soaked in radiation! I don't want to get sick!" Kira retorted, now clutching the hat in her hooves. I groaned and yanked the Stetson out of her hooves with my teeth. Ah, Time Lords' teeth. Famous for their sturdiness.

"Do you realise the amount of radiation it would take for it to actually emit radioactive emanation?" I cocked my eyebrow at the seemingly ignorant mare. And that's why you should read books, kids. They broaden your ken greatly.

"Get rid of it!" Kira yelled. "You won't smooth-talk me!"

"Never!" I shouted back, holding my Stetson firmly.

"Shut up, both of you!" Turner bellowed. He glared at me, then at Kira. "You." He pointed at Kira. "Stop bugging him. You." He pointed at yours faithfully. "Take off the hat. It's too noticeable in the desert."

"It's brown, and I'm brown," I protested weakly. "If it were bright red-" I began, but Turner barked, interrupting me, "A sniper doesn't look just at the colour. Your hat is big, and makes your head noticeable. And I don't want a sniper to shoot you in the head because you owe me caps." With that, His Grumpiness continued trotting along the path.

"What's the point of carrying the hat on my back?" I mumbled; though, I obeyed the pegasus' order immediately. Suddenly, I felt the hat fly off my back in Kira's magical grip. Before I could protest, the mare smiled at me and placed the hat into her saddlebag.

"Don't want you to get shot in the back either," she muttered, blushing a little. Aww, now ain't that sweet. Now she was starting to look like a lady! And she was slowly growing on me, in that aspect. Not the "being female" aspect. The courtesy, I mean.

"Thanks," I replied warmly, feeling that there most certainly was a growing friendship to observe here, between Kira and yours faithfully. And friendship is magic, or so I hear. "Turner really is grumpy, what?" I chuckled.

"What?" Kira frowned.

"What?" I blinked.

"You said, 'what'," Kira noted in lack of understanding. "What did you mean?" Oh, that. Some ponies just don't know that the only polite way to reply to such a "what?" at the end of the sentence is "indeed". Or "I don' think so", if you disagree.

"It's just how we speak in England," I said, and, before Kira could enquire into what England was, I paraphrased, "What I mean is, Turner is rather grumpy, isn't he? His replies are also kinda sharp."

Kira shrugged. "He's been like that as long as I can remember." She chewed on her bottom lip. "I don't wanna talk about it." My ears fell, but the cyan mare smiled the next instant. "I bet five caps he'll say 'I'm not amused' by the end of the day," she proposed, extending her hoof.

I pondered for a moment. "Well, for one thing, I have no money, and I'm in debt to him. For another thing..." I frowned. "I've had such a wager once, and I lost it." Then again, it was about Her Majesty the Queen... But, knowing Turner... Damn. My gambling nature urged me to participate. After all, Turner didn't even speak that much... And I had to lay down a few bricks in the foundation of Kira's and my friendship...

"Ten caps," the mare suggested.

"Deal." I shook her hoof, instantly blaming myself for that. Dammit, it seemed that I was falling into the same trap I'd once fallen into. I had a nibbling sense of deja vu about he whole deal.

I sighed as Kira trotted after Turner cheerfully. Those caps were as good as hers, as it seemed to me, and I had no idea how I would pay her. Oh well. Deciding that it was no use listening to silence, I turned on the radio (since I didn't really know how my hoof-made batteries would last, I resolved against leaving the radio on all the time) in hope of hearing the Voice of Blissful Raspiness. Instead, the radio blared with music. Well, at least, it seemed like a nice song. I trotted on, eager to catch with my companions as warm, soothing jazz pleased my ears.

Play the guitar~

Play it again~

My Jonneigh~

***

For the one they call~

Jonneigh Guitar~

I slammed the radio angrily, turning off the music. Groaning in irritation, I glanced at Kira's relieved face. Yeah, it seemed that I wasn't the only one who was tired of listening to the same song four times in a row. (Turner was - what else - not amused.) Mr New Pegas hadn't provided any interesting information, apart from some "NCR outposts" (NCR, if I understood correctly, standing for "New Coltifornian Republic", whatever that meant) having been attacked by some tribals under the banner of Caesar's Legion. (At least Mr New Pegas pronounced it "See-zar".) From that I could assume that I was witnessing the birth of a new era, no less, since this Legion was apparently expanding and conquering and whatever it is that Legions do. This Caesar guy seemed to be pretty knowledgeable, depite his barbaric methods: uniting tribes under a single banner was exactly what Romans used to do. (Or would do, or were doing; I wasn't sure of the time boundaries of this particular universe and how it correlated to planet Earth.)

Since the Box of Many Wonders didn't want to participate in amusing me, I trotted along in silence, trying to concentrate on the good things. Well, my fur was finally dry, and my hooves weren't half as sore as they'd been before. Also... Hmm. Oh well. Other than that, there wasn't really anything good to concentrate on. Aw well.

Off in the distance, I saw four pony-shaped forms approach us from the West. That is, the left. Because I honestly had no idea where the West was. I mean, when there's some wind, I might take a lucky guess, but still... Ahem, anyway. Thanks to my perfect (or, well, near-perfect) eyesight, I could make out that they were all stallions, and armed stallions at that. I opened my mouth to warn Turner, but my pegasus companion had already stopped and extended his hoof, preventing Kira from going any further. I stood by the mare, ready to protect her in case of emergency. And by "protect", I mean "grab her and run away". Because that's what I do best. Running, I mean.

As the figures came closer, I found out, to my surprise, that there three of them, not four: I mistook an especially large grenade launcher (at least that's what I assumed it was) for a pony. Oh well, my eyesight is not perfect, you know. Welp, at least I was now perfectly sure that everything, absolutely everything came in threes at this crazy place. I tell you.

Still, a grenade launcher?! Where the hell would one get a Celestia-damn grenade launcher?! I looked at Turner for instructions, but the stallion had already opened his saddlebags and... extracted a battle saddle out of it, tightening the straps on his back. I could feel my haw connecting with the floor, or, rather, the sand. "How the hell did that fit in your saddlebags?!" I yelled, disregarding the fact that I'd completely missed the moment when Turner took his battle saddle off in the first place. Oh well. Still, that was kinda... shocking? Impossible? Unfeasible? Anyway, the battle saddle was larger than the bags!

"They're bigger on the inside," Turner replied, chewing on the control string... thing-y. Wait, what? I blinked. I could swear I saw a tiny grin on his face! Was he mocking me? However, before I could speak up, something whooshed right past me and exploded against the ground in a few metres. Oh well, guess the saddlebag question would have to wait!

Only now had I noticed that it wasn't a grenade launcher. It was a missile launcher. A fucking missile launcher! Shooting missiles! Now that's what I call a perfect time to run. However, before I could employ the ancient Time Lord technique of running away, one of the stallions - a beige unicorn who was leviating his weapon magically (lucky unicorns) - opened rapid fire from his assault rifle, making me duck for cover. Seeing Kira just standing there in shock, I leapt at the cyan mare, pinning her to the ground, just as the bullets swished above our heads.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Turner pull the control string and place a few perfect shots straight into the barrel of the missile launcher, making it emit smoke and blow up. Unfortunately, its user, a pink earth pony with a ridiculous white mane (not blond; snow-white), had managed to get rid of his weapon before it exploded, so he ran towards my pegasus companion, only a few scars adorning his cheeks.

Meanwhile, Turner decided to get rid of the assault-rifle-bearing stallion. He placed a few shots to the beige unicorn's hindlegs and a shot to each of the forelegs, successfully crippling him. However, being immobilised didn't prevent the stallion from pulling the trigger telekinetically and washing us with bullets. Thanks to me lying firm on the ground (well, on Kira's body, to be more specific), neither the cyan mare nor I was hurt, but it seemed that Turner got a few bullets to the shoulder, and at least one to the knee.

The third pony in the party of our assaulters didn't approach us, instead just standing there, his dust-coloured mane swishing in the wind due to its noticeable length. He seemed to be the only one wearing some kind of barding that covered the whole of his body. Moreover, he was crouching, while gazing at us through a scope of his... Sniper rifle! The muzzle of which was directed at Turner, no less! It kinda made sense, since he was the only one of us three who was putting up a fight. "Turner! There's a sniper!" I shouted, praying that the pegasus would hear me.

He did. Ducking to avoid assault rifle fire, Turner chewed on the string, and his battle saddle merrily showered the unfortunate sniper with lead, painting him bloody red. Dead. Torn to pieces. And I never got to see the colour of his coat!

While I mockingly mourned the death of one of our assaulters, the pink stallion who'd lost his missile launcher, thanks to Turner, decided to avenge his weapon, as it seemed, launching himself (hehe, it was all he could launch, without his weapon) at the pegasus, a knife in his mouth. Without looking back, Turner bucked the white-maned pony right into the face, not only breaking the knife, but also his jaw. No ponyshoes attached, ladies and gentlecolts! Next, he stomped onto the pink head, crushing it into bloody goo. All. Without. Even. Looking. Wow. I wouldn't want to get in a fit of Turner's temper! If he ever got mad with anger, that is.

The assault-rifle-wielder's weapon clicked sadly, out of ammo, as the unicorn tried to reach for his saddlebags for more bullets. Turner placed a few shots into each saddlebag, ripping them apart, An apple-like object rolled away through the hole in the stallion's left saddlebag. With fear in his eyes (my perfect Time Lord eyesight allowed me to see even that), the unicorn levitated the grenade and tore off the pin. The explosion tore him apart, sending chunks of meat and bone flying everywhere. I averted my eyes, lest I have an urge to vomit.

I just lay there for a couple of minutes until a grunt from beneath brought me back to the Wasteland. "Would you get off me now?" Kira mumbled, pushing me. I rolled over, getting up to my hooves. Turner just stood in place, his battle saddle gone. How in the wide wide world of Equestria had he managed to conceal it in a tiny saddlebag? I knew better than to ask; that was Turner, after all. A killing machine. Addendum: A flying, battle-saddle-equipped killing machine. Although he didn't seem like he was fond of using his wings, which, as always, rested at his sides.

"You're heavy," Kira dragged me out of my contemplative reverie as she trotte towards Turner, levitating healing potions and bandages out of her precious medicine-filled saddlebags. I wondered how long it would last. It didn't seem like there were loads of hospitals around. In fact, I had yet to see one.

"A 'thank you for saving my life' would be nice," I muttered, watching the cyan mare extract the bullets from Turner's shoulders and his damaged knee. He didn't even wince. Wow. Simply wow. I was gaining more and more respect for him. Now, if only her talked more so we could exchange wits and what-not!

"Well, I'll give you a blowjob as a 'thank-you'," Kira cooed nonchalantly as she poured the healing potions onto the pegasus' wounds. No. I staggered back. Do. Not. Want. Well, to think about it... Gah! No! Doctor, stop! We Time Lords can spend months without sex! Years without sex... Decades without sex... Dammit, when was the last time I had sex?!

Still, I found it in my heart (or my mind, more likely) to refuse, "Not giving me a blowjob would be a decent 'thank you', thank you." Grr! Lexical repetitions, striking back! Well, lemme tell you: the Time Lords strike first! ...Anyway.

Turner got up, without waiting for the bandages to be applied, which made Kira frown in disapprovement. "Come on, Turner, I have to get those wounds bandaged!" she insisted, but the pegasus only glanced at the corpses (at least those that were recognisable) and trotted on, dropping, "Don't waste bandages on such light wounds. We'll still need those bandages later." The fact that he said, "will need", and not "may need", certainly added to my general anxiety.

"That Turner, always making a badass of himself," Kira mumbled in a scolding tone. "And his stupid 'no looting corpses' rule!" She glanced at the assault rifle wisfully. I wanted to tell her that Turner was all right with other people (or, at least, ponies) doing that, but remembered that Kira and Turner had some muddled relationship (not in that sense) that neither of them wanted to talk about it. Oh well. Maybe Turner cared about her more than her cared about it, and thus made some special rules and regulations for her. Made sense, right? Riiiiiiight...

"Well, those raiders always attack from nowhere!" Kira exclaimed suddenly in a very fake tone, making me raise my brow. What was that about? "It's not really amusing, is it, Turner?" she wondered in an innocent tone, fluttering her eyelashes. Oh sweet Celestia. Please don't tell me she's really concerned about that stupid bet, right after a near-death experience!

Apparently, she was. However, my pegasus companion (might as well start calling him "our pegasus companion") paid no attention to that, only muttering, "Those weren't raiders. Too well-equipped, not crazy enough." And that was it. No matter how Kira bugged the stallion to tell us what he was thinking about the assaulters (for a good ten minutes, if I may add), Turner just trotted on in silence, shrugging off the questions. Literally. He just shrugged his shoulders in reply, as if it weren't something to be concerned with. But I could see he was concerned, even if he didn't want to show it!

But it was Turner. I sighed. Our chances of extracting even a little information from him were equal to zero. With nothing better to do, and having no desire to listen to Kira's whining (and Turner's occasional whinnies and huffs that accompanied his shrugs), I turned on the radio, a smooth country ballad soothing my ears instantly as I followed my companions at a moderate distance.

In the shadow of the valley~

I would like to settle down~

***

While settling down in the shadow of the valley seemed like a pleasant option, what concerned me more at the moment was my growing thirst and hunger. The irradiated goo-ish water I'd consumed some time ago had left my body through the natural course (which involved yours faithfully finding a spot behind a cactus and Kira giggling like a schoolfilly; you get the idea), and my stomach was protesting against being empty.

I turned off the radio and called out to Kira, "Have something to eat?" Before she could make a naughty remark, I clarified, "I mean, food-wise."

Frowning (most probably because I prevented her from making a "funny" joke), the cyan mare shrugged. "I have little food. Get your own!"

Oh, being friendly, are we? "You know, I saved your life," I noted. "If you'd been shot during that battle, you wouldn't need this food now, anyway." A little harsh, true; but hell, I was hungry!

"Turner saved my life." I glanced at the pegasus. At least he didn't remark someting like, "I was fighting for myself" or something. Still, Kira sighed and took out a fruit from her saddlebag, levitating it towards me. "Here."

I cringed inwardly, shutting my eyes for a moment. A pear. If you have forgotten, I hate pears. I despise the flavour, the texture, the appearance, the way they grow, their very existence. If an apple a day keeps The Doctor away, a pear a day keeps The Doctor rolling in his grave. Because pears would surely be the end of me.

"I hate pears," I mumbled. No extent of hunger would ever make me eat those terrible fruit!

"Oh, 'Ai hait peeeez'!" Kira exclaimed mockingly. Hey, I don't speak that way! That's a pitiful exaggeration of my beautiful British accent! "Well, I don't have anything else, so either take it or stop whining!" She pondered for a moment. "Better, both."

I shook my head at the fruit. "Thanks, save it for later." Kira just shrugged and chewed on the pear. Eww. So that's called "saving it for later" in her book, eh? I immediately regretted not taking the (disgusting) treat. In a few hours, I would be praying for a pear, I thought. I mean, when you're hungry, like, really, really hungry, you don't care about what you eat. Apart from fellow ponies, of course (griffins, buffalo, zebras - it was all cannibalism, and I, as you may have guessed, was no cannibal, and expressed disdain towards the act). And dolphins. I knew those didn't exist here (probably), but they were still way too smart and intelligent to be consumed as food.

After a few mintes of silent walking, Kira sighed and levitated a flask with water towards me. "Here. I bet you're thirsty. Or you would say, 'Ai hait woote, Ai't p'fer juice!'? Because I have some juices that-" Before she could finish the phrase, I took the flask and sucked on it greedily. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the dirty pun die on Kira's lips and a smile appear there instead.

"Thank you." I handed (hoofed? Never could get pony idioms right, having been a humanoid for almost a millenium) the flask back to her, and she packed it in her saddlebags.

"You're welcome."

We continued to walk in silence that was interrupted only by occasional howling of a rogue wind or the rattling of some insects. My bet was on grasshoppers. Erm... Rad-hoppers? Anyway. To somehow get my mind off my growing hunger, I delved into philosophy. Because, obviously, it helps you direct even the most distant nooks of your mind towards the non-eating path.

Thinking about Turner's words, back then, in the morning (I assumed it was morning, as it was almost dark now, which signified the evening's approach; and the moment we met the legionnaires had occured about ten hours ago, if my assumptions were correct - it's hard to tell the time when you don't see the sun!), I concluded that, in a way, he was right. The Wasteland did offer more freedom; not in the way of anarchy, but in the way of basic protection. I mean, here, you could protect yourself with a gun, while in London, for example, you would simply get into prison, even if you've killed in self-defence. (On the other hoof, though, London had the police and people, and was fine to explore during the day, if not at night. Here, though, nopony - nobody - seemed to be ready to help you and protect you free of charge. Even Turner had his mercantile motives.) On Gallifrey, though... Well, it wasn't customary to use guns, anyway. Same with Gallopfrey. Same with pre-war Equestria, actually! Before that war between ponies and zebras (that I still had to enquire more about), ponies didn't use to use (grr, lexical repetitions!) weaponry! I should know: I was there.

That made me think about my friends back in Ponyville, in the peaceful, lively, rustic Ponyville; but I didn't give in to nostalgia, instead dragging my hooves through the desert. If I continued to reminisce, I might as well have an emotional breakdown. And I didn't want an emotional breakdown. Not in the slightest.

As I walked, the sounds of the desert created a winderful ambient symphony. I even had to check if my radio was off! Because, for a moment, I thought that the music was coming out of my Box of Many Wonders and not the nature itself. The howling wind trembled as it united with the deep hum of the ground. The grasshopers/rad-hoppers/whatever they were rattled, as if in an attempt to drown the twitter of birds, none of whom I could actually see, but could very well hear. Sand whooshed past our little party, only to fall back and rise again in a large whirlwind. It was music, in some way. Music is everywhere. You just have to hear it.

Wow. I'm really getting a grip on that "lyrical narration" thing, aren't I? Ahem, anyway. While I was deep in philosophical speculations, we had reached a peculiar encampment. Low, half-pony-high walls composed of tin sheets surrounded a spacious territory where four small tents rested, along with a bigger rectangular one, a two-headed ursa flag fluttering above it on a pole. The path we'd been following led through the encampment, and, as soon as we came up to the entrance, a unicorn mare wearing a uniform blocked our way, levitating a rifle. When I say, "wearing a uniform", I mean, "wearing not only a military jacket and a hat, but also trousers". I mean, really? Maybe she was wearing pants beneath? ...You know what. No. I'd better not think about it. I'd be way safer.

It seemed that I wasn't the one who was baffled. She leaned in to me, lowering her voice to a whisper, "Is she wearing pants?!"

"I don't know," I whispered back, surprised by the cyan mare's enquiry. "Kinda hidden by her trousers, you know?"

Kira looked at me in an "are-you-stupid" manner. "Pants are trousers." Ah. Cultural differences. Before I could do some explaining, however, the military-dressed unicorn (even her mane was of the khaki colour; I assumed that it might be natural) coughed loudly, drawing our attention.

"State your business," she said formally. It was kinda strange how a voice of such divinity could mix with such officiality. Oh well.

"Passing through," Turner replied for all of us. The mare glanced at him and nodded, not lowering her weapon, however.

"Ultimate destination?" the military mare asked. Dammit, she looked kinda hot when she was dispassionate like that, I had to admit! ...Actually, forget that line. It never existed.

"Lucky 56," my pegasus companion answered in a just as not-giving-a-damn tone as the mare's. "We're in a hurry," he added. Were we? Oh yes. We were. We definitely were.

Disregarding the remark, the military mare (I really had to ask her name. Erm... For narration purposes) continued, "Please produce your passports." Instinctively, I reached for my saddlebags, but remembered that I didn't have those. Nor did I have a passport, to think about it. I wasn't an Equestrian citizen, after all, and you didn't need a passport on Gallopfrey! Besides, my wonderful hypnotic paper served its role just fine... with the exception that it was in my TARDIS. Which was Celestia-knew-where. Oh well.

"We aren't NCR citizens," Turner said calmly. Aha. So, apparently, this was an NCR outpost. Rather small, considering that it was a whole republic, according to Mr New Pegas. I could only assume that this wasn't NCR territory; just a little military base. Or something. "We have no discrete national affiliation," he added, lest we be taken for enemy. At least, I think that was his reason behind saying that. Knowing Turner, he didn't say anything without a particular concrete reason.

The mare frowned. "In that case, I must take you to Major Shiny to draw up your travelling papers. With all the Legion scum around, we can't just let you through." Uhuh. And having a paper would definitely protect us from the danger. Suuure.

One way or another, Turner huffed, a little impatiently. "As I have said, we are in a hurry."

The mare huffed back, "Well, I am sorry, sir, but I cannot do anything about the matter. You'll have to address Major Shiny." Oh, for crying out loud! Besides, who the hell would make Somepony Shiny a Major?! A Major with such a name... So intimidating. Not.

All right, time to bring out my super-negotiation powers. Putting on my Charming And Disabling Time Lord's Smile [TM], I took a small step forth towards the mare. The rifle trembled in her magical grip, if only a wee bit. "Ma'am," I cooed, brushing my black - my charcoal - mane aside. "You see, while I am perfectly sure that Major Shiny is a decent pony, we really need to pass through, and as swiftly as possible. Maybe there are some... other ways for us to pass?" I winked. "Something faster, and not involving any official documentation?"

"No." The mare stared at me dispassionately. "Please proceed to Major Shiny's tent before I have charged you with bribery. I strongly feel there is no need for it." A glare. I shivered a little. A bribe? I didn't even have money! It wasn't a bribery attempt!

"There is no need for it," Turner confirmed, disregarding my attempt at practical seduction. "Lead the way." He was the first to follow the military mare, while I fell behind, mumbling to myself, "She must be a lesbian. There's no other explanation."

Suddenly, I felt Kira pat me on the back. "Don't worry," she said with what seemed to me like compassion in her voice. "If she were a stallion, I'm sure you would have succeeded." With that, she trotted on, leaving me dumbfounded.

If she were... a... stallion? The realisation hit me like a tidal wave, and I galloped towards the tent, following my companions, as my cry pierced the very sky.

"I'm! NOT! GAY!"

***

Two hours. It had been two damn hours and the damn Major still hadn't shown up in the damn tent. The military mare (she had only stated her rank - Private - but not her name) had informed us that the Major was away "on state business" and "would be back soon". Soon, huh? Still she didn't feel like talking and just stood there by the flap entrance to the tent with her rifle, "for our safety". Taking our saddlebags (including Turner's weapon-packed ones) was probably also a measure taken "for our safety". No doubt.

There was absolutely nothing to do except look around; and that wasn't a particularly time-consuming activity. The whole "room" (well, "tent" would be a more accurate term) was relatively small and empty, with a single bed that the three of us sat on (with my sitting in close proximity to Kira, glad that this proximity wasn't turning into promiscuity, if you get what I mean), and the metal skeleton of shelves filled with scrap metal, various spanners, batteries and the like. I wished I could take those batteries with me; I mean, why would a military commanded possibly need those?! (For radio transmitters, of course. Silly Doctor. Still, I needed batteries more! I think.) The walls were adorned with two propaganda posters, one of which (a classic "Careless Talk Costs Lives!") our Private seemed to take maybe a little too seriously, silent all the time, just casting dirty looks towards Turner, who paid them no heed. Well, seemed like there really weren't many pegasi around!

The other poster held more meaning: it depicted a pony in barding similar to the military mare guarding us, with the words, "You Bring Democracy to This Land!", beneath the picture. Both posters looked relatively new, and I could only assume that it was meant to lift the NCR military's spirits. Nice; even though it would definitely prove a challenge to bring democracy to the Wasteland. On second thoughts, the message could be addressed to any reader. Including civilians. Which was a peculiar psychological, and political, move: getting civilians to realise that they were doing their part in establishing democracy, through trade, work, or otherwise.

The flap door opened, and three ponies materialised before us: a stallion in the middle, his short-cut mane concealed by a service cap, his body concealed by military uniform. (Though, if his uncovered tail was any indication, his mane was also blue.) On his left stood a mare, fully-concealed in her uniform (I concluded that mares had some special compartment for their tails), and on his right was a pink-tailed stallion. The uniform didn't appeal to me at all, if only because it was too... secretive? It even covered their cutie marks! Who would want to hide their special talent? ...Thinking about it, somepony might have a real penis cutie mark. Oh well.

Mr Service-Cap took one glance at Turner, and his face immdiately broke into a grin. "Congratulations, Private! It's not a common occasion to catch Enclave scum!" Damn, what was with their love for this word? "Legion scum", "Enclave scum"... What's next? "Time Lord scum"? Though, as the stallion's gaze fell to my pegasus companion's cutie mark, his face fell. "Fuck. Another Dashite." Well, at least it wasn't "Dashite scum". "And here I was, hoping that we'd finally catch an Enclave spy." So... They haven't caught any real Enclave members yet, but still they know how Enclave outcasts are branded? ...Nothing fishy at all.

Casting a quick look at us, he spat on the ground. (Did I mention there was no floor inside the tent?) "Once a traitor, always a traitor." Being grumpy, are we? Though, to think about it, if my name were Major Shiny (and I assumed it was him), I'd be grumpy too.

However, Turner didn't even wince. "We need to pass. Could you sign out travelling papers?"

The stallion grunted and placed himself at the desk near the bed, taking a pen in his mouth (by which, I assumed that he was an earth pony, contrary to the military mare who'd escorted us here) and scribbling down something on a piece of paper. "Names?"

"Turner," the pegasus was the first to reply.

"Full name, please." Oh, at least he said "please"!

"It's my full name," Turner replied calmly. The Major muttered something but still wrote it down. Thanks to my perfect eyesight, I could make out his signature. "Major Shiny Pants." No fucking way. "Shiny Pants"? Really? No wonder he was so grumpy.

"Kira," the cyan mare said next, making the Major chew on his pen angrily. "Celestia fuck me, what's with the short names today?!" Because, apparently, "Major Shiny Pants" sounds waaaay better. Still, the stallion filled in the paper.

"The Doctor," I said, last but not least. "You can omit 'the'." Another victory over lexical repetitions!

"I didn't ask for you occupation," the Major grunted. "I asked for your name." The pen in his mouth was on the verge of breaking, but it still amazed me how he managed to hold it in his mouth and speak distinctly at the same time. Earth ponies have their special perks, too! And not just because I'm an earth pony. Just... No wings, no horn, no problems - that's how it is!

"It's my name," I replied, not without a hint of defiance. The Major's eye twitched, but he still finished filling in out names.

"Destination?"

"Lucky 56," Turner said for all of us. The Major nodded. "I see, gambling." Wait, what? There are casinos here?! In the Wasteland?! ...The more you know, I guess.

"Now..." Major Shiny (Celestia, that name!) signed the three papers quickly. "That'll be 150 caps."

Wha-? "What?" For once in my life, my tongue blindly followed my thoughts. 'Cause there was really nothing else to say.

"One hundred and fifty caps," the Major repeated slowly, as if explaining to an idiot. And, let me remind you, I'm not a idiot. I'm genius. Just a friendly reminder. "Fifty caps per paper."

Wait wait wait wait waaaaait a minute. We had to pay to get through?! Why couldn't we have just chosen the roundabout way? (Probably because it would lead to random ponies and beasts killing us; but that's not the point.) All right. It was time for my super-negotiation powers.

"With all due respect, dear Major," I began, much like a lawyer in court, unable to bring myself to call the Major by his name, "This fee, while legal, according to the law of your state, is not legitimate." I smiled at the stallion's lack of understanding. "You see, we haven't been informed of this fee when it was announced to us that getting travelling papers was a legal necessity; ergo, this act, verbal or otherwise, has no legal effect, according to the principles of international law, which your country, as a democratic state, must be following." I took a breath, delighten by the uncertainty on the Major's face. Either I had persuaded him, or he simply didn't understand what I was saying, apart from the key words. Either way would work. "And, let me remind you, that the democratic principles of international law read that even though pacta sunt servanda - though I doubt that this act is an agreement - we should also note that negativa non sunt probanda, and this fee, most certainly, is an issue that affects the law and its subjects negatively."

I took a deep breath. Wow, now that was some speech! What did I tell you - a genius! I looked over the tent proudly, noticing the dumbfounded expressions on the soldiers' faces - good, Turner's usual not-giving-a-fuck attitude - as usual, fear on Kira's face - confusing... and a grin that appeared on the Major's muzzle. And I don't mean the muzzle of his gun. Which, by the way, was pointed at me. Even though it wasn't a rifle, like the soldiers' weapons, but only a pistol - it was still rather unnerving.

"There you go, Legion scum." The Major rose from his seat, keeping the muzzle of his gun on me. "You blew your cover. Your language betrayed you." My... language? But I was... Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Please don't tell me... Fuck. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. (Confound this wasteland, it drives me to swear.)

"I just speak Latin, that's all!" I yelled as the Major placed the hoofcuffs around my forelegs. Where had he got them from?! "International law principles are based on Roman law!" However, it seemed that nopony was in the mood for listening to me. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Kira and Turner, already hoofcuffed by the soldiers, Kira afraid and angry, and Turner... Well, not giving a damn. As if getting hoofcuffed was a usual stroll in the park for him. Though, given that there didn't seem to be any parks here... Ahem, anyway.

"Sure, you'll tell that to your guard." The Major placed the key into the pocket of his barding after my hoofcuffs had clicked. "In gaol."

Well, for one thing, it was called "prison". Unless, of course, it was some kind of small custody. Which I doubted. For another thing... I got nothing. Really.

As we were escorted from the tent, I resisted the urge to facehoof. Well, the cuffs certainly helped with that. Kira just glared at me menacingly. Turner was the first in our little queue to prison, and, as we left the outpost (hadn't even got to learn its name), the pegasus turned back to face us, for a moment, his face flat.

"You know, for some reason..." He looked at Kira, then at me, fixing his dispassionate gaze on yours faithfully. I made an apologetic face. Kira huffed in what seemed to me righteous anger.

"I am not amused."

***

Footnote:

Level up!

New Perk: Pacifist - Instead of relying of brute force, you like to solve problems verbally, in a non-violent way. If you are travelling with a companion (or several companions), there is a 70% chance that the enemy will attack them first, instead of you. If you are travelling alone, there is a 50% chance that an enemy will become non-hostile if you do not draw or holster your weapon.

Chapter Six: To Hell in No Time

Chapter Six: To Hell in No Time

"Do you like suffering? Well, you're in luck! 'Cause it's downhill from here, and we're all fucked."

It was a gaol. While a prison is a facility, this was just a tiny cell that barely contained the three of us; and there was also just one bed. A plank bed. Technically, this was a tiny dungeon. I'm not an expert in correctional facility terminology, but it definitely seemed to me like a gaol.

The bed was occupied by Kira, who was glaring at me so fiercely that I was somewhat thankful that all of us were still hoofcuffed. All the way here, we'd been silent, and the silence was by no means comfortable. Oh, I also owed Kira ten caps now. Just great.

"Well, at least this gaol is right on our way, right?" This was true; we'd been led along the same very path we'd been following, until we faced a small one-storey building (with a basement) made of dirty stone, which, as it seemed, was the nearest NCR correctional facility, judging by the two-headed-ursa flag. A silly flag, if you ask me. Probably an image of an irradiated ursa or something. And we were the only prisoners in the only cell. Huh. Seemed like there weren't many prisoners within NCR territory.

Seeing as my remark was met with silence, I decided to speak out my thoughts, "Not many prisoners here, what?" I chuckled, but the smile died on my lips in the wake of Kira's glare.

"That's because the NCR kill their prisoners swiftly," Turner said in his usual calm manner. How did he- Actually, I wasn't about to ask that question; he knew, like, everything, as it seemed to me. Punishing all prisoners by death penalty? So much for "democracy".

"Perfect," Kira said finally, trying to cross her hooves. Which was a silly attempt, given that she was hoofcuffed. "Now I'm gonna get executed just because somepony." She glared at me. "Can't. Keep. His fucking mouth shut." Aww, that was harsh!

"You know, just because I speak Latin, and they don't, doesn't mean I'm the one to blame," I explained. "Their ignorance isn't a reason to sick your dogs on me, you know?"

"Apparently, it was enough of a reason to put us here and take our stuff." Kira huffed. Well, we had been "freed" of our possessions, true. They'd even taken my Box of Many Wonders! I could already feel the withdrawal from the lack of Mr New Pegas' voice. "They even took Turner's special battle saddle!" "Special"? So there were other battle saddles out there? Also, nota bene: it seemed that Kira cared about Turner's possessions dearly.

"In what way is it special?" I asked casually, casting a side glance at Turner to see if he was offended by us talking about him in his presence. He didn't seem to give a damn.

"Most battle saddles have a control mechanism made of metal, but Turner modified his with a string for easier shooting." That... made sense. Except it didn't, to me. "It's worth, like, ten thousand bottle caps!" Ten thousand... caps? How the hell would one carry such an amount?! Okay, let this remain a mystery, along with "how can a huge battle saddle fit in a small saddlebag".

"How do you know so much about weapons?" I wondered, just to keep up a friendly... okay, not-so-friendly conversation. On a second thought, that wasn't a bright idea: she'd probably just had sex with a local smith or something.

"Turner taught me." I decided not to enquire further, given both Turner's silent attitude, and Kira's lack of desire to discuss anything connected to Turner and her. Oh well. At least she hadn't had sex with the local smith. ...Probably.

The door to our cosy cell was opened by a stallion in the brand NCR barding, which made it difficult to distinguish between different soldiers. Because they all looked alike, their coats and manes hidden beneath the military outfit. This one also hid his tail. Oh well. I'll just call him the Guardpony from now on. 'Cause, you know, he'd been guarding us all that time and all.

"You." The stallion pointed at me. "To interrogation room. Now." Aww! I don't like it when scary military ponies ask me pointless questions! However, I had little to no choice as the Guardpony practically dragged me out of the prison/gaol/whatever cell.

I expected a long walk to a special interrogation room, but it seemed that the NCR guys were a little low on caps, for the Guardpony just led me out of my companions' sight, along a short stained corridor, and right into what seemed to be a tiny closet devoid of any furniture apart from a single stool. After a closer look (my eyesight is far from perfect, to think about it), I realised it was a chair, with ropes hanging from its back. They didn't even bother to place a book-ish (or, rather, film-ish) table with a lamp. In the "interrogation room", there was a mare, surprisingly naked compared to other military personnel: the only piece of clothing she was wearing was a red cap, the trademark NCR bear on it, and a motto of some kind. Squinting my eyes (hmm, looks like those old eyes are good, after all!), I could make out, "The last thing you never see". Huh. That didn't even make sense. Still, the mare looked incredibly hot, with that stunning amber coat, and dammit, she was ginger! I wish I were ginger! Ginger manes are so damn sexy.

Oh dear. It seemed that I really hadn't had sex for decades... All right, Doctor, focus! This must be some trick! However, my mind refused to cooperate with me as the ginger-maned mare trotted up to me, swishing her tail against my flank plaifully. "Oh, lookie what we got here! A big, muscular, handsome stallion!" I blushed slightly, trying to brush my mane back. Which was rather hard, given the hoofcuffs and what-not. Well, I was rather handsome... Still got it, I thought gleefully. Almost a thousand years old, and I still got it.

"No wonder the Legion took interest in such a strong guy," the mare remarked, grinning at me slyly, while the stallion was tying me to the chair. Oh, so this was the good cop, bad cop thing. Or something. One way or another, no matter how sexy the mare was, I needed to be wary, if "wary" is the word I want. I think it is. Anyway.

"I don't work for the Legion," I explained. "I just speak Latin. Also..." I tried to test my luck. "What's up with all this bondage stuff? Couldn't you and I speak without restrictions?" Get it? Get it? ...It was a pun. Like, "restrictions"? Two meanings of the word? ...Oh well. The ginger mare didn't get it either.

"No can do, hun." The mare winked.

The first punch came as a surprise.Or, rather, a kick. The stallion hit me right in the face, and I won't lie: it hurt. Nothing broke, so I assumed he wasn't beating me at full might, but it was still extremely painful for me to just feel the skin of my face. I didn't dare open my eyes.

"What do you do for the Legion?" the stallion demanded in a gruff voice. Dammit, wasn't it obvious I didn't work for the Legion? My face really, really hurt.

"I told you." I finally opened my eyes, noticing that the ginger mare still had the same grin. "I have nothing to do with the Legion." Another kick sent me down to the floor, along with the chair. I was sure I broke my jaw. Describing the pain would be meaningless. It was a different kind of pain, compared to getting shot with a laser, but it was still pain.

"If you don't speak, I swear I'll fucking kill you!" my assaulter growled. Despite the menacing tone, I couldn't get my thoughts right. What was I to confess? Hell, I didn't even know what the Legion was supposed to do!

The Hoof of Pain was near my face again. "Okay, okay, I confess, I did it!" I yelled, watching the stallion pause. It won me some time to catch my breath, and for that, I was thankful. Thank you, brain. You're good, mate. Really good. Both the mare and the stallion looked at me expectantly. I took a breath.

"It was I who killed the Kennedys!"

Okay, apparently, that was a bad idea. Either the NCR didn't care about the Kennedys, or they were unaware of their existence; one way or another, two more kicks were placed on my face and one nearly broke my rib. Did I mention I was lying on the floor? Yeah. So much for democratic measures of interrogation. Somehow, I was liking the NCR less and less with each passing second.

"Either you stop fooling around, or I'll rip out your Celestia-damn Legion balls!" the stallion roared.

"Not really a democratic measure, is it?" I coughed, spitting blood. And a tooth. Just great. An amazing way to start the day. If it was morning, that is.

"Don't you dare speak about democracy, you Legion scum!" Another kick, right to the gut. I must admit I felt an urge to vomit, but didn't, due to the fact that I hadn't eaten in a while. (Yet more proof that avoiding pears is good for you.) Instead, a trail of blood ran out of my mouth. It tasted rather steely. "Besides, President Coltball allowed us to use any measures against the Legion!" What a stupid name. I didn't say it out loud, of course, but... Coltball? Really?

Generally, those NCR ponies seemed to be really stupid. As in, reeeeeally stupid. Extraordinarily stupid. Assuming that somepony was Legion just because they spoke Latin? Stupid. The highest tier of stupidity. No, actually, that would be killing people on sight, just because. But then again, that could be considered madness…

Before I could give in to philosophical thoughts, however, the ginger mare whispered something to the stallion, and he disappeared. The mare levitated my chair up (damn unicorns and their magic! I hadn't even noticed her horn beneath the cap: must be really small, that horn) and leaned closer to me, her hot breath falling on my cheek. "Come on, now that the big bad pony's gone, you'll tell me all about it, right?"

Riiiight. Straight away, ma'am. "You know, I don't have a habit of talking to torturers. Besides, I'm really not working with the Legion."

The mare huffed. "Your choice."

The stallion dragged a familiar cyan mare into the room. Noticing my rather compromised position, Kira snapped at the ginger mare, "Get off him, you bitch!" Ouch, that language. But, in a way, it was somewhat fitting, given the current situation.

"Oh, so protective of your coltfriend, are we?" the ginger mare cooed. It... It didn't even make sense. Neither lexically nor grammatically. She grinned at me with mischief in her eyes. "What if we beat up your marefriend while you watch, huh? I bet that'll make you speak, huh?" Okay. Now, right now, at that exact moment, those NCR guys fell even below the whole-town-burning Legion, in my eyes. That was plainly wrong, and sadistic. All that "democracy" was just for the posters, as it seemed.

I just glared at the mare, trying to vaporise her with my eyes, which, alas, proved impossible to achieve. Kira spat on the ground as the ginger mare untied my ropes. I watched the cyan mare being tied to the chair, my legs wobbling. I couldn't fall down now. I couldn't. Showing them my weakness would only add even more fuel to the fire of their sick anger. Unless they were doing it all in cold blood, that is. That was a very real possibility.

I stood there and watched as kick after kick landed on Kira's face, and legs, and chest. I stood there, and couldn't blink, as if there were a number of weeping angels before me. The cyan mare's screams resonated inside my very brain, penetrating my ears. Her blood and tears formed a blurred mess that, as it seemed, would forever leave an imprint in my brain. That was when I started to shout.

At first, my yells were unrecognisable, driven by a violent mood swing - jumping straight from sarcasm to horror isn't a good thing for your psyche - but then grew into a stream of consciousness, "I'll tell you everything! Stop beating her, Celestia damn it! We were passing a town - a little town on our way here - and they had a damn lottery - and then there were those Legion guys - they just killed everypony - but one survived - and we talked to them! But I'm not with them, for fuck's sake! Let her go!"

Tears were streaming down my face freely, soaking my cheeks as they mixed with blood. My legs gave way, and I collapsed to my knees. The beating stopped, and the stallion looked at me dispassionately. Only now did I notice that his eyes were a breezy light blue - a terrifying contrast to his violent, merciless behaviour. The ginger mare glanced at me, then at the Guardpony. I breathed heavily. Kira was weeping in her place.

"Legionaries don't cry," the Guardpony said finally, breaking the silence. Dully, I noted that they called Legion soldiers "legionaries", and not "legionnaires". The ginger mare shrugged, rubbing her chin. I prayed that they would let Kira go. The worst thing was that they paid no attention to her being a mare, a lady. Common courtesy didn't exist here, as it seemed. All of us were subject to the same torture. That's what "equality" is all about, I guess.

The ginger mare nodded towards me, and the Guardpony grabbed me, making me wince in pain, and dragged me out of the interrogation room.

As he threw me into the cell, next to a dispassionate Turner, I couldn't make out if Kira was still being tortured or if her cries were forever stuck in my mind.

***

I hadn't exchanged a single word with Turner. The stallion had just cast a passing glance at me, and averted his eyes, once more looking at the wall. Even though this was seriously freaking me out, I didn't have enough power, or desire, to talk. Turner just didn't give a damn. This was his attitude towards everything; let it remain so.

The Guardpony opened the cell door and threw in a very beaten Kira, hanging on the verge of unconsciousness. I crawled towards the cyan mare wearily. Her forehead was red from blood, and I saw a slight crack pierce her horn. Turner stood up wordlessly and left the cell before the Guardpony could touch him. I labelled him traitor. I don't know. I mean, he didn't seem to care about me, all right; I was a stranger, after all; but he didn't give a fuck about Kira's well-being. And, according to the unicorn mare, Turner and she were rather close. Or, had been close, at least.

"It's all right," I cooed soothingly as I held the mare in my hooves, trying not to touch any sore spots. "It's all right." It wasn't all right. But it was the least I could do. Without our supplies, I couldn't apply a bandage or a healing potion to the wounds, and I sure as hell wasn't a qualified surgeon to fix the crack in her horn. I wasn't sure if she could cast magic, after all of that. And the psychological trauma was sure to stay with her for long. I had seen things; I would overcome. She could fail to overcome.

Kira wept, damping my fur further, but I remained steadfast, hugging her, holding her close to my chest. It was the least I could do. The least I could do. For a while, I just stroked her mane carefully, lest my blood-stained hooves mess with its brown beauty. "We'll get our revenge on them." I knew I was making empty promises, but at the moment, it didn't matter. I could only talk and stroke her mane as my heart drenched in painful empathy. "I swear on everything that's holy, they'll pay for this."

Kira raised her head, looking into my eyes. They were bloodshot, and tears were streaming down her face below the blood-covered forehead. Her nose was broken, as it seemed, and the blood had already caked there. I felt a lump in my throat at how dull her eyes were; but even more so they were hopeful. I tried to smile, reminding myself that I was lacking a tooth and could scare her.

And then she kissed me.

I can't say it was the best kiss in my life. It wasn't even good. The copper taste of blood in my mouth mixed with Kira's blood and saliva, making it rather... peculiar. There was no passion from either side; I felt no arousal or excitement. In a way, it was a desperate kiss of two broken ponies, a kiss sealing their devotion to fighting for a common goal. Like a hoofshake.

After we broke the kiss, Kira tried to back away, but I held her tight, and, soon, she relaxed in my grip, laying her head on my chest and closing her eyes. I decided that a little sleep wouldn't hurt, so I closed my eyes as well, the images of pain and torture still dancing beneath my eyelids.

I don't know how long we had half-lain, half-sat there, but when the door to the cell opened once more, I had already felt a little more invigorated. Maybe it was the endorphines from the kiss. Maybe it was the oath that I had given. Maybe it was just a few minutes of sleep.

Turner stood there in the doorway, his saddlebags on his back, and Kira's saddlebags in his mouth. He didn't look beaten up or anything of the kind, even though the Guardpony was standing right next to him. He tossed the saddlebags towards the cyan mare, who barely caught it with her magic, wincing in pain. It seemed that she was still able to cast magic, but was experiencing difficulties with it. "Get up. We're leaving."

What? I looked at the Guardpony, but he just stared at me dispassionately. Judging by the fact that our possessions were back, and Turner walking around freely... Dammit, it seemed that he was no traitor, after all! All that time, he'd been thinking up an ingenious plan of freeing us - and it seemed that it turned out well! I got up, smiling. Well, Turner wasn't so bad after all, albeit a little strange at times... all right, most of the time, but still! How he'd managed to talk it out with the NCR evaded me. I got up, smiling.

"Not you." Huh? I cocked a brow, but the pegasus just measured me dully. "You will do what the ponies of the NCR say. Consider your debt to me paid in full." He... He... The realisation dawned upon me swiftly. He never talked it out with the NCR. He'd just made a deal with them. Basically, he had bought his (and Kira's) freedom by selling mine. Even if I weren't in debt to him (or, rather hadn't been in debt to him, seeing as he forgave it so quickly), I would have still ended up in the same situation. The NCR didn't really like me. Being a slave? Not a pleasant occasion, even if it wasn't called "slavery". But... At least he'd saved Kira.

Speaking about Kira, the mare got up, glaring at the pegasus. "What the fuck, Turner? I'm not going anywhere without the Doctor!" I was glad for the loyalty, but I couldn't help but wince at the thought of Turner leaving alone, without the unicorn mare.

So I shifted closer to her. "Kira, listen to me. Everything will be all right. Go with Turner, please. I'll catch up to you." If they don't kill me, that is.

"You are." Turner stared at the mare for a while. "I promised your father that I would look after you, and I will." Oh yes, "look after" her. Where were you when she was beaten up to a crying, bloody mess?! Hypocrisy is on my list of things that I despise, above Labourists, and even pears. "If I need to tie you up and carry you on my back, I will."

Before Kira could make another remark, I leaned in and started whispering into her ear, "Listen, don't be stupid. This is your chance to get out. I swear, I'll make it through. I promised you I'll get revenge on those bastards, and I sure as hell will keep it." I whispered more, and more, something about love, and my ability to regenerate, and a bright new day, until she finally nodded and kissed me on the cheek. I didn't return the gesture, but nodded in appreciation.

Before leaving, she levitated a brown Stetson out of her bag - my Stetson. I took it wordlessly, and, just as wordlessly, my two companions - ex-companions - left. I felt a strange, hollow emptiness inside my chest. I couldn't bring myself to be angry at Turner for betraying me, if only because he never pledged his allegiance to me. Well, at least I didn't owe him money now! ...Yeah, that was not a very cheerful thought. Moreover, I was relieved that Kira was safe. It wasn't a lover's concern - mainly because I wasn't her lover - but it was the kind of concern an elder brother would have about his younger sister. I prayed that she would be safe.

"So, are we going to cooperate?" a familiar female voice reached my ears. I lifted my head and saw the ginger-maned mare in the doorway, smiling at me.

"Does it look like I have a choice?" Because it didn't look like I had a choice.

The mare's smile faltered for a moment, but she got a hold of herself immediately and continued, as if nothing had happened.

"This is what we need you to do..."

***

"Are you fucking insane?"

Okay, I normally do not swear, but dammit, were they out of their minds? Sending me on a suicide mission? Better kill me right here and right now!

"It's a relatively easy task," the ginger mare reasoned. "There and back again." Yes, more like "there and never back again".

"So, let me get this straight," I began. "Infiltrating the Legion as an escaped legionary previously held hostage by the NCR, getting to know their next move, then getting back to you with the information - is a 'relatively easy task'?"

The ginger mare nodded. "Well, since you aren't with the Legion, but know their language, you make a perfect infiltrator." She smiled. "Do it, and you're free." That... That didn't even make sense.

"Wait. So now that you know I'm not with the Legion, shouldn't you issue an official apology for beating me up and let me go?" I enquired. "Isn't that how democracy works?"

"Democracy works in many ways," the Guardpony dropped. And that's why I prefer monarchy. "Besides, we are not sure whether or not you are working with the Legion. If you are, NCR spies within the Legion will assassinate you before you can say 'Fuck'." Well, that was... reassuring.

I chewed on my bottom lip, squeezing my hat in my hooves. As I may have already mentioned, I had no choice. "Will there be some kind of briefing? Something I should know about the enemy?" I decided to call the Legion "the enemy", just to stay out in the safe.

"The Legion is a new formation," the ginger mare explained. "We don't know much about it, with the exception that they are devoted to their leader, they are merciless, they respect strength and oratorical skill, and they are after our turf." Something was telling me that the latter was the NCR's greatest concern.

Well, it seemed that the NCR just needed somepony like me, somepony who spoke Latin, to infiltrate the Legion. This was no issue of "democracy" or anything of the kind. They would use any measures to protect their territory. And, to be honest, I didn't just have no choice. I had no choice nor did I have a desire to do anything else. I was alone, for the first time in this wasteland, and, to be honest, I was growing quite apathetic. And what could deal with apathy better than a good old fear of death?

"All right. Let's do it. But I need some food, water, and my radio." If I was going to be crucified, at least I'd die listening to Mr New Pegas' voice. "Or, Celestia help me, I'll commit suicide before you can make use of me."

***

Actually, neither the food nor the water had been worth committing suicide for. Tasteless pre-war canned food and dirty irradiated water. Ah. So refreshing. Well, it was better than nothing, I had to admit. Also, the good news was that I still had my radio with me! The bad news was that they didn't let me turn it on, given my condition as a prisoner. Oh well. At least my Stetson was firm on my head, even though I was tied and dragged along a narrow path that was leading to the east from the one Turner had been leading us along. If they were going for authenticity, they had succeeded. The ropes ground against my legs painfully, and I felt distinctly uncomfortable.

"So, what's the legend behind my mission again?" I clarified, reminding myself that he who was aware remained alive for a longer time.

The ginger mare (her name was Katie, as I'd managed to find out; how cute) groaned. "Honestly, it's the tenth time you've asked this question!" Then, with a sigh, "You are a decanus, one of Centurion Maximus' subordinate officers. You were captured by the NCR on your way to deliver a message to Caesar." At least she pronounced it "See-zar". "All of your weapons were extracted from you so you couldn't commit suicide." This was very important, from what I gathered; the Legion didn't like their soldiers agree to be taken hostage. "You are important, because Maximus gave the message to you, and only you. You must deliver it to Caesar."

"And what if that Maximus shows up and doesn't recognise me?"

"He won't." The Guardpony (still never learned his name) grinned. "The dead don't talk." Oh.

Well... That seemed pretty easy. Except there were probably a million complications that would arise. Oh well. After a few hours of uneventful walking, I spotted three equine-shaped figures on the horizon. Before I could ask my... "companions" about it, they quickly dropped me onto the sand and retreated, without dropping a salute or even a word. Oh well.

As the figures came closer, I made them out to be three legionnaires - or, rather, legionaries. Seemed like the NCR soldiers were right: this road was of the the Legion's trade routes, patrolled daily and nightly. Also, as a passing thought, I mused that I could probably write a thesis on the importance of travelling in threes in the Wasteland.

The figures silently hovered above me - three stallions in Legion armour, their weapons aimed at me. "Sum Decanus Bonus, Centurioni Maximi." Rather spoken and informal, true; but my Latin was a little rusty, I had to admit. Besides, I liked the name "Bonus". It had a certain ring to it.

One of the legionaries frowned, not moving a centimetre. "Do you all speak like that in the East?" Speak like... Oh, right. My Byzantine pronunciation probably showed. I nodded, a bit surprised that they were speaking English. Or, well, Equestrian. Which is the same language.

The East. Right. Apparently, the Legion was divided in two parts: the Eastern territory, which was led by some Decanus, who reported directly to Caesar, and the Western territory, which was led by, well, Caesar himself. Well, since I "was" from the East, I could pretend that my accent was Eastern, as well.

"What happened, Decanus? Where is your armour? Why are you tied up?" Damn, it was anticlimatic, hearing that legionary speak English. I mean... Well, I'd enquire into that later. Still, it was good for me. I wouldn't be able to speak Latin all the time, I guess. Not without my TARDIS' innate translator.

"I am to deliver a message to the mighty Caesar," I replied, feeling a little more comfortable speaking English. Still, I had an excuse to pronounce it "Tse-zar". Yay, I guess. "Our contubernium was ambushed by the NCR, and all my soldiers were killed. They stunned me and ripped me off my weapon and armour. Then they took me here to get rid of me, but then saw you and fled like the cowardly rats they are." Please buy it please buy it please buy it...

"Why would they take you so close to our territory?" the legionary mused aloud. He frowned, looking at me. "And why are you wearing a hat?" Damn. Turner had been right; I shouldn't have taken the damn Stetson.

"Well, we all wear hats in the East, didn't you know?" I said with as much confidence as I could possibly muster, praying that he would buy it.

"Then why didn't they confiscate it?" Fuck. Should have thought that through... Think, Doctor, think!

"They found it useless." Please buy it, for fuck's sake!

The legionary was silent for a while. "What about the radio on your back?" You. Son of a...

"My last wish. I always tune in to NCR broadcasts to listen to their latest movement, and I wanted my fellow brothers of the Legion to find it and make use of it, if necessary." Come on! I itched for drastic measures. "Now, soldier, untie me already!" I assumed that those were mere troopers, while I was obviously an officer. So, my word should mean something! Right?

Apparently not. "Let's take him to the Fort. They'll decide what to do." Damn it. The two legionaries on the sides propped me up without untying me.

"Soldiers, I'll have you crucified this instant if you do not untie me!" I roared in a vain attempt to intimidate the stallions.

The legionary who'd been talking to me only smiled. "Decanus - if you are a decanus, and not a filthy NCR spy who I think you are - you should know that you cannot crucify a legionary without either the Senate's or his commander's approval." They started dragging me along the road. "And our commander is in the West."

Fuck.

***

A pony's brain is a strange, strange contraption. A Time Lord's brain is a contraption yet stranger. As I was led by the three stallions, once more a prisoner (had I stopped being one, after all?), all my brain could focus about was Kira's backroom. And not in the sense you have just thought. Perverts.

I mean, if her house did have a backroom, then where was it? And what would a terminal be possibly connected to? And, more importantly, how the hell did Kira know that it held documentation if, according to her, the whole town was illiterate?! At least those thoughts kept my mind off my possible upcoming crucifixion. Oh well.

Also, I was hungry. As in, extremely, unbearably hungry. Hungry to an extent I would eat a pear if I closed my eyes and imagined it was something else. Like an apple. On a brighter side, my wounds seemed to be healing well; and, once more, I mused about my possibly being able to heal better than the next pony. I mean, not "the next pony", as in, "the pony next to me", or, "the pony who's next in the queue" or something of the kind; I mean... Look, it's a figure of speech, okay? Okay. So. Yeah. Where was I?

Oh, being dragged by two Legion ponies! That's where. And, once again, my Box of Many Wonders wasn't there to soothe me. Well, technically speaking, it was there; just off. Oh well.

We had crossed a small valley and were now climbing up a steady slope of a scorched hill. Back in my time, hills used to be green. With grass, you know? Anyway. Crossing the hill (the way down was a bit easier), I saw what seemed to me a five-tent camp by another hill, just near that point where the hill... circles itself. You know the one I'm talking about. Maybe not; but just take it for granted. As we drew nearer, I realised that this was probably the Fort. Didn't seem like a fort to me, but who was I to judge?

Anyway, I decided to make a pleasant remark to win some points with the legionaries. "I am amazed by the practical and honourable simplicity that the mighty Caesar has borne in mind whilst building his Fort." How many points do I receive?

The stallions just exchanged plain looks and kept on propping me forth. Why weren't they humbled by my comment? And, more importantly, why were we skipping the tents? As we circled the hill (remember that circling point I mentioned above? Yeah, that one), I could see why.

The scenery that hit my eyes in a bright firework of light and colour could only be described as a city. Not a village, not a town, not a settlement; a city. Dozens, if not hundreds, of buildings surrounded an enormous palace, red-and-purple banners swishing in the wind. Curiously, I noted that the Legion's flag was plain: no image, no motto, no symbol. Just two stripes of red and purple. The whole city was situated in a crater-like valley, protected by high stone walls; not the usual wood and metal and what have you. Stone! And the buildings! They were properly built, from stone and wood and metal carcasses - not your common wasteland shacks! Celestia, I think I'm finally seeing some civilisation here!

However, my observations had to be halted as the legionaries pushed me down the hill, limiting my overview. Suddenly, a hole in the cloud curtain came to life, ripping the grey layer apart. It was a tiny hole, but specks of warm sunlight fell onto the city walls, illuminating them beautifully. My mood brightened a little; maybe it's true that one's mood depends on sunlight greatly. I don't know; I'm no doctor. I mean, I am The Doctor, not a doctor. You get the idea.

My companions' mood, however, didn't brighten, as they kept on dragging me towards an enormous gate elaborately decorated with carved eagle figures. Hmm. Maybe an eagle was the Legion's symbol? Welp, all better than NCR's ursa. My heart slowly dripped with poison as I thought of the NCR. Kira's cries still resonated in my ears. And, as if on cue, the hole in the cloud curtain vanished, leaving only the everpresent grey. Not even gonna say "oh well". Oh well.

Damn.

The Fort - and I was perfectly sure this was the Fort - was a prospering city, judging by the merchants flowing freely through a small (well, relatively big, since the gate was damn huge) opening in the front gate. I say "front" gate, because there are usually back gates in such, erm... establishments. If "establishment" is the word I want.

"Is travel prospering around here?" I wondered, gazing at purple-red flags adorning the backs of the merchants'... two-headed cows?! What the?.. "There are two-headed cows here?!" I blurted out, not caring about blowing my cover. I mean... Two-headed cows, guys. Serious business.

One of the legionaries glanced at me with an, "If you hail from the East, you must know about the brahmin." So, these were called 'brahmin'. Huh. Peculiar. Oh, I also blew my cover. Congratulations, Doctor. "And yes, the mighty Caesar has seen to it that all trade routes are protected so that merchants can pass freely, without any guards." Huh. Seemed pretty interesting. From what I gathered, peaceful travelling wasn't widespread in the Equestrian Wasteland.

We approached the front gate, step by step, passing merchants with their flad-adorned co... brahmin. I wondered if the plural form was "brahmin" or "brahmins". Welp, I'd ask later. If I got out of it alive, that is. I noticed one co... brahmin without a pony to accompany it, and glanced at it sadly. In a way, I felt like a stray c... brahmin, too. "Lost your master, poor thing?" I said warmly as we passed the lonely animal.

It looked at me with one of its heads. And then, "Watch your tongue, profligate." What. What. WHAT?! "I am a free brahmin, under the protection of the mighty Caesar." Idly, I noted that even this brahmin pronounced it, "Kay-zar".

"You can... speak?" I looked at my captors/companions weakly, unable to comprehend this world. On a second thought, weren't Equestrian pre-war cows able to speak? I needed to refresh my memory on that point.

"Not many of us can, profligate," the brahmin said and trotted on, through the gate. Again with the "profligate". I mean, I can indulge in a whisky or a game of Blackjack, but does that make me a profligate? No, sir. And, to be more authentic, he (she? it?) could have said "profligatus". To sound more Roman and stuff, you know?

As I looked left, I would have rubbed my eyes if I weren't bound. Off in the distance, I saw a great, magnificent set of skyscrapers, barely touched by age and destruction, as it seemed to me (can't say for sure: one of the things I do not possess is perfect eyesight), lining the horizon in neat groups of two, three, four. There were dozens of them! It looked like a beacon of civilisation in the wasteland, and, among the tall, majestic buildings, I saw a tower. No, the tower. It was far away, but I could see it well, for it grew above all and everything. It was thin, needle-like, its tip prodding the sky; or, rather, the cloud curtain. Beneath the top was a round (or oval) chamber-like glass-covered compartment of some sort, one that could probably include hundreds of ponies at once. And... At that exact moment, I was sure that it was the Lucky 56, my ultimate destination. (Also, Turner's; but I didn't want to think about him now. I could only hope Kira was well.)

Still, it was far, but not too far. In fact... It could be Caesar's land. Or it could not. I decided to keep that question to myself, for now. Close up, the gates weren't as majestic. Sure, they were grand, and golden, but there were scratches and occasional patches of dirt; and the steel beneath the golden cover was beginning to rust. As we neared the gate protected by three (as if there ever was a doubt) guards, I saw my faithful brown Stetson fall to the ground, hitting the dirt. I winced, grabbing the hat with my teeth as my... escorts kept dragging me along. I really did like my Stetson. I even felt, as silly as that sounds, that it was giving me a better... perception of reality, I guess. Like, my eyesight, which naturally is far from perfect, got way better. And stuff. Anyway.

One of the guards, as I could observe, was a zebra! This actually raised my spirits a little. I mean, a zebra! At least these guys weren't racist. Just murderous imperialists. Makes it so much better. Oh well. One way or another, I decided to drop a greeting to, you know, greet the guards. Before I was taken to the cross. To be crucified. I wondered, as the gates opened, if I would regenerate over and over while dying over and over. On a cross. Of weakness, starvation and dehydration. Oh well.

At that moment, I remembered that I had only one regeneration left. One. Regeneration. Left. The desire to say how-do-you-do vanished in an instant. The desire to stuff my stomach with a lot of delicious food was still very much present.

I will save you the details of my being dragged through the entire... city, I guess, given the size and the splendour of the settlement: there is nothing interesting about that. Let's just say that there were rocks flying my way, thrown by foals, mostly. Jewish or Arab foals, apparently; for I could not remember the Romans having such a punishment. Maybe there was. I don't remember. Sue me.

Anyway, as I was (finally) dragged through the city streets, I gave in to the ancient Time Lord weakness of observation. The little city (or huge, if you think in wasteland terms) was alive and breathing with action. A grim-looking zebra was looming over a huge stone disk, sharpening knife after knife. Three earth pony foals ran past me (well, us, technically), nudging forth a colourful ball. A zebra mare walked side by side with a unicorn mare, who was carrying two shopping bags in her levitation field; both were laughing. Caesar's city gave me a feeling of a prospering, booming town - a hope-raising prospect in a wild, bleak wasteland.

On the edge of the Fort - rather, at the far side, by the wall - rested about a dozen of tents, one significantly larger than the others. I assumed that was the commander’s-in-charge tent. Though, if this was the residence of the mighty Caesar, wouldn’t that technically make him the one in charge?

Before I could practise the mighty Time Lord art of inner philosophy - an art that, if I may remark, is the one thing that can keep even a sleepy Time Lord awake - I was dragged, erm, escorted, through the small cobbled path that led past the smaller tents and up to the great purple tent of the seemed-to-be-commander.

And, indeed, the pony inside did seem like a commander. In fact, he seemed like the commander. The one commander whom I had the pleasure (or, rather, displeasure) of having encountered in that Celestia-forsaken town we passed. Remember? With all the brutally crucified ponies and all? With the town burning to hell? That one commander.

“Oh, look at you,” was all he said, but it was enough for my (well, technically, the NCR’s) meagre plan to fall to bits. Caps. Whatever. Of course he would remember me. Of course I had no way to infiltrate the Legion. Of course there was a cross with my name on it.

I have no idea how I recognised him without his battle barding (and the battle kilt), but let’s just assume that my eyesight is perfect. Because it totally is. The brown earth pony (him, not me) motioned for my escorts to let me go. I fell to the floor with a dull thud. Technically, it was the ground, not the floor; but since the tent was built on a chunk of cobbled asphalt, let’s assume it was the floor. I checked my Stetson, just to see if it was there. It was there. A little relieved, I stood up from the floor, putting the hat on my back.

“Travelling alone now?” the commander… Let’s say, The Commander wondered, approaching a table with a map, which was the only piece of furniture in the tent. The table, not the map.

“Well…” I drawled amicably, “my companions may or may not have ditched me and left me to face certain death.” I shrugged. Which was a very brave thing to do, considering I would undoubtedly be crucified very, very soon.

“You seem educated,” the other brown pony in the room (tent, whatever) remarked, taking a brief glance at me. “You know our language.” He looked at me, expecting a reply. We Time Lords have this special ability to figure out if a reply is expected or if it’s just a how-do-you-do kind of question.

“A little,” I replied evasively. “I’m rusty,” I added swiftly, just so he wouldn’t examine me. I mean, sure, I’m smart and I can pass any examination, but, you know, I’ve been relying on the universal translator a little too much.

“What do you say,” the commander offered in an offery tone that made me shiver a little, “if I pardon you, assign you to become a praetor for the Fort. The last one was crucified for bribery,” he added in a bored manner. So much for equinity!

“Don’t tell me you’re just so kind as to grant me a place in the Fort, and a place of high standing at that,” I replied, wary of the whole ordeal. “Just because I speak La- your language?”

“Not really.” The commander sighed and rubbed his nose. “See, we’ve been told that a pony of your description would eventually come, and that pony would possess remarkable intelligence and would be capable of wondrous feats.”

Well, now that was good praise if I ever heard any. But one thing bugged me: who was that pony speaking of me so lavishly. As a good Time Lord, I voiced my concerns straightaway: “Who was that?”

“I can’t tell you that,” the commander retorted. “He only said to show this to you.” With that, he took out something… something very familiar...

My screwdriver! It was my sonic screwdriver. I took a closer look, giggling - and my blood ran cold. On it, on my favourite sonic screwdriver, there was an engraving: Lupus Malus.

“Bad Wolf.”

Prologue: Once Upon a Time...

War. War never changes.

At any given time, any given place, war rages. There has never been a place, nor has there been a time when peace has prevailed once and for all; or, to be honest, at least for a few seconds. War is raging all the time. While some planets, or even galaxies, may enjoy a few peaceful years, others are torn apart by countless conflicts, all at the same time. I repeat, there has never been a peaceful second in the Universe.

Shall we be talking about humans, ponies, or other living beings, it is all the same. There hasn't been a species that hasn't been corrupted by greed and jealousy, by lust for vengeance and urge for dominance. Sooner or later, all sentient beings learn about war, and, from then on, they never are the same. My story is about ponies, creatures once guided by the magical power of love, tolerance and friendship, who were thrown into the darkened abyss of misery and hatred, and, well, learned to kill and hate as well. War has corrupted them too.

Throughout the years, and centuries, conflicts have changed. Weapons have changed. Goals have changed.

In ancient times, way before civilisations took their reign, primeval beings were fighting for survival, killing each other for food, shelter, and, of course, to show their supremacy. Equipped with clubs and stones, they would soldier on to kill each other without thinking much about such concepts as the value of life, or the reason behind the conflict, or the repercussions. They would kill, and get killed, and that was all there was to it. Nothing more, nothing less.

In antique times, bright and educated individuals considered war a means of developing progress, and supported it while their troops marched on and on to conquer new lands. Assured that they were on the right path, soldiers would murder one another for beauty and glory, for money, fame, and country. Armed with spears and steely swords, they unleashed death upon their enemies, aiming for the ultimate bounty: slaves. The losers would be enslaved by the winners; and so it went.

Medieval knights, locked in sturdy metal armour, would kill for the love of God, sure that they would end up in the Promised Land of some sort after the war, and their enemies would do just the same. They knew no fear of death. The God they were fighting for would often be the same; the approach to Him was different. Sometimes I wonder if that God of theirs would ever approve of slaughter in His name?

In times of lead and steel, war gained a whole new meaning as guns and rifles appeared on the horizon: now, it was easy to pierce flesh, just like a knife would pierce a briquette of warm butter. The number of troops rose, and with it rose the demands of those who stood behind the war: rulers and clerics, war scientists and factory owners - liars and hypocrites. Wars became global, involving whole countries, whole alliances of countries. Casualties reached millions. Surely it was high time to stop murdering each other and learn to maintain peace in the already collapsing world. But this was not the end.

Then came Megaspells. Since my story is about ponies, the creators of Megaspells, I believe I must give an explanation. Megaspells are powerful contraptions with the ability to wipe out whole cities - in a flash. What is more, with Megaspells comes radiation. Radiation depletes the cells of one's body; it contaminates each and every molecule, until there's nothing left. A death brought upon by radiation is a horrible death.

When the bombs fell - bombs enchanted with Megaspells - one could witness the very Apocalypse: the End of the World. The end of Equestria and Zebra Lands alike, with all sea and land contaminated by the merciless radiation, forever. But there were none to witness it. While some ponies had managed to escape, finding refuge in the Stables, hoping that those bunkers would help them trick Death, others were destroyed on the spot, just as the bombs fell.

Just as the bombs fell.

Nopony can trick Death. Nobody can trick Death. Whatever your alignment, you will ultimately bow to it, for it is your last and most unbiased Lord. A Lord whose judgement takes nothing into consideration: be you ill-mannered or the epitome of kindness, the end you'll meet will be the same.

When it seemed that Equestria perished once and for all; when it seemed that the light had died forever, just as the Sun and the sky were sealed by the cloud curtain that the pegasi had so conveniently created; when it seemed that the whole planet could finally enjoy its well-deserved rest, - Destiny seemed to have had other plans.

The Equestrian Wasteland reigned over the polluted and ruined territory that once could be proudly called The Magical Land of Equestria. The Wasteland had established new rules, for the game had changed as well. Kill or be killed. Steal or die of starvation. Join those who are stronger than you and suppress those who are weaker. Everypony for themselves.

The mores had changed. Friendship was replaced by rivalry; love was replaced by suspicion and distrust; and tolerance was wiped off from the very hearts of all living beings. The Wasteland prevailed. It had changed everything. Everything but war.

Countless groups fought for dominance, day by day, not counting casualties or considering negotiations. New weapons came into play, new goals led ponies to fight, new ideals guided their way... But the war still raged.

Because war... war never changes.

You must think this to be strange - a random pony sharing their opinion on war? But there is much more to my story than this. There are ponies with roles to play, and their tales can now be told. Ponies united by the constant fight for survival. Ponies united by the common goal, which, to all of them... to all of us, back then, seemed meaningless.

My part in all of this? Please allow me to introduce myself: name's The Doctor. That's all there is to it. I have been around for a long time, and I have seen things. I have observed things. I have learned things. I have never interfered, but only contemplated - that's the way of a Time Lord. But the Wasteland has changed me, as it has changed everything.

This is the story of change, and hope, and friendship, and lack thereof. This is my story, and the story of all those who have, just like I have, been influenced by the Equestrian Wasteland. This is the story of broken refugees and hopeless romantics - heroes who have found it in their hearts to be good, whatever it takes.

Whatever it takes.

I must warn you, however - I'm no writer, nor am I a decent storyteller, so humour me, shall my ramblings and lack of style get out of hoof.

With that in mind, I ask you to proceed on to the story. Are you ready? Because once you're in, there's no stopping.

Allons-y!