Fallout Equestria: Natural Selection

Chapters

Introduction
Chapter One - Salvage
Chapter Two - Forgotten
Chapter Three - Homecoming
Chapter Four - In Memoriam
Chapter Five - The Nature of Revenge
Chapter Six - Blood Money

Introduction

Preface

Ordinarily I would write just a few lines, flying on the high of creating, then it would be over. I would leave the story, just for a moment, and suddenly apathy would decend, consigning it to an ever increasing graveyard of unfinished works. And yet they would haunt me, all the characters, all the little personalities I had abandoned, until I tried to drown them out with yet another story.

Until one day, I chanced across a young filly by the name of LittlePip.

A dear friend of mine, a brony even more fanatical than me, introduced us. Pretty soon I was lost, translated into a sad and beautiful landscape where doomed ponies nevertheless tried to scratch a living from past miseries. And yet small mercies bloom amongst the greyness, tiny specks of hope masterfully penned making them that much more precious.

It was this world, this fallen Equestria, which truly inspired me.

My eternal gratitude to you, dear friend, who gave me wisdom, irritation and occasional genius.

My eternal gratitude to Kkat, who gave me perseverance and a light to guide me.

My eternal gratitude to all of you, all you strange and delightful bronies, who gave me hope.

*** *** ***

Introduction

Once upon a time, in the magical land of Equestria…

There was a time of peace. The land, and the creatures upon it, flourished. No war. No fear. No pain beyond the sweat of a mare's brow as she tilled the land, and put back love. Below the ground magic grew, upon it plants climbed, and above, the stars shined. For the elegant and ethereal Unicorns, magic was theirs to command, and they sang into shape such spells and wonders that the birds themselves wept for joy. For the Earth Ponies the strength of their bodies and spirit were their gift, and they raised houses, dreamed under the stars without fear, before emerging fresh faced and joyful to grow the natural gifts Equestria bestowed upon them. For the Pegasi, the high zephyrs and fresh, life giving clouds were their domain, and they soared through the skies shepherding the rains and rainbows. Above but among the multitude, the Alicorns spread their benevolent wings. Sisters, avatars of Night and Day, united in purpose, conjoined by love.

Which is not to say that evil, in its infinite guises, did not show its face. But whenever darkness threatened, they would stand. Standing together, differences realized but not remembered, harmony a shield that no wickedness could ever penetrate.

For all, another day after another. Day after day, of light and happiness.

And yet...

Not all shared this vision of peace. Some, in fact, found it difficult. Irksome. A hindrance to the continued progress and development of Equestria as a whole, progressive nation.

Under the careful supervision of all the Equestrian people, civilization prospered. Cities sprawled. Towers climbed ever higher. And so did ambitions.

And then there was war.

There were a lot of elaborate words thrown around those days. Glory. Honour. Freedom. So many abstract but oh so admirable concepts that ultimately came to nothing. It was a dirty war. A nasty, filthy, despicable bastard of a war that ate the people of both sides and still hungered for more, licking its lips after every course.

The wicked prospered. Everypony else? Difficult. Irksome. A hindrance to the continued progress and development of Equestria as a whole, progressive nation. Fodder.

What the wicked couldn't know, or didn't want to know, was that a pony can only be pushed so far. There is a line in all things. A line that, when breached, will release the beast. It is impervious to good and evil. It is beyond the shining walls of sanity, and into the altogether more uncivilized places on the other side.

The line snapped. Suddenly, the wicked discovered that ponies weren't so civilized any more.

The once proud nation was reduced to a corroded shadow of its former self. A torn wasteland of sour, clinging dust, pocked by spell craters and crusted with the crumbling remains of a loving and peaceful civilization.

All had been lost. The Earth Ponies were struggling for survival, the Unicorns close to extinction, and the Pegasi sealed away above the clouds in blissful self-imposed ignorance. Apart from a precious few enclaves the old values of tolerance and forgiveness had given way to selfishness and savagery. The lingering influences of ancient weapons still haunt the tortured world. Animals changed and twisted. Plants walk and stalk their prey, and the dead rise hungry for the taste of living flesh. The heartland of Equestria festers, seething with invisible unrest. The legions of the old world stir from their slumber, new orders pass on the mistakes of the dead, black flags rise in the east, and dark secrets, never destined to see the light of day, nevertheless seek to escape. And worse, the wicked return.

Because war... war never changes.

Chapter One - Salvage

Chapter One

Salvage

Deep within the labyrinthine rubble of a dark and forgotten Ministry of Magic complex, the grey dust stirs for the first time in centuries. A bloatsprite, peacefully grazing on a rusted girder, chitters indignantly, casting to and fro with its glittering gemstone eyes. It spotted the thing that had disturbed its meal and had just a second let out a shriek of alarm, before exploding with a shattering report, spraying ichor.

Rusty spat out his pistol, and grinned.

He was an earth pony with a ruddy, ochre colouration, blending perfectly with the wasteland grime that spattered him from head to hoof. His mane, also brown and filthy, was trapped under a helmet crudely fashioned from a tin pot, with cooking handle still attached. His cutie mark, encrusted as it was, was visible as a desert rat, perfectly complimenting his starved appearance. Emerging from his crawlspace he sat on the broken stones and scratched furiously with a hind leg, dislodging a cloud of dust. Looking furtively about with quick brown eyes, he lifted his head and shouted at the top of his reedy voice.

“Oi! Zappa! Beefcake! Youses can come out now! I got’s us feed see?”

The ruins to the western side of the sunken hollow clattered with movement, and two other ponies forced their way through a gap in the suffocating rubble.

The first was the most noticeable, forging through the loose stones like a ship through water, and heaving aside even colt-sized boulders with little effort. Looming a full head taller than the others, he appeared like an intimidating wall of muscle, every movement speaking of barely contained power. His obvious and terrifying strength was offset by a placid, square jawed face with gentle half-closed grey eyes. His coat, mane and tail were a stark, bleached white, and behind his broad shoulders rested a crudely made battle-saddle, toting an enormous machine gun, clearly wrenched from its mounting and directly bolted on. His cutie mark was a large bronze gear.

The third individual, trotting behind the giant stallion so as to avoid the dust, was the most unusual. His coat, although a perfectly ordinary brown, was kept as scrupulously clean as it was possible to be in the wasteland grime. In addition to bulging saddlebags he wore a red and white camouflaged cap, complete with tinted goggles perched above the brim. Protruding through the ostentatious headgear was a spiralling horn, identifying him as a unicorn and a practitioner of magic. The mark on his flank was a jagged bolt of electricity crossed with a screwdriver. His cunning green eyes rolled in exasperation as the mountainous white pony approached his suddenly miniscule comrade, a thunderous frown on his normally passive features.

“Ma name is Cog ye' raggedy little insect…” he rumbled, lowering his head to glare into the brown colt’s grinning face, “…and ye’d best remember lest ye' want te' keep all ye’ legs!”

Rusty glared back until they were almost nose to nose.

“An’ what?” he hissed, “you’ll eat em will youse? Like youse et almost ev’ry fuckin’ thing we got since last fuckin’ week! Ever heard of a fuckin’ low carb diet?”

Cog snarled with rage and swung a plate-sized hoof, but Rusty cackled and scuttled away like a bug, dancing just out of reach.

Zapper the unicorn sat watching for a while, head in his hooves, too bored with the continued antics of his associates to intervene.

The scuffle progressed. Eventually Zapper decided enough was enough, and when Cog began making a spirited attempt to twist Rusty’s head off, the unicorn summoned his innate magic, horn glowing and launching a crackling blue bolt of electricity between the combatants.

The effect was spectacular. The bolt struck the ground and flashed blindingly, leaving a thick scorch mark, a heavy stench of ozone, and two blackened, groaning ponies, hair on-end, twitching and sizzling gently.

Zapper walked over and leaned down, ignoring the smell of singed equine.

“Now, you two, git this into the maladjusted meat b’tween ye' ears…” he said in a smooth Appaloosan drawl, “Tomorrow we will be entering the remains of a facility owned by one of the most powerful military organisations in the whole of Equestria. There will be tech, weapons and salvage for the taking. There will also be many varieties of security droids, traps an’ Luna knows whut else. So cut the crap, put in your tampons an’ let’s do this okay? Whinge once if ye’ understand”

“Ah’l take that as a ‘yes sir Mr Z!’” he said in response to the whimpered torrent of complex profanity. Zapper levitated a folding chair from his saddlebags to more comfortably await the recovery of his comrades, and settled back with a contented sigh. Eventually they managed to stagger upright, and casting filthy looks at each other they began to set up camp, lighting a fire, pitching tents and setting simple traps to keep wildlife at bay.

Watching them, Zapper thought about the morons he had saddled himself with. It had been a hard journey. There had been much to prepare, much supplies to gather and caps to spend. Unfortunately he was as paranoid a pony as there ever was, and had been desperate enough to hire these two as bodyguards. They were experienced, loyal and more importantly, cheap. He had done business with them before, and trusted them. Not for any sentimental reasons though. Cog still clung to abstract and outdated concepts of honour, and Rusty was simply too stupid to devise any kind of mutiny.

Despite their glowing talents Zapper would have happily traded them both for a guard that didn’t speak, or even better, a cold beer. Or a hot apple pie. Or perhaps some new clothes…

Lost in happy daydreams Zapper was started awake by Cog announcing dinner was served. He went over to where the white stallion was sitting by the fire, meditatively stirring the pot suspended above it.

There was a thick, brown liquid bubbling within.

Zapper thought he saw a beautiful, glittering eye float, just for a moment, before sinking beneath the seething stew.

Cog saw Zapper’s expression of horror, and clanged his spoon down sharply on the edge of the pot.

“You keep ye’ words in! There’s always hard-tack if ye’ don’t like ma cookin’!”

Zapper winced, and worked to keep a straight face as the mixture was oozed into his bowl. Rusty had no such qualms, snatching it away as soon as the last drop fell, bolting the stew down, and glaring balefully as Cog poured out his own portion at a deliberately slow pace.

After the evening meal came to a close the party drew lots to determine who would take first watch. Rusty drew the short straw and resentfully assumed a lookout position, while the others retreated to the superficial shelter of their tents.

From his perch atop a cracked pillar of ancient concrete, Rusty miserably scanned the bleak and broken horizon. Darkness was closing in. Their camp was situated in a little explored corner of what was once Manehattan, with long fields of abandoned apartment blocks stretching up towards the tortured clouds. Most were damaged in some way, either by spells, conventional munitions or simply the onslaught of time. Their crooked silhouettes glowed orange as the last slivers of sunlight slid towards the edge of the sky. For a moment the city seemed alive again, with light shining through the windows.

Then the frail, wavering sun was gone. The shadows fell like lead, ensnaring everything in emptiness. Rusty frantically waved a hoof before his face but saw nothing. He tried the other three, still nothing. The only light was an imperceptible glow from the campsite. Rusty felt like a mariner, seeing a lighthouse in the distance, but not knowing the invisible dangers that lay between. Or he would feel that way, if he knew what a mariner was. Currently all he knew was that the senses that had kept him alive through years of stealing, sneaking and surviving were telling him to run, and keep running.

Then the noise started.

It began with a single cry. A high, wavering wail, from far off in the ruined city. Many others replied, at varying tones and pitch, combining into one bloodcurdling ululation that filled the night from edge to edge, rebounding from the towers and reverberating from all directions. Rusty leaped in terror, spinning round and round atop the pillar of rock as the cries rolled on and on into the dark.

*** *** ***

Only Zapper appeared relatively fresh-faced in the morning, thanks to the copious amounts of sleeping pills he had imbibed earlier. The others emerged from their tents like the ponies of the apocalypse, lurching over to the fire, downing the last of their precious coffee supplies, and slumping to the ground to stare hollow-eyed at the empty cups. Zapper’s cheery good mornings were met by a silent wave of dull hatred, leaving him feeling the happiest he’d felt in years. With a smug grin on his face he rummaged in his saddlebags for the object that had brought them to this desolate and unfriendly place. Finding it he levitated it before him, studying the unusual device.

It was called a Pip-Buck 3000. It said thus on the casing, engraved in flowing calligraphy, next to a large, gently pulsing screen and a collection of dials and switches. The whole array was designed to be attached to a pony’s foreleg, via the pair of padded clamps on the underside of the device. Such things were rare, originating from the Stables, great underground bunkers where the luckier ponies retreated to avoid the great destruction centuries ago, only to resurface when the world was habitable once more. Zapper had bought this one from a wandering trader who had been using it for organising his stock, having no idea what he had stumbled upon.

Currently the screen displayed a map, a map showing the whole of Equestria laid out in perfect detail, with a glowing arrow showing the user’s location. There was also a dotted line leading from the arrow to another pulsing dot but an hour’s walk away.

This was what the three travellers had been seeking. This was why they had slogged through mountains, swamps and deserts for weeks on end, and fought past slavers, bandits and bugs till they had shed rivers of blood and sweat.

A secret compound of the Ministry of Arcane Science. A laboratory and testing centre for the deadliest weapons and technology ever to exist since ponykind realised that not all transgressions can be forgiven.

Zapper’s grin widened and greed blossomed within his heart at the thought of the power within his reach.

Breakfast was a hasty affair, with Zapper declining a ration and tapping a hoof impatiently while the others ate sickly apples plucked from a past roadside. After an interminable fifteen minutes they cleared the camp and set off northwards towards the central cluster of apartment blocks.

They crept forward slowly, constantly wary for the slightest hint of danger. Zapper walked in front, focussed on the information the Pip-Buck gave him via its flickering green glow. Cog rolled along behind, the saddle with its huge armament rocking with his movements. Last, and least, Rusty scuttled about at the rear, gaze nervously flickering back and forth and jumping at the slightest noise.

At length they came upon a deep trench, gouged from the ground at the base of the tallest of the housing towers, its steely flanks meeting concrete and raw earth. As they stood at the trench’s gaping mouth Zapper hissed for quiet.

They froze. Cog slowly took the bit of his battle-saddle between his teeth and twisted, the clack of the mechanism unbearably loud in the confined space. Rusty leaped silently onto Cog’s back and aimed his pistol between the white stallion’s ears.

There was a noise, a loud crackling, like rain falling on flame. A strange luminescence filled the air, along with a sharp, gunpowder reek.

Zapper edged breathlessly up to the corner and rested his head against the concrete. Then he turned his head, ever so slowly, straining an eyeball to the corridor beyond.

Then he relaxed, parched lungs gasping in relief. He smiled tiredly at the others.

“Relax everypony, it’s just a magic leak”

“What’s a magic leak?” said Rusty peevishly.

“One of those…” Zapper replied simply, gesturing with a hoof.

They all walked into the centre of the trench, their eyes aglow with wonder.

The trench continued straight on. Protruding from the crumbling walls were numerous cables, some an inch in diameter, some the size of small houses. From each and every one of the tangled metal strands issued a fountain of technicolor brilliance. Jagged strands of bright energy danced back and forth anarchically, leaving searing trails in the air. They screamed and sparked in a strange and deadly tangle, scorching the ground and filling the trench with choking multi-coloured smoke.

The three travellers stood for a while, surrounded by the mind-destroying noise like a dozen thunderstorms. After a time Cog decided to voice the thought that was in everypony's minds.

“How’re we gonna git though that?” he said bluntly.

Zapper thought for a while, brow knotting as he searched his mind for any spells that might assist them. He'd been brought up in Tenpony Tower, and thus had the best education post-apocalyptia could provide, along with extensive training in the different uses of Unicorn magic.

“Ah could try an anti-magic field…” he said doubtfully “but I’m not sure it’d stand up to power like this…”

Cog snorted impatiently. “Jest do you’re voodoo already. This place is too exposed to hang around”

Taking a few deep breaths to steady himself, Zapper reached within himself and the magic responded. His horn flared with light, the blue glow at odds with the towering cascade beyond. He closed his eyes, and stepped forward.

Almost immediately a bright spear of energy slashed towards him like a striking snake. But as soon as it got within five feet it curved in its trajectory, shrieking off to impact with the concrete in a deafening explosion.

Zapper laughed delightedly, looking back at his fellows with the dazzling lights shimmering in his eyes.

“C’mon fillies, let’s do this thing” he said with a wide grin and unbearable aplomb, nodding towards the suddenly distant gap at the end of the trench.

Cog and Rusty looked at each other, then looked back at Zapper surrounded by a flashing nimbus of pure magical power. Rusty glared back into Cog’s interrogative expression, stubbornly folding his forelegs.

“Youses can just start walking cos I ain’t movin’!” he said from his perch on Cog’s wide, muscular back.

Cog growled in consternation, but he knew there was no time for mincing Rusty into the greasy smear he so deserved to be. So he shut his eyes tight and began to edge forward, one tentative hoof at a time.

“Come on you two! Ah cain’t wait for another damn doomsday!” shouted Zapper, growing impatient.

Cog jumped and lumbered forward, causing Rusty to cling for dear life as he was jolted by Cog’s swaying stride.

Together the three began a steady trot onwards, at a slow enough speed for Zapper to maintain his concentration, but fast enough to avoid being blasted with magic should the spell fail, if such a thing were possible.

The eclectic mesh of energy parted before them, thrashing angrily beyond the invisible barrier. It seemed to resent their intrusion into its rightful domain, striking the ground all around their position with increasing frequency. The spell protected them from the wild unbound magic, but they were showered with splinters of hot stone from the numerous impacts, and had to take special care to dodge the blackened craters that would lame an unwary pony.

Sweat ran freely on Zapper’s brow. The spell swam unsteadily at the forefront of his mind, like a swaying tower of eggshell crockery that had to be constantly rebalanced. His deafened ears registered nothing. There was only the drumbeat of his heart, the muffled clatter of hooves and the angry howl of magical lightning. The end of the trench wavered in his vision, simultaneously close and oh so far away.

Then suddenly they were through, the cracked and filthy walls giving way to sweet, sweet space. The magic gave them a last parting gift, a jagged bolt snapping at their heels and detonating, sending them hurtling forwards into the dust.

Cog picked himself up from the pile of rubble that had broken his fall. He noticed a familiar-looking metal handle protruding from the pile and reached in, extracting a dust-ingrained Rusty by the scruff of his mane.

“Damn that was close…” he said, cracking his neck, “Where in th’ hells is Zapper?”

Rusty shook himself like a dog and pointed.

Zapper was a short distance away, levitating a full-length mirror and staring in horror at the dust encrusting his fine coat. He magicked a brush from within his saddlebags and began grooming frantically.

Cog sighed in exasperation. “Ain’t there anything in those bags that ain’t you’re beauty products?”

“Some of it…” said Zapper distractedly, struggling with a clump of cement somehow entangled in his mane.

The brush fell to the ground when he saw what lay ahead.

The area around them was a vast clearing almost a mile across, a shattered crater half filled with the detritus of an ancient explosion. The stone was charred and strangely melted, turning to a glass-like substance. Further ahead, at the centre, was…

Zapper leaped into a gallop, sprinting with all his strength, the joyous anticipation in his heart propelling him onwards. He kept running long before the others fell behind, only skidding to a halt when the ground fell away into a deep and treacherous pit.

Eventually Cog clattered up behind with Rusty in tow, both looking in askance at Zapper’s wicked grin. Without a word he summoned the magic and pushed.

All three shot over the edge, with Rusty letting out a whinny of terror. They slid down into the dark on an earthen slope that had been invisible from the edge of the pit, the blue luminescence of Zapper’s magic lighting the way. The drop carried on for some time, their hooves scrabbling for purchase, until they rolled free of the dusty slide onto blessedly solid round.

Rusty cowered on the smooth, damp concrete, before his head snapped up to glare hatefully at Zapper.

“Never! Ever! Do that fuckin’ thing again ya’ poncy fuckin’ prick!” he shouted in his reedy, foalish voice.

Zapper turned and stared.

“The first words spoken in this hallowed place in over two-hundred years and you say THAT? You FUCKING MORON!”

Rusty wilted in the face of Zapper’s murderous rage.

“I come all the fucking way here...!” he raved, “to this ancient fucking shithole, expecting some kind of fucking OCCASION! Are you high, or just fucking RETARDED!?”

Silence fell.

Cog walked over and laid a tentative hoof on Zapper’s shaking shoulder.

“Ye’ got that off your chest?” He said kindly.

“Don’t touch me!” snapped Zapper, sitting down with forelegs firmly crossed.

Suddenly there was a loud electronic hum in the air. In the walls halogen lamps snapped on. In the harsh white glare in was plain that the tunnel was artificial, with smooth concrete walls plastered with painted signs and warnings. Ahead there was a metal wall. In the centre, a large, circular, serrated metal door.

Cog and Rusty exchanged glances behind Zapper’s immobile head.

“Um… are we’s going in?” said Rusty.

“Shut up!” barked Zapper, stamping over to the control panel beside the door, “Shut your fucking hole! You’ve ruined it!”

With the others standing awkwardly behind Zapper angrily punched buttons on the control panel, which responded with electrical clicks, whirrs, and several red lights illuminating shakily. Zapper waited a few seconds, then snarled furiously and slammed the device with a hoof.

The panel sparked, there was a rattling sound and the lights turned a healthy green. A hideous metallic shrieking sawed the air as the door ground back into the wall, before rolling aside and releasing the stale stench of centuries.

They stared warily into the dark, bodies tense and weapons primed. There was no response though, no sudden rush of an attacking monster. Only an insistent mechanical rumbling, and a voice.

“Welcome, Technician Three-Two-Two-Seven...” It said, in a light and secretarial tone, possibly female.

“…You Are Two Hundred And Thirty Seven Years, Three Days, Four Hours And Fifty Three Minutes Behind Schedule. Please Report To Your Supervisor In Prototype Storage One. Otherwise, Have A Pleasant And Productive Day”

The voice cut off. Lights flickered on in the chromed ceiling, revealing a long, metal corridor painted a tasteful off-white. There was a yellow plastic sign propped in the middle, warning ponies to be careful on the wet floor, which was spotlessly clean.

“Well it sure was nice of ‘em to be polite” said Zapper sarcastically.

Cog tapped him on the shoulder and pointed upwards.

There was a large crusted stain on the ceiling, the colour of fine port.

At that moment there was a whirring noise from the end of the corridor, and a metallic, cylindrical object emerged from a side passage, moving at something less than a walking pace. Zapper recognised it as a household cleaning robot from before the war, shuffling along erasing even the smallest speck of grime with jets of superheated steam. It whined past them and set about vaporising the trails of dirty hoofprints in the entryway.

They moved on cautiously, hooves clacking loudly in the narrow space. The corridor came to a junction, with the passage to the right blocked by a huge slab of riveted steel with no controls visible. Beneath the metallic wall emerged the pathetic and bifurcated remains of a pony, skeletal forelegs reaching out in supplication. Although the corpse was clearly ancient it was completely clean, centuries of meticulous steam-washing giving the bones a glistening shine.

Taking the left exit they found themselves in a vast rectangular chamber, twenty hooves high, and filled with an incomprehensible array of scientific equipment. Long tables were spaced in geometrically precise intervals, covered with a vast sea of tangled glassware. The walls were encased in twisting nests of tubes filled with a rainbow of coloured liquids. Several cleaning robots murmured up and down the through the turmoil, gently dispelling morsels of dust from the delicate glass.

Zapper moved at a cautious trot, careful not to disturb the fragile material.

“Nothin’ to be had here…” he said dismissively, “let’s try through that purty lookin’ door over there”

Cog cleared his throat. “Uh, th’ one with all the red stripes an’ skulls an’ stuff on it?”

There was indeed a door at the end of the room. It was eight hooves high, steely and riveted, and stamped with jagged crimson chevrons. There was indeed a skull in the centre, the cranium of a pony silhouetted in black. All the pipes layering the walls lead to this one forbidding portal, snaking into sealed vents above the lintel.

Zapper almost skipped to the control panel, retrieving a cable from a groove in its surface. This he plugged into a port on the salvaged Pip-Buck.

Lights blinked and circuits hummed to themselves, as if delighted at their own cleverness. With a volcanic growl a glowing orange line traced the perimeter on the door, releasing the stink of burning metal. Ponderously the door swung inwards, the smell changing to fear and antiseptic.

The light was poor beyond the steaming doorway. Zapper conjured a light, and wished he hadn’t.

Glass. Metal. Flesh. Plastic. Half-formed things floated in unspeakable fluids. Miserable scraps of life twisted beyond recognition.

Cog swore softly and Rusty whined in wordless horror. Zapper swept an elegant handkerchief to his mouth as his gorge rose unbidden.

“Let’s go Z, now!” Cog whispered.

“No! I need…”

Cog caught Zapper’s chin and wrenched his gaze back to the wretched sight. “This is your motherfuckin’ salvage!” he snarled, “We. Are. Done!”

“There’s a unicorn over there…” whispered Rusty.

They looked. On either side of the doorway were the rows of tanks. Eight rows, six abreast, each with their grisly contents. But beyond them, shimmering greenly in the flickering light, were three more. Two were empty.

One held a pony, suspended in clear liquid, eyes closed, head surrounded by a halo of cables, straps and tubes.

He twitched slightly.

Chapter Two - Forgotten

Chapter Two

Forgotten

It’s that dream again…

The sun is shining…

I breathe. The smell of grass and flowers. Delicious, sweet, green, alive…

There are trees. The cherry blossoms are flowering…

Faint music on the breeze…

And her…

And now there is pain.

My eyes slam open. It hurts. I’m in water, or something. I can’t see more than blurs and shadows.

I breathe. There’s no air. Just water that burns my lungs.

I struggle. My head is held, my mane is trapped, it hurts. I hit the glass, my legs are weak, my blows have no effect. There’s no sound except my heart dying.

I scream.

A muffled metallic clang, and the water surges and rushes down and out, carrying me with it. I fall onto cold, cold metal, and retch.

My body shivers, I can’t stop. It’s so cold. I retch and retch and heave and choke, the water must be purged. I can’t breathe, I can’t move, but I must, the water, I must be rid of it, I must breathe.

It’s all gone. I can breathe now. I’m so tired, so cold, but I can breathe now. That’s all that matters. I can hear my desperate gasping, hollow in the glass chamber. Air never seemed so beautiful, so sweet, so delicious so…

Machinery ground again beneath me, terrifying in its loudness and closeness. I looked up, and saw three ponies beyond the glass. I couldn't make them out through the ringing blur. I tried to call for help, but all that came out was a weak, pathetic croak.

“Help me…”

The floor hissed, and fell away.

Blackness flew past, serrated walls moist and sickening, but the sensation of falling was a precious relief, cool air soothing, stroking my skin as I fell to my death. Then the tubular wall clipped my flank. A gentle tap, the lubricious surface touching for no longer than a second but somehow agonizing beyond anything I had ever experienced before. My skin screamed, but I could do nothing to ease it, my body would not obey. I span lazily in the void, but the wall struck again, punching my shoulder with hooves of fire and setting me tumbling in an uncontrolled spiral of pain. Muscles screaming in protest I curled into a ball, alone, fear and pain my only companions in the mental fog. Fear and pain. Alone. Waiting to die.

The wall smacked me down, a slimy, brutal strike like the hoof of an angry goddess. I felt something snap. But I was past that now, pain a mere background static as I curled, numb. I was sliding now, the pit levelling into a chute, the skin of my back howling in the dark of my mind but drowned in the mist of deeper despair. Then the chute disappeared too. I floated, flying in calming, empty space.

Then water engulfed me again, the same tepid stuff from before, surrounding me in clanging gloom.

No more air now. Just salty, brackish liquid seeping spitefully back into my lungs. I didn't care though. A way out, that’s what it was. Drowning isn't peaceful, it hurt by Luna’s crown it hurt, but I was too far gone to notice, and felt nothing but absurdly pathetic relief.

Hanging there in the dimness I watched the light fading, the pain being swept aside by the encroaching dark. My last breath peacefully floated away in pearly orbs, and I heard music from the shadows. Gentle waves of harpsichord soothed and shushed, the high, sweet voice of viola fluting above. I wondered where I had heard such beauty before. Then I sighed, the liquid settling in my weary body as I drifted off to sleep…

And dreamed…

*** *** ***

Of music, of grand, golden halls and tall fluted pillars…

Of strings plucked in soaring harmony…

Of splendour to last for eternity…

*** *** ***

Of humidity.

The smell of wet earth.

I lay still. My ears twitched. I was aware of everything around me. Life moving in the soil, worms oozing blindly through the moistness. I could sense the particles in the air, the poisons and toxic essences. Waves whispered to each other. The lonely wind moaned to itself. Cool mud bathed the side of my head, and dimly I processed that I was lying face down, while water gently washed my hind legs, back and forth, back and forth.

The mud oozed beside my muzzle, creeping, touching my lips with a clammy kiss. It tasted filthy, cloying with a hint of industrial waste. I lifted my head, and saw a corpse.

We gazed dumbly at each other. Empty sockets stared mournfully at me, the skulls’ missing lower jaw giving it a despondent expression as it sat half-submerged in the grey sludge. The body lay in my exact same posture, slumped pathetically on the desolate shore like so much floating garbage. As I looked closer, consciousness tentatively reasserting itself, I noticed the worms writhing in the bleached remains. Fat, bloated things, pale and pulsing as they silently gnawed. My gorge rose, and I tried to crawl away from the repulsive sight. My left hoof touched something cold, yielding slightly with an organic squelching sound. I yelped and recoiled in horror, but whichever way I turned there were more of them. I was on my knees in a creeping, festering mortuary.

I froze, shaking, animal terror screaming for me to run. Avoiding the sights I stared directly at the mud beneath my hooves, hyperventilating while my heart hammered painfully. Breathe. Ignore. Breathe. Ignore.

Why was I here?

Where was here?

…And who the buck was I?

I looked around in complete and utter confusion. There was something. Déjà vu, or something like it, scratching irritably at the back of my mind. But whenever I tried to access it something would push me away, like a door abruptly slammed shut.

“Damn it!”

My voice. A little quavering with fear and fatigue, but my voice all the same. It startled me into silence, and I glanced around anxiously. There was nothing but the lines of skeletons stretching away on either side, behind me the pool of liquid washing my legs, in front a cave wall dripping with moisture. I tried the voice again.

“Hello…?”

Steadier. Refined, spoken Canterlotian, just like I remembered…

And the memories slipped away like dust.

“Well this is a fine mess indeed” I said to the darkness in general. Then I laughed. It really was a funny voice for a dismal place like this, so pompous and polished. Adrenaline worked its seductive spell, and laughter bubbled up unstoppably, laughter at the shadows, the unnamed dead, laughter like a society gentlecolt enjoying a splendid joke. I laughed until the tears came, before realising exactly how much noise I was making and shut my mouth, supressing the hysteria.

There must be a way out. The dark lake stretched ahead inescapably, but the grey shoreline beside it extended far beyond sight, possibly leading to a door or tunnel or some way out of this horrible place. Immediately I began imagining horror stories, of sealed exits and eternity spent in darkness. With them.

I tried to struggle upright, shuddering with effort as my muscles turned somersaults. My skin felt unbearably sensitive, every slight movement every breath of air leaving a rawness that itched and irritated. Determinedly ignoring this I rose to my hooves, knees shaking, and lumbered into a trot. I didn’t care where I was going, only that it should be somewhere else, away from the death and dark.

Mud squelched, water lapped languidly, and I staggered through air like sandpaper, sawing across my exposed flesh. Or at least that was what it felt like. I didn’t dare look. Line after line of bleached carcases drifted past in a monochrome slideshow, and after an age of hideous clinging mud my gaze travelled longingly to the water. Something kept me wary though. Visions of dark things swimming blindly in the deep danced mockingly in my imagination, and the little knot of panic that was only kept at bay by stubbornness and adrenaline stirred uncomfortably. And yet my skin felt flayed, like drought-cracked soil with a generous helping of salt. And the water looked so refreshing…

I kept walking, but eventually my path curved towards the water’s edge until I found myself frozen but a hoofs length from its glittering black surface. There was no discernible light here, but nevertheless I could see it glitter, pale, oily colours moving sluggishly.

I took a step, tingling coolness enveloping my hoof with a faint splash. Ripples undulated out and away across the water and I listened intently, straining for any sounds of stealthy movement. There was nothing. Nothing but the drip, drip, drip of water, echoing from the grey stone walls.

Kneeling in the shallows I cupped a hoof-full of the briny liquid. Sweet, soothing water caressed and comforted, washing away the itching inflammation with a liquid touch. The aches vanished, the pains faded. I smiled with delight at the sensations, revelling in the immense relief. Something smiled back.

There was something in the water. A crooked shape, broken by the ripples. Was it a creature from the pool?

No, it was just sitting there, while the ripples calmed and faded.

So…

There in the water was me, but changed…

My coat was slate grey, like before, but beneath it wound muscles like steel wire…

I was taller, thinner, gangling and spidery…

Instead of a mane, there were now…wires, cables, mesh, artificiality. It hung forward in an unruly mess, dripping with amniotic fluid, over a face which…

A long, cruel, clever face…

Yellow eyes, pupils a dark, vertical slit, burning with an inner fire…

A mouth parting in shock, displaying sharp, deadly fangs…

I remembered, being an exceedingly vane, arrogant young colt.

*** *** ***

We stood, and stared at each other. The thing and I. Me, and it.

It was scarred, great bare patches of raw flesh where hide should be. But even now they were healing, new skin crawling back and fresh, grey coat sprouting with a faint tickling sensation. I reached up and touched the long muzzle of the pony in the water, and felt a cool, strong hoof gently come to rest upon my cheek. It was trembling slightly. My heart thumped, but I felt nothing. No emotion yet, only an emptiness.

I tilted my head ever so slightly to one side, and the pony in the water imitated the movement, looking at me quizzically with a curiously blank expression, slit eyes wide and harsh, mouth set like stone. Slowly, I reached up and touched a forelock. Course, abrasive, not like a smooth, silky pony mane at all. The image in the water showed crimson bangs reaching below my shoulders, with spiralling chevrons of black. Reaching further I discovered rubber, tubes and cables amongst the not-mane. Something clinked, and I saw that what I had taken for decorative objects were in fact the steely heads of jack-plugs, rattling together. They moved, and I felt the soft tugging indicative of their attachment to my scalp…

…dead…gone…

…lost…fault…

…kill…

I pulled harder. The fibres clung painfully. I heaved and wrenched and whimpered as the hideous things remained stubbornly real. A horrible sense of wrongness arose within me, worsened by the fact that I had no idea why. A pathetic, choking sob rose in my throat, the miserable sound escaping as I knelt in the poisoned mud.

What was wrong with me? Something was, but what? I didn’t know, I didn’t fucking know! But I tore at the things embedded in my head, because they were wrong…

…lies…

The shadows pressed in, claustrophobia whispering weasel words and making my stomach tie itself in knots. It clenched, and I heaved sickeningly, acrid bile burning my lips. I had to get out!

Looking frantically about a large concentration of corpses caught my panicked eye, piled against the grey wall a short walk away, locked in almost literally mortal combat. I scrabbled and slid through the mud, fighting and kicking. They were tangled, clawing at each other, reaching…

A scrap of cloth fluttered slightly in an imperceptible breeze. I breathed, tasting the air, and behind the smell of old bones there lurked the faintest hint of the liberating, captivating scent of outside.

With the stink of death layering my tongue I dug, the sad remains tearing like dry paper. My senses registered naught but dust and filth, a smothering grey fragrance that enraged beyond belief, but as I tore aside the pathetic cadavers I uncovered the scarred surface of a large metal pipe, just small enough to be suffocating as I struggled into its beckoning mouth. I didn’t care where it went, I didn’t care about the festering slime coating the inside, and I didn’t care about the oozing, rotting bodies blocking my path as I crawled upwards, fresh enough to seep suppurating fluids from their pale flesh. All that mattered was the escape, the faint white light I could see on the horizon, tantalisingly far away, casting long, crooked shadows through ragged meat and splintered bone. Light. Freedom.

An eternity of slithering. I shoved a corpse to one side, and another fell in its place, spattering my muzzle with stinking rot. Rage flowered, and with a guttural snarl I punched, smashing its skull to splinters. I scrabbled for purchase in the pipe, hooves clattering against the smooth sides, every yard simultaneously a herculean achievement and signalling yet another hard-fought step in creeping foulness. The little circle of light crept closer, and closer, tainted slime plastering my skin, befouling my coat, my tail, obscene elastic strands of filth pulling me back, the dripping hooves of the dead delaying my escape until with a heave and a gasp I was free, jagged metal biting my forelegs as I hauled myself out of the darkness, and into starlight.

*** *** ***

The pipe grudgingly released its hold with a repugnant schluck, lush, dew flecked grass rising up to meet me. I landed with a bone-jarring thud, the shock of impact leaving me winded, breathless, moist undergrowth a precious relief from dripping darkness. Air, sweet, clear air, crackling with the scent of green and rainfall, filled my lungs with scintillating flavours. I looked up, and saw the cherry trees, rocking gently in the rain, shedding soft cascades of frail pink petals that twirled sedately in the evening breeze. They formed an avenue, lines of trees leading onwards to a horizon invisible in the dark. I pulled myself upright, the spongy soil giving beneath my hooves, alight with the energy of growing things. I felt the rain on my back, sensuous, cool, refreshing, and when I raised my head to the swollen clouds the drops doused my face, tasting of life. I lowered my gaze, and there was a unicorn standing before me.

It was black. Not simply black coated, but true, impenetrable black. A halo of shadow surrounded it as the light was drawn in and devoured. Black eyes like the void of space looked at me interrogatively.

“It’s considered polite to greet your friends you know” he said, well-spoken but slightly echoing, creating a strange chorus effect, as of many voices speaking as one.

I blinked in confusion, aware that something was required but unsure exactly what.

“Uh…hello…um… pleased to meet you…?” I stuttered, fumbling for words.

The black eyes narrowed in irritation, and it tilted its head quizzically “That wasn't very friendly.”

I shook my head, trying to get a grip. “I’m sorry, but who are you? This is a dream isn’t it?”

“You don’t remember me? Really?” The thing drew back, its expression, as far as I could make out, looked appalled. “After all I’ve done for you? After all we’ve been through together?”

Suddenly it lunged, faster than I could blink, and was beside me. It reared up, planted a forehoof on my shoulder and seized my ear. I stood still, watching the thing out the corner of my eye, peering at me with head twitching like an insect, rooting through my mane looking for…what? I bore the hooves like ice for what seemed an age, afraid to move, before it released me with a snort of irritation.

“So it’s true, you don’t remember” it said sharply. It began to pace, walking around me, even as it spoke watching me with an unnerving intensity. “How vexing. I thought I’d done a pretty good job keeping you in one piece. Metaphorically speaking of course, those bastards weren’t gentle to say the least, but I thought at least you would…”

It trailed off, staring into the middle distance as it slowed to a halt before me, lost in thought.

The spongy soil seemed real. The rain was delicious, tantalising, smelling of that special smell, the fresh ozone scent blending with the tree’s delicate perfume. It was…increasingly familiar. But from where? I needed to think, to remember! A stabbing ache began to sizzle behind my eyes and I clapped a hoof to my head, hissing in pain. I felt something stir inside, and in the distance the cherry grove flickered and sparked like a damaged film, sheets of screeching static, green numbers snapping back and forth as the trees tore at each other and an auger bit gnawed into my skull. My knees buckled. The rain sparked, the trees shattered themselves, petals shrivelling away.

“Uh oh” said the unnamed unicorn from beside me, calm and collected as I writhed, “Seems like they’re back.”

It was too much. My voice came out a pathetic whimper.

“Please…make it…stop…”

“Are you sure?” It interjected quickly, eagerly, whispering into my ear.

I tasted iron.

“Please…”

It drew breath in gleeful satisfaction.

“As you wish. Enjoy the ride, my dear, dear friend…”

*** *** ***

The world filtered back, waves of static parting like sizzling grey curtains. There was no grass. Only dust, splintered brick, cold, cold stones, chill concrete towers stretching to the horizon, and freezing, biting chill.

*** *** ***

Chapter Three - Homecoming

Chapter Three

Homecoming

Night passed slowly. The nocturnal creatures were unquiet, prowling and skittering in the half-light. Misshapen forms, crooked silhouettes and breathy whispering floating by the entrance to my oh so fragile sanctuary, every slight noise sounding scaly. When I lay back on the cool concrete I could see the clouds through a crack in the ceiling, bruised, unhealthy things, drifting by with solid poisonous impunity. Faint starlight occasionally filtered through, rendered greenish and foul.

I had taken refuge in a collapsed apartment complex. The tower had collapsed on its side, crushing the outer rooms and leaving the inner ones tilted ninety degrees, old portraits twisted, propaganda posters rendered ridiculous and perspective distorted. My shelter was somepony’s home once. Framed photographs, dusty and pathetic, lay scattered amongst broken furniture and ruined clothes, once the height of fashion, now as dull as the dust that coated them.

Hunger was sinking its claws into me, and I began to exploring the apartment, reasoning that there must be food preserved somewhere. Beyond the living area there was a short corridor, broken and twisted passages leading off on either side, all buried with rubble. Directly ahead was a shattered doorway that had lead into the kitchen, before the structure of the building had given way and drowned the room in rock. Protruding from the debris was the end of a refrigerator, scarred but intact. Beneath it, bleached, crushed and powdered, was a skeleton, still wearing the remnants of a stylish suit. I sighed with despondency. In the event of an emergency, stand in doorways. The strongest point in any building. Not much good against a million tons of concrete but still, an item of hope.

“Sorry about this old chap,” I whispered to the miserable bones, and focussed on the refrigerator. I had no idea how my magic would perform. Having seen what had been done to me, I had no idea of anything anymore. I didn’t know what had happened, and I felt nothing but fragile confusion, which if I thought too much about could easily dissolve into blind panic. Concentrate on ordinary things, work, think. I’m hungry, so I need food. Here is a fridge. Don’t think about the fact you’re in a flattened tower block robbing a dead colt’s larder.

I tentatively reached for the place inside, the little door that held the magic. It was there all right, but…wrong. Warped. Like somepony’s been in your house and moved things around. But I didn’t know what was wrong. There was no before, it was just wrong. A migraine flared behind my eyes, and I jerked away from that line of thought. The future is uncertain and the past hurts. Concentrate on the present. The hunger was worse, stomach churning angrily, my mouth watering at the merest hope of food. I gave in, and summoned the power.

It responded. Blinding red light cracked into existence around my horn with a noise like a gunshot, sizzling along its length, a snapping bolt leaping out to touch the refrigerator. I yelped and dropped the spell, jumping back like a scared little foal as the magic hissed away into nothingness, letting fall a fat red spark that glowed briefly on the floor before sputtering out, leaving a blackened star.

I sat, and blinked at the harsh sunspots before my eyes. The first thought that crossed my mind was…cool.

I narrowed my eyes at the refrigerator, and tried again. The power came easily, almost eagerly. My horn flared again, no gunshot bang this time, just a gentle, electrical hiss as crackling red lightning flashed above my brow. A tendril fizzed through the air, skittering across the refrigerator and enveloping it in a corona of crimson light. Mentally, I gave it a cautious tug. It creaked and shook, a light cascade of dust and pebbles clattering from the fragile ceiling. I pulled a little harder, it groaned metallically, sliding forward…

An answering groan came from above. I stared in horror at the roof, hearing in exquisite detail the clatter and grind of rubble. I spun around and wrenched, heaving the refrigerator along as I broke into a run, the angry rumbling building up to a shriek of tortured rock. I ran faster, the fridge scraping sparks from the floor. The roof ahead bulged and split, disgorging stones and bricks that struck like small hammer blows. I hurled myself through the end of the corridor just as the ceiling gave way entirely, stone smashing down in Celestial rage. The last thing I saw was the skeleton, and a slab of concrete smashing the skull to splinters before the corridor was buried.

I lowered my prize to the floor, and gazed mournfully at the drowned corridor. I felt guilty at disturbing the tomb. Judging by the photographs he had been a vaguely decent sort of stallion, several showing a family of five, with a beaming mother and father, two little grinning fillies and an aged grandparent, so old that gender was indeterminate. Guilt moved aside though, as the fridge rattled enticingly.

I shrugged. “Here’s to you, then” I said to the dead, and heaved at the door. I frowned at the contents, somewhat disappointed.

Today's special was lizard, served rare, washed down with sour, dirty water, followed by some kind of prehistoric spongy substance from a carton, claiming to be descended from a muffin. As soon as I lit eyes on the mediocre meal my stomach clenched in wanton lust, and I ate ravenously, with a desperate hunger I never knew I possessed. Even the lizard, which scuttled determinedly away from my lunges until I seized it with magic and broke its spine. The meat tasted odd and chemical and made my stomach lurch uncomfortably, but I was too hungry to care.

“Excuse me madam…” I said to nopony in particular, and tore off a piece of ancient dress for a napkin. Protocols must be observed after all, I thought. As I primly dabbed at my muzzle, I wondered why.

The sun had risen, or so I thought. But as I stepped outside there was no warmth, and only a faint, bleached imitation of sunlight. Nevertheless it was enough to highlight the looming, concrete towers in harsh, pale light, grey giants, scarred and crumbling but nevertheless…awe inspiring.

I looked up at them, the sky beyond, and felt the world sway.

I was made this way for a purpose. I knew there had been a time before, but every time I tried to think back the memories would slip away, hovering in the shadows like an unscratchable itch. There was only the knowledge that something precious had been snatched away. I had been wronged. A terrible anger and resentment simmered at the back of my mind that made my teeth grind of their own accord.

Somepony was going to pay.

I stepped into the street, hooves picking a path through shattered concrete and corroded metal. The road continued straight, flanked by the wounded towers and filled with splintered stone, rusted wagons and, of course, the dead. Little things mostly. A hat lying in the gutter. Burst suitcases left right and centre. Ruined shops advertising deals of a lifetime. A bleached skeleton protruding from the shattered window of a wagon, caught in the escape from whatever horrible fate befell the city, but like everything else, too late.

I walked, with nowhere to go but forward. The streets were silent, besides the whisper of the breeze and the faint creaks and moans of the dying buildings. I reached a junction crowded with the carcasses of carts frozen mid-commute, and then the world jumped. I froze as my vision sparked, static rising and retreating, revealing…life.

Wagons rolled past, ponies trotted to and fro, the sun shone. I was in the middle of the crowded pavement, surrounded my living, breathing ponies doing whatever it was they did. Then I reached out a hoof, and the scowling businessmare approaching me passed straight through, dream-flesh parting and reforming with a faint hiss. Then the world jumped. My vision sparked, and a wall of static was advancing up the street, dissolving, devouring…

And the streets were dead. I felt numb, the kind of weariness where all good feeling has been beaten out. I wasn’t sure whether they were real experiences or just data plugged into my head from some ancient memory bank, and the knowledge that I couldn't even trust myself left me feeling bewildered and angry.

I followed the pavement. It meandered through the destruction, turning this way and that, carrying me with it. I didn’t look where I was going. I didn't care. Eventually I reached the walls of a large and crumbling building, with broken windows that grinned toothily at me as I cautiously entered the open doorway. There was no roof, and floors above were cracked and rent with great holes letting in the meagre sunlight. A strange scent permeated the air, a mixture of dust, age and some animal odour that I didn’t recognize. The corridor twisted a few times before opening on to a large clearing, presumably once an open square where ponies could gather without fear under a bright, pure sun. A collection of benches and tables were scattered about, some still with red and white tablecloths. There was even an old playground…

Laughter…

The cries of happy young foals running in the sunshine…

Somepony calling my name…

And now they were dead. Devoured by relentless time. Had it happened suddenly? Did somepony just decide the world had gone on long enough and hit the switch? Or did it grow like a malignant tumour, flourishing undetected before bursting forth in a tsunami of base greed and petty hatred.

I groaned and sank to my knees, head pounding and heart drowning in despair, dimly aware of voices in the background. The ache was worse this time, like a hot wire piercing my skull. The acrid tang of bile tore at my throat. Through a kind of haze I saw the skeletal remains of a pony lying on the stone. It’s cold, yellowing bones were stretched in a posture of supplication. It was clearly little more than a foal.

Then I noticed the smell of rotting meat. I looked to the left and right and saw other bodies, fresh corpses with flies crawling on their slashed and broken flesh. Ponies with twisted limbs, eyes bulging and dull, mouths open in frozen screams. They were roughly piled in the corners of the rectangular square, so as to be invisible from the path.

There was a grinding sound behind me, followed by a couple of thuds and a wicked, unfamiliar laugh.

I spun round to see a metal gate slam down across the entrance. A pony stood on a walkway above the door.

She wore armour over her filthy black coat, ragged barding constructed from leather and scraps of metal. Around her shoulders was a mantle sewn from what looked like pony skins, judging by the patchwork of cutie marks on its surface.

She cackled again, mad bloodshot eyes flashing above crooked teeth.

“Well everypony! Looks like we got some new skin to play with!”

More like her appeared in windows all around the square, armed with a chaotic array of weaponry ranging from home-made crossbows and crude muskets to battered pre-war rifles. I was surrounded on all sides by savage, jeering ponies, shouting intricate and explicit obscenities. Enemies. Hostiles.

Targets.

The world span slowly. I could sense them. Every single one. I could smell them, hear their breath, the low rumble of their savage war cries.

The creak of a trigger.

I sprinted for the centre. There was a harsh crack, and searing pain erupted across my flank, shocking in its intensity. I stumbled, gasping, but kept running as more shots rang out, splintering the concrete as I scrabbled into cover behind a stone bench.

I lay panting as bullets and crossbow bolts whipped and snapped, filling my nose with a sharp cordite stench. Luckily the benches were arranged in a circle, making it difficult for the raiders to get a good shot. Still I twitched as the deadly missiles sparked close to my legs.

Somepony was trying to kill me.

"Shall we dance?" whispered a voice.

I felt it rising. A spark, a flame, flowering in my chest. The world slid into harsh, lethal focus. My shivers stopped as it took hold, spreading like a fire, bright, sweet fury filling my veins with golden hate. Fear was obliterated, pain beaten into submission, doubt told to keep its muzzle shut. I rested my head, and grinned.

I had never felt so alive.

Eventually the firing stopped.

“Get down there and dig it out! Princess needs blood you fuckers!”

Perfect.

I heard hooves approaching, clattering across the square…

One…

I could see their shadows through the gap beneath the bench, long in the evening light…

Two…

I could hear the clinking of ammunition belts, the rasp of heavy breathing…

Three!

I exploded from behind the bench, driving a hoof into the muzzle of the raider on the other side. I felt bone crack, and was momentarily surprised at my own strength as he fell back, an elegant plume of blood trailing from his mouth.

Without thinking I leapt, crashing bodily into the earth pony who’d been behind the first. We struggled, kicking and thrashing. He stank of blood and shit, his barding decorated with pieces of flayed skin like macabre feathers. He growled and snapped, but I didn’t care. Suddenly he was beneath me, and I was punching and punching, reducing his face to a bloody and broken mess. Gore spattered my forelegs, my shoulders, my face as I kept swinging, relishing the delicious crunch and shiver.

The gunshots resumed as the raiders on the catwalks realised they no longer had to worry about hitting their own. I saw the doorway where they’d come from, and levitated the battered carcase above me as I ran towards it. The corpse twitched as bullets smacked into it with meaty thwacks.

A musket ball grazed my haunch as I made it through, knocking me hissing to the floor. The dead raider thumped by my side, now barely recognisable as equine.

The rage was still there, but it didn’t totally obliterate the pain. I looked down at myself, noting with interest that the wounds were bleeding heavily. It seemed quite funny, having escaped a lethal crossfire only to bleed out later. In vain, disinterested hope I searched the mangled cadaver that had temporarily saved my life. I actually howled with laughter as I pulled a syringe from a pouch, miraculously intact, the red cross stamped on the barrel leaving no doubt as to its function. I pulled off the cap and stabbed.

“Thanks friend, you’re a true gent!” I giggled hysterically as the drug took effect, watching the ragged tears in my flesh slurp together.

Hearing angry shouts and hoofsteps I looked for an exit. The room was bare, with nothing but a pair of grimy mattresses and a mural filling one wall with a variety of perverted and downright sickening acts. A staircase led up through the ceiling, but with furious raiders up there that left only the door beneath, leading down the shadowy corridors and deeper into the ruins. I had no fear anymore, but horse sense still retained a casting vote, along with a generous amount of tactical thinking. I didn’t want to end up in the middle of their base.

But there seemed no choice. No way could I take on the entire gang of raiders.

Just then, an idea began to formulate. Whether it was a product of the information uploaded into my head or my own fevered, drug-addled imagination I couldn’t tell. My gaze slid back to the mutilated body, and my grin returned tenfold.

“Perhaps you can help me again…” I purred as the shouts came closer.

*** *** ***

The raiders practically fell into the room such was their desire for vengeance. They leapt down the stairs snarling and spitting, weapons poised, and growled in exasperation as they scanned the room, finding it unoccupied apart from a gore-caked pony face down on the floor. It lay in a pool of crimson, barding riddled with bullet-holes and mane stained a uniform red.

“Fuck, she’ll have our hides if it gets away..!” swore the lead unicorn, kicking the corpse in frustration. “By which I mean your hides ya’ yoosless fucks!”

“’Ere, why us?...” said a masked raider “You’s the one oo’ sent Spikey an’ Nutjob daan ‘ere…”

Crack!

His head exploded, scattering ichor…

“…any other questions Stapleface?! No?! Anypony else wanna play dick the fuckin’ radigator?!”

There was a grumbling and shuffling of hooves.

“I fuckin’ thought not!” he screamed, brandishing the smoke-trailing pistol in its field of pale magic. Then he spotted the smears of fresh blood, staining the doorframe beneath the staircase.

“E’s gone daan the lake tunnel! Come on lads, we’s gonna eat tonight!” he yelled, leading the gang in a wild charge down the corridor.

Silence reigned except for the gentle oozing of the late departed Stapleface.

I opened one eye.

Groaning, I sat up. Why’d they have to be so damn short-tempered? My side throbbed from the kick, but since I was still moving I guessed there were no broken ribs.

I stripped off the ruined barding, lip curling in disgust at my gory disguise as it peeled away. My mane was caked in the stuff; although I wasn't particularly sure it counted as a mane anymore. I would have mourned for the loss of my long flowing locks had I not been busy with simple survival. Again the question of my identity raised its head, but the rage was in control, so I wasn't particularly worried about anything. I explored the sensations, and shivered in delight. It really was an amazing feeling. Streamlined, like an arrowhead. A constant wariness, an anticipation of the next fight, the next strike, the next fatal blow. The next release.

Even so, it was ridiculous. Not to know, not to have a name. It was a yawning fissure in my mind that irritated me with its emptiness. Alas, the irritation merely fueled the fire.

My eyes lit upon the corpse of the raider too smart (or stupid) to start asking questions. I took his armour which, while not the freshest raiment in Equestria, was still in good condition for what was basically a net hung with bits of skin and scrap metal.

There was also a gun, a battered large-caliber revolver, and a heavy, saw-backed bowie knife. The pistol was clearly home-made and seemed to be held together with industrial tape, but its cylinder was fully loaded so I pocketed it gratefully. The blade however was good, a pre-war piece of military steel designed for ripping. Stapleface must’ve been proud of it before his untimely death, as he had scratched the moniker ‘Lil Stapler’ onto the hilt in big, crude lettering.

I looked down at the cadaver, and saw a few feet away the hockey mask he had been wearing. It was untouched, the fatal shot having passed through the eye socket and taking out his head on the way. It was white, and daubed on its surface in blacks and reds was a snarling, excessively fanged face.

I picked it up and studied it. It was a changeling. Presumably painted on to terrify the opposing hockey team in games ages past. It glared hollowly at me, teeth bared as if to tear out my throat, and I felt a strange affinity to the creature of bedtime horror stories that I now looked so alike. I stroked its face, as if to calm a frightened foal.

“You and me both…”

I slipped it on. The straps were tight but comfortable around my head. I gazed out at the world through the eye-holes, listening to the sound of my own breathing and the shouts and curses of the remaining raiders above.

The bloodlust was smouldering, a simmering heat within my chest, needing little to wake its full fury.

I thought of the battles ahead, and smiled behind the mask.

*** *** ***

One was waiting at the top of the stairs. She was sitting on the concrete, presumably awaiting the return of her comrades from the hunt.

I crept up, step by silent step…

She turned her head…

I grabbed…

We nearly fell back down the steps. My forelegs were around her neck, reducing her screams to breathless gurgles. She thrashed like a landed fish, nearly breaking my hold, but I levitated the knife, causing it to shine for a moment in the dark. It dove in, plunging into the soft flesh beneath her chin and opening a crimson smile. I held her till her struggles slowed and stopped.

I was behind the windows above the courtyard, on the long walkway that wound through the gutted houses surrounding it. The intersecting walls had been knocked through, turning the old tenements into a combined fortress, parapet and killing floor. A little way ahead I could see a group of bored raider ponies, leaning on the sills smoking and drinking beer.

There was an open door to my right, leading into what appeared to be a maintenance closet used by the raiders as a toilet. I crept in, dragging the dead earth pony. I dumped her in a reeking corner and turned to go, but the sight of the broken corpse, slumped against bloody concrete…

Gunshots, yells, blood, uniformed ponies falling as the shotgun kicked…

The mask itches, Clink shouting for us to go, muffled by the gas hood…

Congratulations, thumps on the back, rich, heroes…

They've found us…

Fucking shoot!...

No! NO! You can’t die! YOU CAN’T DIE!...

*** *** ***

Chapter Four - In Memoriam

Chapter Four

In Memoriam

Times were good.

We lived in Canterlot, in a big, elegant house the envy of our neighbours surrounded by a forest of cherry trees. Father owned large swathes of land in far off Appaloosa and charged the government ponies for its usage. The money flowed in. Mother wore fine sweeping dresses ordered exclusively from the Ponyville Boutique, covered in glittering gems that lit the street as she walked by. She was as kind as summer. I was the happiest colt in the world.

Then the government ponies came, and took. The lands were gone, acquired, so they said, to fund the war effort. Taxes rose and rose. The money flowed out and stayed out. There were no words, just Mother crying as her favourite dresses were sold away, just Father looking greyer and thinner with every passing day. I did all the foalish things I could to make them happy. I brought Father the things I made at the new school, and he smiled and ruffled my mane, just for a moment the years fading. I brought Mother the flowers I conjured from thin air, and she smiled and embraced me, just for a moment the tears stemmed.

We sold the house and moved to Manehattan, to a little apartment somehow saved from the financial chaos. Father and Mother found jobs in a metro station, paper-pushing and ticket-punching for the government. We were diminished, but content.

Then school ended one day. I ran the length of the whole block with a bouquet of conjured blooms flying by my side and made it home. To find empty rooms, still warm tea, the scent of fear, and the neighbors watching and whispering. Traitors! Spies! Poor young colt…

Then I was alone.

All the remaining property and capital (minus death duties) came to me. I was old enough to look after myself, but still too young to take things as seriously as I should have. Fights were common. The street ponies made the mistake of seeing the shy grey unicorn colt as an easy target, but I had learned much since arriving in the big city.

That’s how I met her.

The wars ate up everything and food was expensive. So I was overjoyed to find half a pizza, still warm, discarded by swaggering soldiers who could take what they liked whenever they wanted it. On the way home however I could feel eyes following me. Shadows flitted from corner to corner as I hurried over the block. I almost made it too, before the length of splintered timber swung from behind, connecting with a nauseating crunch. I felt sick, the world span nightmarishly. Senses I didn't know I possessed rolled me aside as a hoof swung down, slamming the pavement where my head would have been. Scrambling back, I made out a pony through the ringing haze, bigger than me, muscular, a heavy face twisted with cruelty. There were others behind him, lurking in his shadow.

“Weel, lookit what we got here…!”

Even with unconsciousness looming close I found my tongue.

“That line’s old Bricky, learn some new words”

“Huh, funny. Will yous be laughing when I kick ye’ fuckin’ teeth out?”

“Bricky, I was laughing when the condom broke. Ain’t going to stop now”

His crude features slowly hardened as he worked out he’d been insulted again. Then I had an idea.

“Catch!” I yelled, throwing the half pizza high into the air.

The crowd of hungry ponies surged forward, their loyalty disappearing in the face of food, and suddenly I found myself at the bottom of a melee. I wormed through the thrashing legs, and suddenly felt something squishy on the pavement beneath me.

Snatching the now sadly battered pizza I scrabbled for the edge of the fight, dodging stones, knives and flailing hooves. I managed to stand and was about to run, until without warning Bricky rose up before me like an angry god, blood running from a cut on his forehead and snorting with rage. He raised his club. I prepared myself for death.

There was a splintering noise, glass tinkled. Bricky toppled forward like a felled tree.

And there she was.

A coat of purest black, a short-cut mane of bright, burning silver, a tail that flowed like mercury. She looked me in the eye, her long, inexpressibly lovely face crooked into a wry, cunning smile. Her eyes were golden, and shone like gems.

A broken bottle hung at my neck in a haze of magic.

“I’ll be having that thank you very much” she said sweetly.

I looked down at the mangled foodstuff. I looked at her, perfect in every way.

“Uh…you sure?”

“Mmm…yes, quite sure. Quickly please…” Even she appeared unconvinced.

“Ere! Ee’s got the grub!” cried a voice.

I swore and before she could react threw the wretched thing back into the scrum. It vanished again.

She cursed as well, foully. I was shocked. She didn’t have the starved appearance of all the other baseless foals here. As well as being impeccably well groomed she wore a black leather jacket around her shoulders, studded with metal rivets and practically smelling of money. Tasteful gold gleamed on her ears, and her voice, like mine, was refined spoken Equestrian. She was definitely no street rat.

“You stupid fucking donkey what’d you do that for?!” she yelled, her beauty transforming into something demonic.

I goggled. “Wh…what? It’s just a damn pizza!”

“That was a message from one of my informants you mangy, worm-ridden knacker! I’ve been waiting for that fucking thing for months!” The bottle pressed in, and I gulped, searching for something, anything, that would save my life.

“Um...uh…I’ve got some food stashed at my place so would you like to come and get something? Um…I mean, please don’t rob the place but…uh…y’know…”

Fucking. Brilliant. Now I was definitely going to die.

Her expression changed. It started from honest confusion, moved on to amazed disbelief, passed through wariness and finished around absolute, vindictive amusement.

“You’re asking me out. In the middle of a fight. When I’ve got a shank against your jugular” she said slowly, relishing every word and grinning like a timber wolf.

The enormity of my own stupidity sank in, and every second was suddenly an eternity of burning shame.

“Uh…okay I’ll just be going then…” I muttered, talking to the floor. I tried to slip past and escape, to hide in my apartment until the Zebra’s came and kicked down the door.

“Just one moment…” she said in a tone the brooked no argument, the jagged bottle applying firm pressure. I stopped, fidgeting slightly.

She plucked with a hoof at something on my shoulder. Drawing back I could see it was a smear of cheese from the ruined pizza. A strip of paper protruded from the sticky globule. She pulled it free, wiping the cheese off on my coat, and pocketed it with satisfaction, before looking me up and down in the manner of one inspecting a target for robbery, analyzing for any potential value. The bottle gently withdrew. The grin stayed.

"Listen, sweetheart..." she said, reaching forward and patting my cheek, ever so slowly "I'm flattered, but...well...I'm not. Not really. You're a moron. An idiot. And you're lucky I don't render your puberty very, very uninteresting."

She laughed, high and musically. "Oh don't look like that, darling!" she giggled, and planted a soft kiss on my bowed forehead. "I'm sure you'll find someone as stupid as you are..."

She walked away, hips swinging, disappearing like a voice on the wind. The memory of the kiss remained, a soft breath that stung like poison. I stared at the ground, ignoring the pathetic melee still going on behind me, thinking.

Perhaps I was stupid. I'm was here anyway. No parents, in an alleyway stinking of piss and famine, fighting over miserable scraps that a dog would scorn. Perhaps Equestria didn't like stupid. Perhaps I was just that stupid I deserved it.

I looked up, and grinned in satisfaction.

"Not stupid enough..," I said to the air "To leave my wallet hanging out"

*** *** ***

My life changed after that. The neighborhood toughs who haunted my block began disappearing, sometimes to be found later with broken glass inserted in tender areas. I decided to stay even more unobtrusive than usual, reasoning that the mystery mare was probably looking for her lost property, looking very hard and impolitely, and asking a lot of questions that didn't require a lot of teeth to answer.

However, fate seemed to have had enough of stupid.

I was lucky enough to have a job at all. It was hard work, repetitive and back breaking, but the few bits I gleaned were worth a square meal.

That's what I told myself anyway, as I soaked the squeegee and applied it to the Imperial crest on door of the military patrol cart. It squeaked back and forth, dousing the smugly gleaming symbol in streaks of foam.

Squeak...

Squeeeeaak...

"ARE YOU FUCKING DONE YET!?" screamed a voice six inches behind my head.

I sighed, and lowered the squeegee. "No Corporal Skillet, sorry Corporal Skillet."

A hoof struck my shoulder, spinning me around. I looked into the twisted features of Mechanic-Corporal Skillet, the familiar dictatorial smirk making my heart sink. His nostrils flared as he drew a gleeful breath.

"And h'what...!" he barked "... is you doing there exactly?"

I was so fucking tired. I could have told him I was doing his own fucking job for him. I could have told him to spin on it. I very nearly told him I was readying his mother for launch towards the enemy, and that her simply staggering ugliness would surely wipe them from the planet.

Instead, I saluted, squeegee pole smacking the ground with military precision. "I am cleaning these military transports, Corporal"

His bullet eyes gleamed with malice. "You are correct there, civilian! Most correct! And do you know how I know that?"

"No Corporal Ski..."

"COS' I SEEN YOU DOIN' IT ALL BLEEDIN' DAY!"

I felt a speck of saliva begin its slow crawl down my forehead.

"WHAT'S TAKIN' SO BLOODY LONG CIVVIE?" he roared. His rank breath stank of cheap whiskey.

"I've done seventy carts today Corporal," I said weakly, knowing that nothing would stop him from administering his favorite punishment.

"You is going to carry on taking so bloody long...!" he hissed "...all bloody night! And all bloody tomorrow as well! DO YOU UNDERSTAND, CIVILIAN!"

While you collect three day's wages, I added in the privacy of my own head.

"Yes Corporal Skillet"

He leaned close, his noxious muzzle millimeters away, breath hissing in and out.

"I shall return before lights out. To check on you."

He went, slamming the door behind him. I struggled not to puke.

That was...worrying. The state unofficially employed a great many of Manehatten's street urchins in menial chores, and working in Skillet's garage was generally considered a prison sentence. In addition to regular overwork and underpaying there were... rumors.

I shuddered, and pulled myself together, the cold weight in my utility barding providing a measure of comfort. If the mangy bastard showed any signs he'd find a six-inch screwdriver where he least expected it.

With an exhausted groan I pulled the lever next to the garage doors. They slid open with a metallic squeal and another cart rolled in, fresh off patrol and freshly filthy. Pop hood. Scan. Change oil. Scrub.

Squeeeeaak...

*** *** ***

The bucket tipped over and fell with a clang like a funeral bell, spilling its contents in a widening pool across the floor.

The shaking wouldn't stop, no matter how many carts needed cleaning. My eyes wouldn't focus, my muscles twanged back and forth and the squeegee pole must have been made of lead.

Squeeeeaak...

Crash!

I was too tired to swear. I had just enough energy to look up, and check which window I had broken on the patrol cart. But then I remembered they were bulletproof, and no matter how clumsy I was they were impregnable to even the fiercest blow from a squeegee.

Then...

I turned, expecting to see Skillet emerging from the darkness. Instead, there was the rear-end of a pony protruding from the shattered window into Skillet's office. It was quickly followed by a body, some more legs, a head, and a filing cabinet. The cabinet clanked and rattled and after considerable muffled swearing it slowly emerged, two more ponies hanging on to the other end. It appeared to be presenting them with some difficulty.

"Come on screwball pull harder, the damn thing's stuck!" hissed one in as loud a whisper as possible.

"I'n 'arryin' th' fuffen' 'ing I mu 'eeth 'ipshit!" mumbled the first, teeth clamped on a rope around the cabinet.

"Why'd she have to bail on us?" The other one complained "She could've magicked it out, but no! We have to be the bloody donkeys now!"

"Shut up and push. You may be a mare too but she'll knock you down for talking shit."

There was the sound of a hoof colliding with the back of a skull. "And what the fuck is that supposed to mean!?"

"Atch th' 'abinet!"

The cabinet groaned and fell forward. The pony holding the rope let go rather than have his muzzle plastered to the concrete, and the cabinet crashed down, spilling paper.

"Oh for crying out loud what'd you do that for you gelded, stallion-stuffing donkey-botherer!"

As his enraged voice echoed through the garage, they noticed me.

There was a pregnant pause. The squeegee clattered to the floor. Then, an unwelcomely familiar voice rang out, bored and listless.

"Now ,fillies and colts, what did I tell you about unnecessary noise...?"

Oh no...

A white glow of magic illuminated the room, and sauntering through the garage doors she came, mane shimmering above an expression of near terminal boredom. She looked from her immobile cronies to me, and I flinched under recognition like a thunder-stroke.

"You..."

I had never been more terrified in my life.

"Hold it right there you little fuckers!"

The halogen lamps in the roof snapped on, obliterating the magical glow in a blinding glare and creating a criss-crossing network of black and white. At the side door stood Skillet, painted in hideous monochrome. White on black, black on white. He looked like death. Hollow eyes of deepest shade, bones of white light, a bright dagger of shine along the rifle barrel protruding from a battle-saddle. He grinned.

"I was wondering what all the racket was. Who are you? Actually, I don't care. You're obviously just some street trash." His eyes lit on the filing cabinet. "Oh-ho! That's military property that is...!" his grin widened grotesquely, "...you're in a lot of trouble now, my children..."

When the lights had come on I had been standing beside the patrol cart. Now I was bathed in impenetrable shadow, heart pounding, trying not to move, trying not to do anything that might attract his attention.

But I recognized that voice. That tone. And it stirred something within me. A deep, seething hatred, so intense my stomach clenched with nausea. His voice, his disgusting mannerisms, the greasy fall of mane. He repulsed me. Every single aspect of his existence awoke nothing but disgust. I stared at the back of his head, mildly surprised that he didn't burst into flames, and felt myself reaching for the screwdriver.

"Tell you what kids..." Skillet said, in a voice of oil and poison "...let's make a deal..."

The black and silver mare stepped forward, Skillet's rifle following her every move. She said nothing, just staring at Skillet as he looked her up and down.

"And who's this...?" Skillet purred.

She raised her chin, and gave him a look of pure, unadulterated contempt,

"I'm Stellar..." she said "...and you mister, are without doubt the biggest piece of shit I have ever laid eyes on"

I walked silently behind Skillet in a kind of daze, taking the screwdriver between my teeth. It gleamed.

Then he laughed. A horrible, gloating chuckle , gurgling at the back of his throat.

"What a mouth on you..." he laughed "What a pretty, pretty mouth..."

I was directly behind him, his mere presence an insult. I crouched, and leapt.

The air sang in my ears, my adolescent muscles surged, the screwdriver shone. The tip flew and pierced Skillet's skin, a stab, a shiver as the point entered and flowed. I let go and scrambled back, suddenly afraid. He staggered and turned, the hilt protruding from his neck. He gawped, lips working silently, eyes invisible pools of dark, taking a step towards me. And another. And another. He wasn't dead! Why wasn't he dead! Cold terror stabbed me with icy shards, he wasn't dying! A soft whimper escaped my throat and I shrunk back.

Then he swayed. A liquid gurgling came from his open mouth, and darkness dripped. He tried to take another step, stumbled and fell, knees cracking loudly to the concrete. He stared at me blindly, head lolling, black eyes, black mouth. Then, with a soft, bubbling sigh, he gently lay down his head, and stopped moving.

Not simply being still. Total lack of movement, of anything.

Dead, even.

The other ponies were silent, features invisible in the half-light. Stellar stepped forward. Her mane shone. She walked up to me, and put her head on one side, expression unreadable.

"You're not really as spineless as you first appear, are you?" she said.

I hung my head, and said nothing.

She addressed her followers, while holding me in her golden gaze. "What are you fools standing around for? Get the bloody papers!"

They scrambled to obey, while she, Stellar, laid a hoof on my shoulder.

"Okay hero, why don't we go to a safe place I know and dump off your friend here on the way? I think I might be able to find a use for you, if you want it?"

In my mind I teetered on the edge of a precipice. One small step, and I would be gone, down and out.

"Will I have to wash things?" I asked.

She gave a wry smile, and wrinkled her nose. "Only yourself."

I smiled back faintly. "I think that sounds perfectly agreeable."

"We'll have to do something about that accent too. You don't say 'perfectly agreeable' on the streets I run."

We walked through the door, and into starlight.

"Oh, and one last thing..."

"Yes?"

"I want my fucking wallet back you son-of-a-bitch."

*** *** ***

I saw Stellar again many times, and learned that she had friends in low places. She showed me a darker side of the city I’d never seen before, a place of neon and night-time, and wherever we walked I saw shadows following. She laughed it off, and promised to introduce me sometime to her ‘guardians’. She laughed everything off, that mare. And when she laughed, she shone. She only had to toss her head and the light reflected off in a thousand tiny suns. Her golden eyes, her smile, her presence, her laughter. They became the things I longed for most, more than food, more than endlessly scrabbling in the gutter to stay alive for one more day.

I eventually did meet them, the ponies who lurked like shades beyond the light. I was only half-surprised that they were in her employ, and a rougher bunch of buckers there has never been. And yet she had them all wrapped around her hoof. There was Bolt-On, a one-eyed earth pony with a penchant for fireworks and a home-made prosthetic foreleg. Legend, a wickedly good shot, with her white coat covered in tattoos. And finally Clink, a bulky, muscular pony nevertheless an expert in locksmithing. These skills were necessary in their line of work.

Crime. Not any crime in particular, just all round law breaking. Theft, vandalism, extortion, fraud, murder, it was all the same, and in that first heady month of rebellion I learned that the rules only applied if you let them. I was lookout at first, watching for the guards as the others broke into government offices to loot and vandalise. Then I graduated to a ‘face’, discovering an aptitude for looking sweet and talking pretty while they burgled the unsuspecting target. I gained prestige in the gang (and smiles from Stellar) by persuading a suspicious guardspony that the sacks of money and documents we carried were props for our school drama group, rather than the spoils of ambushing an official on his way home. The official himself was tied up in his own filing cabinet.

Months went by. Pretty soon I had money enough to flaunt, and flaunt it we did. I had come a long way from fighting over food with the street colts. I proudly wore the signature riveted jacket of our band of thieves, and my mane was slicked back with pointlessly expensive oils. We had more members than we knew what to do with, and the other gangs kept out of our way.

Times were good. Not for other ponies but for us, which was all that mattered. The streets opened up, I could go anywhere, do anything, with anypony, with no consequences. But there was only one filly who occupied my thoughts.

Then the authorities caught up. Without warning our ponies began to vanish. Our smuggling routes were raided with unnerving accuracy, the protection rackets dried up, and our names were no longer good collateral. Ponies started to realise that hanging around with us was bad for business and bad for health, even though nopony knew where they were taken.

Stellar became increasingly worried, even though she refused to show it. Dark circles appeared under her beautiful golden eyes as she struggled to maintain the intricate web of contacts that kept us afloat. It hurt me to see her this way.

One morning she summoned us to her office. It was mostly just the old gang left; me, Bolt-On, Legend, Clink and a couple of the braver newbies, the hangers on having fled almost overnight. We filed into the gloomy compartment, and stood fidgeting before the elegant mahogany desk. Stellar was seated behind it in a circle of yellow lamplight, head in her hooves over a strewn pile of papers. She looked up, and my heart lurched when I saw how haunted she was.

“We have a job...” she stated flatly. Pausing, she rubbed her eyes and continued.

“…I got a tip off from our spy in the Royal Celestial Exchange. The feds are moving a whole wagonload of bearer-bonds to the train station. We’re going to steal it...”

Chaos ensued. Everypony began talking at once, mostly about how we were going to take a heavily guarded wagon from beneath the noses of armed soldiery with just the seven of us. Eventually a plan was salvaged from the throng. In three days it would begin. We would lie in wait for the truck to pass an alleyway beyond the Exchange, where Bolt-On would have prepared something to dispose of the guards. We would then drive it to a warehouse on the docks, where the bonds would be shipped to a safehouse down the coast and stay there until the heat died down. Simple enough, on paper anyway.

We filed out, to contemplate, or to pray.

“Just one moment…”

I turned on the threshold.

Stellar smiled wearily, a hint of her former self returning, and impatiently waved me over. A large square bottle, wreathed in silvery magic, floated from a drawer and opened itself. Two glasses followed it.

“A little bracer?” I asked, sitting before the desk.

“My breakfast” she replied ruefully, watching the amber liquid trickle forth into a glass, the bottle clinking slightly against the rim.

We sat and drank. The whiskey was mediocre, tasting of caramel blended with battery acid. The glasses chimed again.

I was loath to break the pleasant quiet, but I felt compelled to speak.

“What’s the catch with this job?”

She blinked. “None, why?”

“It’s too big. We’ve never done this kind of thing before. Nicking things, yes. Some knife-work, yes. But this? They won’t let this go easily. They’ll hunt us”

“You’ve gotten smart since running with me…” she sighed in annoyance.

I smiled slightly at the back-hoofed compliment.

“The thing is…” she looked down at the desk, angry and shamefaced “…the thing is we’re desperate. We owe money to some old friends of mine who won’t stay friendly forever”

The implications sunk in. I hadn't met our friends before, the ones who shared our little patch of Manehatten underworld. But they were there all right, as numerous trash-can burials testified. The room seemed to get darker, and the shadows grew knives.

“Nightmare's blood...How’d this happen Stel?" A note of reproach entered my voice, and her gaze snapped up.

“Ever since all the losses began we’ve gotten behind! I don’t think you know what it’s like running a fucking crime syndicate all by your fucking self, smart arse!”

“Ok, ok I get it…” I held out my fore-hooves in a conciliatory gesture. “You’re the biggest bitch in the room, jeez…”

“Damn right I am!” she said with satisfaction, taking another triumphant swig of the disgusting spirit. I followed suit, the whiskey burning a molten path down my throat.

I wiped my lips and leaned a foreleg on the desk, supporting my weary head.

“You sure the source is reliable?”

“Yeah, she’s stuck with us since the beginning, never let us down.”

She rested her muzzle on the desk with forelegs for a pillow, casting a night sky’s worth of stars around the gloomy office as her mane shifted. She stared immobile at the empty glasses, jaw working silently. I hadn’t seen it often, but I knew that look.

She wanted to tell me something. Something important. Something close to her, so close that to reveal it would mean shedding the armour of the cruel streets and saying what she felt without bravado. Stellar could be...turbulent at these times, and I wasn't sure whether to stay and try to help, or jump out the window.

I stayed.

“Stellar… what’s wrong?” I asked as gently as I could.

Her gaze was locked on the glass, and her voice cracked slightly.

“It’s shit y’know? I’m responsible for them all, all the little ponies the feds took because of what we do. Who knows what’s happened to them, what they’ve done…”

A tear wound down her cheek.

Stunned, I reached out and brushed it away.

Stellar looked up, and I was lost. The inner strength I saw blazing within her golden eyes, the determination coupled with tenderness, completely ensnared me. She burned, a bright flame in an otherwise desolate and callous existence. I was gone, taken.

I had never loved anypony more.

We leaned close, noses almost touching…

“Oh shit…” she whispered, and we kissed, brushing gently together like warm dry ice.

*** *** ***

Three days… It wasn’t enough time to describe the feeling of having so many fears and uncertainties just fall away. There was no doubt now, no more of the countless petty worries. Nothing really mattered except Stellar and I sharing something unique. We saw each other as much as possible, despite the whispers of resentment from the gang, and whenever they spoke out of turn she just smacked them down harder. I was laid low by her brilliance, my every waking moment devoted. I would be constantly waiting for her presence, and when she approached my heart leapt. She would watch me as I walked past, a small and secret smile on her lips.

Things were perfect.

*** *** ***

Then it was time.

My every breath echoed inside the sweltering gas hood, filling my head with its hissing, and my pulse beat an anxious rhythm to the suddenly glacial seconds. We were lurking in the appointed alleyway, huddled in the shadows between the monolithic towers of the financial district and awaiting the arrival of the wagon carrying enough money to buy Luna’s throne right out from under her.

Anxious clicking reached my muffled ears as the others checked their weapons again. I followed suit, levitating the ten-gauge pump action sawn-off that would be raining indiscriminate death. I worked the mechanism, producing the same bloodthirsty ch-chack.

Time passed, and we twitched and paced with impatience.

“They’re late” hissed Bolt-On through the respirator.

“Give them time” murmured Stellar.

Silence. Patrols tramped back and forth along the route cleared for the convoy.

Suddenly, the growl of engines. I edged up to the corner and peeked around. The threatening bulk of an armoured cart was cruising along the road, the imperial crest emblazoned on its riveted panels. Behind it was a looming wall of radiator grille, the blunt snout of the heavy hauler that was our quarry. I nodded to the others.

“It’s time…”

Bolt-On withdrew a detonator from the pockets of his BDU, and pressed the trigger.

BOOM

A shuddering vibration shook the ground as a series of bombs placed along the road detonated. The air rang with shattering glass and cries of pain as the towers shed their windows, raining glittering shards upon the guards unfortunate enough to be in the street.

The road filled with choking smoke as the secondary payloads did their work, enveloping the convoy and rendering their turrets useless.

We sprinted from the alley, running for the wagon which was blocked from escape by its immobile escort, whose tires had been shredded. Gunfire erupted from my comrades as coughing guards emerged from their vehicles, cutting them down. We reached the cab just as the uniformed drivers toppled out choking.

One of them had a pistol in his mouth.

I fired.

The shotgun bucked viciously in its field of magic, spitting fire, the thunderous shot making my ears ring. The guard pony was smashed off his hooves, to collapse limply like a puppet with its strings cut.

We scrambled into the truck with Legend at the wheel with the sharpest reflexes. I sat, trembling. I had killed before out of necessity, but the sight of the pony smacking to the ground like dead meat, with great gaping rents in his flesh from the burning lead made me nauseated and feverish. I retched emptily behind the mask, hoping nopony would notice.

Then Stellar’s hoof was on my shoulder. I turned my head. She was seated behind me and had taken the mask off, her face flushed from the stifling rubber. But she was grinning triumphantly, the excitement of conflict lighting her countenance. A rebel angel, beautiful, free and deadly. I would be strong for her.

My shaking stopped. I tore off the mask, breathing deeply of the cordite scented air, and smiled back gratefully.

*** *** ***

The wagon lurched and the magic engine ground unhealthily as Legend piloted the unwieldy vehicle through an agreed series of alleys and byways to avoid pursuit. Eventually we reached the docks, and rolled to a halt at the depot where the container with the bonds would be lifted onto a trawler and spirited away. Leaving Legend and the two lesser members on guard Stellar led us inside the warehouse, to make the final arrangements with the captain of the ship. Our hooves clattered sharply on the floor, echoing as we trotted through the winding corridor to the central loading bay.

We emerged into the cavernous chamber. It was empty. The great doors leading out to sea were closed, the trawler conspicuously absent, cold water lapping sluggishly on the bare slipway.

We heard the harsh bark of gunshots, accompanied by horribly familiar screams.

“Oh shit…”

The ceiling imploded, carrying with it the dark suited figures of armed pegasi. Within seconds I was face down on the cold, uncaring concrete, with nothing but a sense of immense unfairness and an unknown number of gun barrels pointed at my head. The others were similarly pinned, although Clink had fought like a demon before being submerged under black armoured bodies.

Hooves clicked close, and a set of armoured greaves entered my field of vision.

“Package located and under wraps. We also have somepony else’s mail. Orders?”

The voice was distorted, as if it was being forced through a rebreather grille. There was a moment of silence as it awaited a reply.

“Affirmative. Unit Six! Prepare the package for transport and clean up the mess!”

I looked up. The pegasus was armoured all in black, military spec, way beyond anything we poor, thieving ponies could ever afford. The long gun mounted on the suit whirred downwards to point between my eyes, leaving me staring into a dark tunnel while pale, soulless lenses gazed down at me dispassionately.

“Say goodnight scum”

Metal clinked. Bolt-On lay a short distance away, with a peaceful smile on his scarred features. A hatch in his prosthetic leg was open, and a small silvery apple was spinning gently on the floor.

“Oh fuck grena...!”

For the second time today the ground trembled as the grenade exploded. The pony holding my forelegs was ripped away, and my ears felt like they’d been punched six feet into my skull. All was silent now save a faint ringing, and I could see Clink mouthing something, something about running. I could feel something bleeding.

Then I was lifted. A force embraced me, shimmering light that held me gently above the blood-stained floor and away from all the filth and clamour. My vision swam, and I drifted towards a grey square of luminescence.

I thought this was the end.

I was therefore surprised when I emerged from the warehouse and into the air, my hearing returning with a pop and pain clawing my flank with fiery knives.

Stellar rose up before me, horn glowing like a needle of starlight. She was bloodied, filthy, but alive.

“Get a grip! You’ll be fine just…hang on!” she shouted furiously.

I felt it would be unwise to disobey and struggled upright, but the magic around me held me still.

“I’m fine! Lose the damn magic I can’t bloody move!” I yelled, my voice arriving from somewhere else.

She laughed, crazily, and released the enchantment. I tottered, my legs shuddering as the gash along my flank stabbed again. It was shallow though. It would hold. Without a word we ran, galloping for the maze of shipping containers along the docks. Bullets spanged all around was we ran between the narrow walls of corrugated metal. We sprinted side by side, both aching for respite but knowing that to stop would be to die.

Left. Right. Right again. Colours flashed past as we ran for our lives. We skidded to a stop at a junction to catch our breath, as well as to stop me from bleeding to death. I winced as without a thought Stellar tore the lining from her prized jacket to use as bandages.

“Sorry Stel, I know how much you liked that thing…” I managed to groan as I lay in an expanding pool of my own blood.

She glared but was silent as she tightened the cloth, drawing a pathetic whimper from me as it bit around the wound. I felt ashamed.

“Sorry…”

“Don’t be so fucking stupid!” She snapped as she slumped down beside me.

“Well I have lost an awful lot of blood, don’t expect me to be at my top stallionly form…”

Suddenly she embraced me, her head against my shoulder. She was shaking.

“Please don’t die…” she said in a tiny, quiet voice.

I sighed and returned the hug. Her silvery mane brushed my cheek, dishevelled and smelling of gun-smoke. I felt her panicked breath.

“I love you too…”

There was a crack, warm wetness spilled, and something pierced my chest. I looked down. Stellar’s silvery mane brushed my cheek, dishevelled and smelling of gun-smoke, stained red. Her breath was still.

“Stellar?…”

There was no way…she was the strongest, most beautiful mare in the world. There was no way…

“Stel...”

No answer. I felt afraid.

“No…”

There was no way…

Head dropping back…her lovely face, eyes closed as if in prayer…

“…No! NO! You can’t die! YOU CAN’T DIE!"

I cried as the dark ones descended.

*** *** ***

The soldiers came and took us away. We went from one dark room to another, but I wouldn’t let them touch her. Eventually I awoke from a deep sleep to find her gone.

I sobbed in the darkness, for the last good thing to enter my life before cruel fate gleefully condemned. I sobbed for her, her bright flame quenched by a callous trigger. I sobbed as they approached with shiny needles. I sobbed as I entered a new universe of pain.

*** *** ***

Chapter Five - The Nature of Revenge

Chapter Five

The Nature of Revenge

Her dead body on the stone. But now she was ugly, foul, degenerate, lying in the dark room with a slit throat.

Wait, that wasn’t her, just some raider bitch. She was dead long ago. Murdered.

I was going to kill them. I was going to slit them and hack them until they cried for mercy; I wanted to see their hope drown. They would bleed.

But they were dead. They killed each other long ago when the spells fell. They were all dead. There was no revenge, no just retribution, no price to pay for what they took away.

I shook and cried as the pain returned. My skull, my mind was laid open as burning tears seared across my skin.

They were gone. She was gone…

Calibration complete. Thank you for choosing Stable-Tec…

And there were no traces left except in my own fucked up head.

Green lights appeared in my vision, blurred by sorrow. I sobbed with pain and anguish as they resolved into readouts, targeting data, health status and offensive capability. Green letters spidered and snapped, describing the correct way to assemble a CS909 Automatic Rifle, how to hide in plain sight, how to puncture a pony’s heart with nothing but a toothpick. These conflicted with the flood of bright memories pouring silently into my mind, gentle streams of childhood, rivers of parties, ponies, friends, and heaving, turbulent seas of darkness that bit and tore. I remembered! I remembered, and they just, wouldn't, stop!

Connection established. Radiation-counter engaged. S.A.T.S. online. E.F.S. online. Parasite online. Please use this product responsibly…

There was a sensation of movement. I moaned in horror as my guts twisted. Nausea rose, and I vomited emptily, tasting blood. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t breathe. I could just curl up and shiver as my organs tried to turn themselves inside out.

“Hey! You ok in there? You do some bad Lick or what?”

Hooves came close, and somepony prodded my shoulder. Through a rising red mist I stared wide eyed at the raider pony leering down at me in cruel amusement.

Then he noticed the body in the corner.

“What th’ fuck…?”

S.A.T.S. engaged…

Crosshairs. Vectors. Target Acquired. I lunged, my hoof cracking into his skull. We pitched to the floor, my forelegs around his neck in a windpipe crushing grip. He fought, gurgling and kicking, but I had him pinned, helpless. The bloodlust had submerged the pain, and there was nothing except the beat of my heart and the panicked pulse of the prey. I found myself laughing into his dying face.

“Aw leave it ye’ dirty fuckers we gotta piss in there!” snickered a voice from the other room, drawing lewd drunken howls from the other raiders.

I laughed all the louder. This just kept getting better and better!

“Call me sometime…” I breathed gleefully as his eyes rolled back and the struggles stopped.

I let his head sink back to the cold floor, and concentrated on breathing. Memories rang around my skull, terrifying in their intensity. My fear and despair were held back by the desire to kill again, and my blood sang for more. A small part of me was worried though. Was that all I had? My only purpose? The ponies of the past had taken everything of value, my mark, my loves, my life. And they had given me this.

A hilt protruded from the barding of my victim. My horn smoldered with jagged red light as I withdrew a gleaming blade. It was four hooves long, scarred with age and wear. A hooked length of pure, silvery steel shining in the bloody light, a cleaver edge made for hacking through jungle and bone with equal impunity. It had satisfying weight as I swung it through the air, uncertainties trailing away in the face of its edge. A military machete. A device for killing.

I suppose nothing much mattered now anyway.

I took the sheath and slung it round my shoulders, feeling both it and my resolution settle into place. Time to make my mark.

I walked out into the corridor, closed my eyes, and listened. Not just with my ears, but will all the senses at my disposal, including some I had no words for. Ah...there they were. The sound of debauchery, the smell of narcotics, booze, ponies and filth. With an almost tangible ping, a series of little red arrows winked into existence in my peripheral vision, pulsing gently.

Various options presented themselves. I could try to sneak past, avoiding confrontation, steal everything of value, and leave again. That's what I would have done in the past, and by the sounds of things they would be too hopped up to notice. Or...

I was strong. Powerful. They had made me so...so much stronger. I needed to vent. I needed to kill something. Why shouldn't I take the most pleasurable route? Why shouldn't I face these vile, disgusting creatures and take what I wanted? My body thrilled in response, and I couldn't stop myself from smiling as a heady, alcoholic sensation ran through me, stoking the furnace. Every part of me saying yes, yes, YES!

I crept slowly, noiselessly along the corridor, flank against the wall, struggling to hold back. Just a few more seconds, just a little more...

The yellow glow of lamplight glowed around the corner, projecting tangled shadows on the wall opposite. My heavy breathing filled the mask, strained, anxious. The shadows danced enticingly across a faded poster. I looked, the darkness withering away before my gaze. Night vision as well eh? Nice touch you ghastly fellows, well done. The poster showed a grinning hot pink mare, and bore the legend 'Pinkie Pie Is Watching You.' Beneath it read 'Forever!' I remembered her, marshmallow mane and all, and it made my lips curl in hatred. I remembered the ministries, the guards, the authority. All harmonious, all friendly, all part of the government, part of the hated oligarchy that had controlled and persecuted every little detail of my life. Oh they said the six were in control, but everypony knew that the suits were instead. The invisible rich that grew fatter as their money spread its soporific influence.

And Pinkie, she was the face of fear. Wherever resistance gathered, her grey guards would be moments away. Wherever subversive thoughts guiltily surfaced, her smile would be the last thing you ever saw.

Watching you...forever.

I turned into the next room. The raiders were gathered around a table in the lamplight, swaying, drunken, eyes glazed. The table was strewn with a mixture of bottles, inhalers and vomit. One of them reeled around and studied me with brow furrowed and jaw hanging slack.

“Dude…” she slurred “wha…what’s up with…what’s up with your face?”

She tried to focus. “Oh…mask…cool…” she fell, snoring gently. I stepped over her unconscious form and approached the table.

“Ah fuck her she’s just a pussy,” said one of the other raiders “Come have some ‘a this Lick, it’s the real fuckin’ deal.” An inhaler was proffered.

“Actually I was thinking of taking it all.” I said conversationally, levitating the machete and the knife behind my back. Harder than I’d thought, but if I concentrated it was manageable.

They blinked stupidly.

“And those fine guns you’re carrying, I’ll have those too. Military spec aren't they? Excellent, they’ll fetch a good price, along with your heads.”

They gawped. “Wh…what the fuck?” one of them stuttered.

“In Luna’s name you ponies are stupid!” I snapped in annoyance. The twin blades rose and swept left and right, across the throats of the nearest raiders. They toppled, gushing blood into a spreading pool on the floor.

Finally they emerged from their respective stupors, cursing and scrabbling for weapons. But they were drunk and drugged, their movements slow and clumsy, actually falling over each other in their haste. I sighed and waited impatiently.

Eventually one of them recovered enough to take a swing, clutching a pool cue in his mouth. I almost sneered with derision. I brought my machete round in a sweeping arc, neatly severing the cue in half.

“Blade beats stick, you cretin!” I jeered at his shocked expression, before driving it through his chest.

The red icons in my eyes blinked a warning. I ripped the weapon free in a shower of blood just in time to parry an onrushing sledgehammer. The earth pony swung wildly, foaming at the mouth, both ruining any power advantages he might have had and denying his comrades a chance to help in the confined space. However I noticed a pair of them at the back of the room frantically trying to prime the assault rifles they’d had casually slung over their shoulders. They appeared to have little idea how to work them, and one had even become tangled in the straps, but they had the capability to become a problem.

I and the sledgehammer pony exchanged blows, and I dropped the knife in order to concentrate. Then I activated S.A.T.S. again, and marvelled as the green runes showed me exactly where to send my fore-hoof smashing into the raider’s head, opening him up for a finishing cut. I leapt over his falling body and hacked at the ponies behind him, the machete flicking streamers of blood into the air as they withered beneath its hungry edge. Pony flesh gave way before my blade, skin falling away, every wound a victory and a sensuous delight.

Bullets whined past me, tearing my skin. I turned, snarling with rage, and through the bloodthirst I saw they had finally got their guns working.

Muzzle-flash, bullet sting, and the hunger for death. Oh, the joy of it!

I ran, and leapt. Shots whipped past, ricocheted from barding, and pierced my flesh. I collided into one of the raiders, forelegs extended, crushing his windpipe against the floor. A hoof crunched into the side of my head, tearing off the mask and I staggered, ears ringing and a deep gash searing on my forehead, serving only to heighten my anger. The second raider slammed into me, knocking both of us to the floor. We grappled, each trying to gain a hold.

“Imma eat you alive, freak!” he bellowed, spraying saliva.

Then I was above him. His neck was exposed. The bloodlust took control.

Parasite engaged…

I bit, feeling my fangs sink through soft flesh. A little voice screamed in my head, no, no this was wrong! The taste of blood, sharp and heavy. He screamed and thrashed, but it was no use. I drew the life from him, and felt my strength return, my wounds crawling closed. I felt the familiar song in my veins, the adrenaline thrill of violence. I crouched over the prey and drank my fill. No doubt I would worry about it later, but for now there was only the thirst, the sweet, healing ichor that filled my stomach and soothed aching limbs.

Hooves approached, and the door opposite crashed open. The pair of raiders gawked as I looked up from the pale form of my kill, blood dripping from my mouth. A rifle lay beside me (an Ironshod CM22 my brain told me) and I quickly levitated it, spraying the doorway with long, shuddering burst of automatic fire. They danced and jerked with the impacts, and crumpled to the floor just as the gun clicked empty.

Throwing the weapon aside I recovered my machete from the sad remains. I also took some saddlebags from a corpse and swept up whatever loot I could find, including guns, a medical syringe and the drugs littering the table. There was also a ring of rusted keys.

Scavenging complete I stepped over the bodies and through the doorway. The corridor continued straight on for several yards, to a door lavishly decorated with painted pornography and flayed skin. On either side were lines of cages, their contents…

I walked between them, looking upon the wretched occupants with a measure of pity growing amongst my rage. Sad, pathetically thin ponies mixed with decaying corpses, filthy, trembling and cowering, begging for mercy in a stench of decay. They all wore heavy metallic collars adorned with a single, blinking red light. It was obvious what they were for. I prepared to kick the disgusting door down and wreak havoc.

“Hey...hey it’s you! The tube pony! Hey! Little help?”

I turned. The reedy, foalish voice appeared to come from a pile of dirty rags in the cage next to the door, which spoke, revealing itself to be a pony disguised as a small compost heap.

“Pardon?” I said, confused. “Have we met?”

“Hell yeah we’ve met!” Enthused the tiny stallion, leaning forward and displaying teeth as brown as the rest of him, “I’m Rusty. Wuz me an’ Zapper an’ Cog that popped ye’ outa you’re tube!”

The ponies beyond the glass. I remembered that at least. But seeing, and smelling, the pony before me I was somewhat sceptical. I raised an eyebrow doubtfully.

“Really…?” I said slowly

“Yeah!” he whinnied smugly “Mostly me o’ course, them ain’t as…in-tell-i-gent…as I am right?” His ingratiating expression became as oily as the rest of him. “So…you gonna let me out now?”

The memories gleamed. They were so bright, so powerful I could feel them, resolving into vibrant colour every time I closed my eyes. I remembered the time I had broken a neighbours window, and instead of being punished Father had winked and said he never liked the neighbours anyway. I remembered when my best friend at school had been beaten by a bully, and we had gathered some others and given him a bloody good seeing to in return. I remembered the city…the ponies I had known. But I shied away from those ones. The anger kept sorrow at bay, but the memories were raw. Suffice it to say I remembered various…illegal dealings with some very unpleasant ponies indeed. In particular, I remembered how to identify a lying sneaky little bastard when I saw one. I scanned him now, suspicious.

“Where are the others?” I said, keeping my voice level, keeping the bubbling rage pinned down.

He jabbed a hoof dismissively at the cages opposite, expression turning to miserable pleading. “Should just leave em’, they ain’t goin’ anywhere fast” he whined.

I ignored him, and walked to the other cages. I approached the bars, and gazed down upon my rescuers.

They were wounded. Beaten. Flogged. The huge, powerful stallion lay on his side, breath straining past broken ribs, whorls of clotted blood staining his white coat, open wounds gleaming wetly. The unicorn was motionless, torn from head to hoof.

I turned to Rusty, and he flinched.

“What happened to them…?” I asked pleasantly. The machete twitched in its field of magic. “Or more accurately, what hasn’t happened to you?”

I leaned close, and looked him up and down. He drew back, Adam’s apple bobbing and eyes flickering back and forth for some kind of escape. It was quite a small cage. He made the mistake of trying to grin disarmingly.

“I’m good at not getting hit.” He said with a shrug.

He cowered as I lashed out, punching the bars. “I should leave you here to rot you little shit! Why aren’t you in pieces like the others?”

I hissed with rage. I seriously wanted to leave him here. Then I realised something, and grinned wickedly.

“Or perhaps I should take you with me” I purred “and we can see what that delightful collar of yours actually does...”

“Alright alright for fucks sake I’m sorry ok?” he backtracked furiously “Just…help! The mad bitch who runs this shit knows how the collars work, so get in there!”

“Not yet…” I turned back to Zapper and Cog. I only had one healing syringe, and I looked between them anxiously. Eventually I chose the big guy, partly because he looked the most hurt, partly because he could probably headbutt us an escape route later. I reached through the bars, and gently applied the needle.

He moved slightly, mumbling something about cooking as the potion did its work. Gashes closed themselves, ribs creaked back into position, and he woke with a start. Casting to and fro in confusion his gaze lighted on me.

“Oh, it’s you…”he said, eyes narrowing.

Not the response I was expecting.

“Excuse me?” I said, taken aback.

He scowled with open hostility. “Ye’ heard me right din’cha?”

I was speechless. Literally. I knew what incredulous meant of course, but right then I genuinely felt like no words were strong enough to express my astonishment. Eventually I found my voice.

“What…the actual fuck?” I managed.

He shrugged mulishly, and looked away. My blood boiled. From the depths of my mind an ancient oath emerged.

“Ungrateful wretch!” I spat, lunging forward and glaring at him “I make my way through a bunch of putrescent, slack-jawed yokels, repeatedly getting shot at and bled on, and this is what I get? Care to tell me why rescue is so scorned at the moment?”

He stared at the wall.

“Answer me!” I screamed, kicking the bars again. He turned back, with a contemptuous smirk on his face that stopped me cold. He leaned in, until we looked directly into each other’s eyes. They were brown, and gleamed in the half-light.

“Mutant…” he whispered, deep, bronzed accent heavy with disdain.

Ah…there it was.

This moment would have come to pass soon enough. But still…why did it have to be now?

The reflection in the pool. The reflection in my memories. They sat side by side in my mind. Repulsion for what I had become had faded, for the moment. I was here now, the past behind, the objective in front. Don’t think! Just do. The anger helped.

“You really hate me that much…” I said, staring at the floor. It was grimy, cracked tiling, ingrained with filth.

I looked up, and smiled sweetly. “A miserable death is preferable to a rescue from little old me. Well that just says a world of things about you”

The word were coming out wild and untameable. I was soaring on wings of anger and pain. I remembered how to be cruel.

“So what’s it gonna be big guy?” I said mockingly, letting my expression slide into a sneer “Got a problem with muties huh? Well, here’s the thing. I’m guessing somepony dear to you got all chopped up by some rad-junkie”

He snarled, teeth bared, all his muscular bulk shaking with rage.

“Somepony very dear to you…” I continued softly, the joy of hurting making it impossible to stop even if I wanted to.

The cage shook as he hurled himself against the bars, rusty metal bowing alarmingly, growling muzzle inches from my own. I maintained my triumphant grin, and waggled a hoof reproachfully.

“If you want to kill me you’ll have to let me rescue you first!” I laughed.

“When I get outa’ here I’m gonna put that mouth so far up your ass you’ll be eatin’ last week’s horseshit” he growled through clenched teeth.

“That’s fine, my last week was a long, long time ago." I retorted.

“Hey! You ain’t one o’ them are ye’?” called a voice.

I looked at the miserable ponies in the cages. They had come forward now, silently crowding against the bars with eyes filled with a tentative hope. The voice had been old, and I soon picked out an aged unicorn mare amongst the throng, wearing the tattered remnants of a white overcoat. Her skin was the colour and texture of bark, and her emerald eyes possessed the disinterested courage of those already near death.

“No, I’m not one of them” I said, trotting closer “and I’m going to let you all out as soon as I find out how to get those collars off.”

“Ah don’t think yer’ lil’ friend over there’l last much longer without attenshun” she croaked, squinting at Zapper’s immobile form. “Might’n be all broke up inside. Ah c’n do somethin’ about it though, fix ‘m up good” She stared meaningfully.

I thought about it. Perhaps this could work. I turned slightly.

“Hear that big guy? Your chum might be seriously inclined to die. If I let the good lady out will you promise to save the arse violence till later?” I sniggered crudely. “No promises mind you, we’ve only just met”

There was a dangerous pause.

“I’m sorry? Speak up there!”

There was a faint intelligible muttering. That would have to do.

I sighed in exasperation, and took out the keys. “Fine, just please don’t go anywhere. I don’t want you wandering off somewhere and exploding”

I flicked through the keys until I found one that fitted. The cage slowly opened with an ear-splitting squeal of rusty metal, and the old mare carefully stepped out with the utmost dignity. As we walked over to Zapper’s cage and opened it I resisted offering her a hoof to steady herself. I hurriedly freed Cog as she knelt beside the unconscious unicorn, gently pressing here and there and clicking her tongue at the filthy lacerations.

There was a moment as I unlocked the cage door that I thought Cog would strike me down anyway. He stood at the threshold, glaring at me, tendons visibly straining. We remained as the seconds ticked by. I was slightly taller than he was, but his size extended outwards in rolling mountains of muscle. But I did not feel fear. Only…anticipation. I looked into his eyes, saw my own yellow orbs staring back, and felt a tingling, a singing inside at the thought of violence. My mouth turned up at the corners in genuine delight, and without breaking eye contact, I slowly licked my lips in preparation.

Cog blinked, and strode past, giving me a wide berth. I smiled at the wall, relishing the delightful realisation. He was afraid of me.

“Whut’s the plan?” Cog said, rolling his shoulders in preparation, looking away.

I passed him my revolver. “We go in, kill those who resist, and persuade the top bitch to gossip about the collars. Then…who knows?”

He looked unhappy about the ambiguity of my last statement, but took the pistol in his teeth determinedly.

Just because I knew how the rifles worked didn’t mean I was any good with them, so I readied the machete. It wasn’t pretty or neat, but it did have a tremendous ability to cut things up. And I liked the feeling of the metal, the impact, the slide of steel through skin, muscle and bone…

I frowned, and shook my head. Then, as we took position beside the door, the thrill of impending combat pushed the doubts away.

Turning, I bucked with all my augmented strength, rear hooves slamming into the rotten door and tearing it off its hinges with a squeal of tortured wood.

“Oh! Nearly ready darlings just one more minute! I’m not quite dressed to receive visitors!”

A long hall, pillared and buttressed, once a gathering chamber of some kind, now repurposed as a dark throne room and temple to the arts of vice and butchery. Guns, blood and scenes of death lined the walls. Flayed bodies swung from the ceiling like sickening chandeliers. A long, tattered red carpet led to a podium strewn with weapons and viscera of every description.

And there she was, puckering her cracked lips for a broken mirror behind her tarnished throne. The raider mare with the mangy black coat and broken teeth. Her mane was piled regally atop her head, visibly seething with lice. She applied a last touch of lipstick, and turned, her sweeping gown hissing across the floor. A gown fit for a queen. It was sewn from pony skins of every hue and shade, and its network of stitches framed row upon row of faded cutie marks.

She smiled horribly, making the hideous pretence of a curtsey.

“Welcome to my home, noble travellers! I, am Princess Trepanna! Sovereign of the wastes and monarch of all I survey! Won’t you hang up your coats and join me for the next dance?” Her voice was the sawing cadence of madness.

I stepped forward, smiled pleasantly, and bowed sarcastically.

“I’m sorry you’re highness, but methinks we shall keep our coats on. Tis rather cold without them, and…” I gestured to the skinless cadavers “…I think one might catch a chill…”

“I insist…” she hissed, expression hardening “In fact I command it. I would not have my guests…uncomfortable”

My lip curled in disgust, and I took another step. “You are in no position to issue commands your highness” I said, letting the rising contempt show in my voice “you rule over dust, your kingdom is ashes and your crown is false. You are no more royal than the dirt beneath you. You’re only divine right is to die quickly once I’m done, so please, surrender now, although I doubt such reason is familiar to you”

Although I felt good saying it, I knew it wasn’t necessarily a smart move to bait an equicidal maniac. Trepanna’s bloodshot eyes bulged in their sockets.

“I shan’t ask again” She breathed, spittle oozing at the corners of her mouth. “Do as I command!”

I took another step. The crazed raider mare hissed with delight, and stomped a hoof on a patch of floor. There was a series of complicated clicks as the weapon racks layering the walls behind the podium swung outward, a forest of gun barrels pointed directly towards me. There was a muffled curse a way behind me, and I heard Cog swing into cover behind the doorframe.

“I said,” Trepanna cackled. “You. Will. DANCE!”

Time seemed to slow. There was the quarry, howling triumphantly far beyond my reach, rotten teeth bared in exultant insanity. There were the instruments of my damnation, hundreds of guns in ordered ranks all poised to deliver leaden death to fragile flesh. I felt my muscles flex, the strength of the fibres as they strained and carried me to one side as muzzle-flash blossomed…

I slid behind a pillar, leaning on the cold stone as a screaming hail of gunfire tore past in a blaze of light. And the noise! Like a thousand manticores wailing in symphonic agony. It beat against my eardrums in a heart-pounding rhythm that sent shivers down my spine, and I vowed there and then to learn more about handling firearms.

The tirade of death continued. I slipped out from the other side of the pillar and walked up the aisle, my gaze fixed on the podium that was half concealed in the storm of fire. The guns were arranged on either side, neglecting the space between the pillars and the walls, allowing me to walk right up to the end of the room beside Trepanna’s throne.

I stood and watched her. She sat beyond the gunfire, staring at me in hatred and not a little fear. A blazing wall of bullets flashed between us, illuminating us in a ghoulish yellow strobe, but I could see the waterfall of casings pooling on the floor, the white glow of the muzzles, and so could she. We both knew it was only a matter of time.

One by one the guns fell silent, their fury spent, the clanging silence broken by the clink of cooling metal. I ascended the podium and strode towards her, angry to the core.

She scrambled back, panic breaking through, and reached for something concealed beneath the throne. Emerging with a pistol in her mouth she tried to aim, but I struck, a vicious backhoof that knocked her sprawling, her painted face bloodied. Pinning her forelegs, I leant down beside her ear.

“What exactly gives you the right...?” I murmured “what gives you the right to do what you do? How much talent have you ripped from their hides? How many have cried helpless beneath your knives? But that doesn’t matter anymore. Because you’re going to help me”

She growled and thrashed. “Fuck you asshole! I’m the Princess! You can’t do this to me!”

“Please tell me how to remove the collars” My patience was wearing thin.

“I’ll eat your skin motherfucker! LET ME GO!”

The bodies of her victims lay around the throne, and I noticed that there were also several slave collars lying opened in the pools of gore. I laughed quietly as a plan unfolded.

“Well your highness, let’s see how you feel when I present you with your royal regalia…”

There was a pause as she worked out the implications.

She screamed wordlessly as the collar clicked shut around her neck, no matter how she struggled, and the little light blinked in ominous threat. As I stood, watching her writhe in a futile attempt to remove the deadly steel band, the memories rose again…

Bright white light…

Injection…incision…extraction…contusion…

Pass the Imp, this one needs to grow faster…

Just one moment Doctor Pry…yes…I think we can risk a little more…its taking hold nicely…

Are you sure Sir? It appears to be in a great deal of pain…could damage the sensory nodes…

Well tranquilise it then, what’s wrong with you...?

It’s too much Sir; our painkillers just aren’t strong enough. And also the parasite is rejecting them…

Ugh, fine… Just put another cortex block in there until you’re done… although the rate at which this thing gets through them I wouldn’t be surprised if the Ministry goes bankrupt…

Rage, hatred and a deep, terrible bitterness welled inside me, setting my nerves alight.

They had taken my cutie mark. With their potions and pain they had removed the one indelible and irreducible thing that made me who I was. And this thing, screaming and squirming on the blood-stained floor, was doing the same. Innocence defiled with cruel blades and wretchedness, at the whim of insanity.

“You feel like helping me now Princess? Huh?” My heart hammered fit to burst, my teeth clenched of their own accord.

“I said…”

My hooves flashed, striking into her prone form…

“…You! Feel! Like! Helping! Now?!”

Each word punctuated by a kick. I struck for the ponies she had tortured. I struck for those who had to live surrounded by this shit. I struck for myself, to avenge my heart’s death.

“You worthless piece of shit! Why? Why did you do this? Why do you have to be so fucking useless? WHY?”

A hoof touched my shoulder. Without my noticing my companions had entered the room, Cog supporting an exhausted but alive Zapper, who managed a weary grin. I felt a surge of gladness at his survival. And there was the old mare, looking up at me, eyes half closed and unjudging.

“That’s enough young’un…”

I subsided, trembling with the emotions plucking at my muscles, demanding violence, demanding vengeance for uncertain crimes. I wanted to kick, and keep kicking until her bones were splinters.

“Please…just tell me how to remove the collars and you can live, at least until your brain cancer catches up”

She drew a hoof against her muzzle, wiping the blood, eyes alight with malice.

“No. Shan’t! You can all suck it! You can all fucking die!”

Excellent. Just perfect.

I smiled in satisfaction. “Very well. Let’s play your game then. My turn is it?”

I turned and walked towards the throne, summoning my magic, horn sparking crimson. Crawling strands of light seized her by the mane, wrenching her along no matter how she shrieked.

My heart was set in stone. The brief moment of contentment passed. The small voice of reason in my head was imprisoned, beating the walls and crying to be heard, but to no avail. I hadn’t been the best pony all those centuries ago, but what little self-control I possessed had been gagged long since, replaced with desire to see the light of life fade from a pony’s eyes. Too much hurt, too much death, too much taken away. Celestia and Luna you owe me!

I lifted her, the noxious gown swishing beneath. Slamming her against the wall guns, I pushed.

At first Trepanna blinked in confusion. Then she hissed as the pressure increased. Sharp gun barrels bit through both dead and living skin, and she howled in agony. Voices called my name from beyond the anger, but I couldn’t understand them. The dead raced around my head, their shouting blotting out thought. Instead a cackling demon was in charge, pulling my strings with gleeful wickedness and filling me up with heady narcotics, a cocktail of the suffering of others.

“Hang in there sweetheart! Feeling talkative I hope?”

She whimpered, but was otherwise silent. Blood pooled below her dangling hooves, and I knew she would die soon without attention. But I was stumped. My brain flashed up several intricate ways to extract information, but I had none of the delicate instruments required for such invasive procedures.

Then I remembered the raider who had passed out earlier before the fight. Younger, and quite possibly more pliant.

I turned to my silent audience. “There’s a live one in the room back there, go and grab her if you please”

Cog stared in revulsion, a picture of moral disgust.

“Ah ain’t got no truck with torturin’!” he spat.

I twitched with impatience. “Relax, she’s young, she’ll get over it.”

I laughed as Cog’s eyes bulged in outrage. “Come on my friend I’m kidding! Just drag her back so I can scare her shitless,” I grinned and raised an eyebrow “Must I remind you it’s the only way to get you all out of here alive?”

He wavered, jaw muscles knotting in consternation.

“Go on…shoo…” I waved my fore-hooves at him “You be the hero of the piece and I’ll take care of the nasty bits.”

He looked at the floor, then fixed me with a look of such wounded confusion I would never forget it.

“It just ain’t right” he said quietly, and walked away, dragging his hooves dejectedly.

I waited, tapping a hoof while the raider princess moaned in a half conscious torpor. Zapper sat on the edge of the podium as the old mare fussed around him, horn flickering a pale orange as she passed it over his wounds. Rusty paced nervously back and forth.

At length Cog returned, carrying the unconscious raider filly by the scruff of her mane and placing her gently before me. She was indeed much younger than the others.

I picked her up with magic, her head lolling drunkenly, and looked her over.

An adolescent female. Around the same age as me, at least how I was before the long sleep. An earth pony, very thin, almost starved, bones showing through her patchy white coat. Her mane and tail, once a deep, royal blue, were now matted and filthy. Scars criss-crossed her skin, poorly stitched wounds gleamed unhealthily.

She had been abused by her ‘friends’. The bottom of the pile, the drudge, the bitch. A little fool trapped in hell.

She’d do nicely.

She stirred, eyelids flickering, focussing on me, sluggish confusion giving way as she tried to process her predicament.

“Wh…what?” she stammered through numbed lips.

“Welcome back to reality.” I said, grinning cheerfully.

Her eyes bulged, legs pedaling furiously in mid-air.

“You mean this is real!? Oh fuck me!”

I leaned close, and lasciviously ran my tongue across my teeth, snickering at her terror.

“Now let’s hope it doesn’t come to that shall we? For now, all I need is information. Contestant number one…” I swivelled her to face the slowly bleeding Trepanna, and whispered by her ear “…has declined to comment, so you, lucky number two, have a chance to win a lifeline.”

“A little weak thing like you must have spent a lot of time at the wrong end of their depravity. Kicks, cuts, other things. Nopony notices, nopony cares, and I think you see things simply because nopony knows you’re there. You’ve seen how the collars work. You must have.”

I could see the sweat beading on her brow. Her gaze flickered nervously to Trepanna, then back to the more present threat of me. The raider princess noticed her indecision and somehow raised her head, blood dripping from her mouth and eyes glowing beneath her hair like hot, spiteful coals.

“Don’t you say a fucking word you little…” she began.

I felt something snap. The demon in my head pulled angrily on a thread. The rage boiled, my muscles wrenched and I swung, the silvery machete arcing round and severing Trepanna’s left foreleg below the shoulder. I heard her screaming, felt the blade shivering luxuriantly as it bit through meat and bone, the bloody thump of the limb hitting the floor.

“Don’t! Push! Me!”

I shouted at her face, the words coming from within, impelled by fury, forcing up my throat and past clenched teeth. The reek of blood and pain was affecting me. I could smell the blood, the fear, all the little pheromones the body releases when it’s in mortal agony. I fought for control as each scent was dissected, tested, all triggering the racing heartbeat, the rush of blood, the rage, the hunger. As I turned, my strings pulling me back towards the cowering raider, I distantly felt my own fear.

“Okay okay for Luna’s sake don’t hurt me! The terminal is behind the mirror just leave me alone!”

She cowered in terror. Even through the haze I was shocked by her expression of pure panic. I looked away and strode to the mirror, and for a moment I considered my reflection. My heart lurched at the sight, the smouldering yellow eyes beneath a curtain of red, staring back at me from another life. The reflection curled its lips in disgust, and raised a foreleg. Our hooves met in the centre, and the mirror shattered.

I ripped aside the broken frame, revealing the softly humming terminal. I knew little about such things, but again my implanted knowledge came to the rescue, displaying the basics of programming directly onto my retinas. I pressed some keys, and lines of code scrolled past. After a few tries I managed to decipher the password. It was ‘exfoliate’, for whatever bizarre reason. There were several files available, meaningless lists of staff data and sales forecasts, but I selected the directory marked Stock Control. Inside there were three commands available. Release Inventory, Inventory Select, and Delete Inventory. I chose the first option and pressed enter.

With a series of clicks and beeps the collars of my companions fell open, clattering to the floor like so much scrap metal. There was a collective sigh of relief. Hooves sounded beyond the door, and the freed slaves filtered in. They were scared, hungry and wounded, but just the act of being freed had restored their spirits.

“You saved us! Thank you…!”

“I don’t know if my Sailflower is ok, can you please…?”

“Do you think we could give them a good kicking…?”

I raised a hoof, and the clamour instantly died. I took a deep breath. I’d never been good at pep talks.

“Alright everypony this is it, you’re free. It’s time to get you all back to whatever passes for civilisation around here. Help each other! Those who can walk help those that can’t, and if I see anypony, and I mean anypony, being a selfish dick I will personally cut you down to size. Grab weapons, ammunition, everything, and be quick about it!”

Inspiring words. Nevertheless they jumped to obey. I turned to the old mare.

“Ma’am, do you think you could help those in need? It would speed our progress”

She bobbed in assent, fixing me with a beady eye.

“No problem. Been helpin’ folks in need since before you were born...or wherever it wus you come out of”

She hobbled off.

Zapper rose from the podium, wincing. “Ah’m gonna get me some valuables before they all grab it for themselves. Come on Cog, Ah need you t’ carry the goods to Haydes…”

They left, Cog casting one more hateful glance.

I was alone. The raiders didn’t count. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the little one creeping towards the door, eyes flickering nervously back and forth between me and freedom. I waved a hoof vaguely in her direction, and smiled bitterly at the sound of hooves clattering away. Looking at Trepanna I saw she was dead, her head hanging low and a lake of lifeblood beneath her dangling hooves.

I was exhausted, emotionally and physically. The adrenaline had run its course, leaving a hollowness that could only be filled with more bloodshed, a weariness that ran bone deep. I wanted nothing more than to sleep again, to climb back into the viscous fluid that had held me quiet and dream until the world healed itself again, or rotted away into nothingness. My legs went weak, and I slumped onto my haunches, staring at the crucifixion before me.

What now?

Stellar rose in my thoughts, sweet memories accompanied by the taste of blood on my tongue. I couldn’t care less about the worlds’ destruction, those fuckers had it coming.

I just wanted her back.

The bloodlust wove around my thoughts, choking back the sorrow before it took hold, pushing her away. That was gone now. It all was.

What was it Zapper had said? We were going to Haydes, apparently not far from here. A town presumably. A town meant wealth, and wealth meant thieves, like the ones I had massacred today. My gaze slid back to the suspended corpse, and inevitably I reasoned that reward might be forthcoming for proof of their demise. I tiredly rose, and levitated the machete.

*** *** ***

The remaining raiders returned from their fruitless hunt to find a small army of armed ponies hungry for revenge. They were mercilessly cut down, and their barding and weapons were added to the hoard. The procession of freed slaves made its way through broken streets, leaving nopony behind, and I did my part carrying those too wounded to walk. The trek was a mere two days, but it seemed like weeks as our caravan of cripples struggled towards civilization. Our nights were filled with the cries of the young and wounded, and the smell of sickness permeated every waking moment. Some were too ill, too wounded, or just too tired, and every pony that hit the dust behind us hung heavy on my conscience.

But we persevered, I made certain of that. I didn’t want to be in charge, but I constantly found myself driving them on with a mixture of quiet reassurance and open threat. Nopony else would step up to lead, and I would be damned if I let these ponies down. I couldn’t understand this newfound piety of mine, until I realised that I had very, very little else to believe in. The destruction of the old world had no effect on me, I had no love of it. All it had accomplished was taking me apart piece by piece, and putting it back together into something else. I was glad they were dead, and glad of the refreshing simplicity of kill some ponies, save some more, and kill again. I was just glad that they accepted me at all. Now that death was seemingly postponed I began to hear whispers when they thought I was out of earshot. Families clutched their foals when I passed by, and full grown stallions made signs against enchantment, surreptitiously waving their fore hooves and stumbling over half remembered folk chants.

One night Zapper came to me. We had set camp and had just managed to get all the ponies settled to their satisfaction, which was no easy task. The nights were dark. A true dark, as might have been the doing of Nightmare Moon before she was converted to civilization all those years ago. He himself had been lying apart from us, tinkering with some strange device that shed a sickly green radiance.

From his recumbent position he told me what had happened, most of which I had already guessed. The war escalating, until they began the final nuclear doom, deploying weapons and spells of apocalyptic power. The words washed over me, describing how the world I once knew had been erased, seemingly for good. Some ponies were lucky enough to hide away in sealed vaults beneath the ground, called Stables, where they would remain until the horror had passed. Apart from the degenerate scum that roamed the wastes, most surviving ponies today were Stable dwellers, or descendants of those who had been.

The rest had to stay, and burn.

Eventually the device beeped, and he smirked in satisfaction.

“Here, this is for you…” he said, levitating the object to the ground before me.

I remembered. It was a Pip-Buck 3000, a tool for almost every task imaginable. I had owned one before…

Time spent with friends in the streets of Canterlot…

My first Pip-Buck, shiny and new, so happy…

I picked up the Pip-Buck, and with a sense of finality placed it around my foreleg. The metal bands closed with a click.
It sat there, heavier than I expected, but extremely familiar. I flicked a switch, and it lit up with a friendly green glow. Scrolling through the menus I found I knew exactly how to operate it. An icon blinked in the corner of the screen, indicating a downloaded file.

“Ye’ might wanna check your mail…” said Zapper, eyes glittering in the firelight, “…Ah downloaded the data that was in the terminal beside your tube…”

I eagerly opened it. Most of it was corrupted, strings of meaningless runes and symbols. But fragments remained.

**************************************************Arcan* e*gineers have d**lared pr*totype one un*uitable for deployment *n the groun*s that it has **veloped resista*ce to cortex blocking techniques. It *ontinues ** defy our *ff*rts to con**l its behaviour, s*owing a distr*ssing ability to erode our cranial implants. The othe* *ubjects hav* pr**en far more biddable. **ter much deli*e**tion p*ototype one h*s been designated an ‘outmode’ *nd *ust be disposed *f. T*chnician three-two-two-seven has b**n giv*n the task of recycling the prot*t*pe via the petri pool******************************************************************************

Outmode.

Obsolete. Out-of-date. Worthless.

I whispered it under my breath. It sounded good. A little piece of me fell into place.

"Looks like ye' found a name then," drawled Zapper.

I looked at him until he started shifting uncomfortably, nodded, and turned away, staring at the scrambled text that was the only clue as to my current existence.

Outmode. I would give ponies a reason to remember that name.

*** *** ***

Eventually we arrived at a small, brick substation half buried beneath the wreckage of a skywagon. Skeletons hung pitifully from the windows, and they stirred slightly at our passing as Cog kicked the door open. Zapper led the way down a flight of steps, made treacherous by a constant dripping of water from the ceiling. The corridor was humid, a dark passageway lined with pipes that drummed and groaned constantly as we walked through the half-light of my Pip-Buck’s glow, fighting blindly through suffocating clouds of steam.

At length the tunnel opened up, widening onto a terminal chamber where other passageways leered from the shadows, illuminated by the incongruous glow of a large neon sign dominating the steel-lined wall opposite. The giant purple letters spelt ‘Haydes’ while smaller script beneath said ‘Let you’re mane down, in hell!”

A spotlight snapped on, bathing the tunnel in painful white light. A hatchway opened in the purple ‘a’ far above us, and a pony stuck out his head.

“Whut’s you’re business an’ where’re ye’ bound…?” the helmeted guard intoned in a bored voice, seeming unimpressed by the small army before his gates.

Zapper stepped forward, limping slightly, while I lurked defensively behind him, unwilling to show myself should they refuse a mutant entry, or just gunned us down.

“Ah got me some forty ponies, most needin’ medical assistance…” he paused at the guard’s disinterested yawn “…and a ton o’ weapons and armour that need sellin’”

The guard leaned on the sill, and spat lazily. “Aw dangit. Ah wus hopin’ you’d be capless wasters. Now Ah gotta’ actually open the damn gate. Ya’ll jest hang on now…”

The hatchway slammed shut. Silence reigned, broken only by the rush of steam, shuffling hooves and the pitiful sounds of the wounded. I became increasingly anxious as the seconds ticked by.

“What happens now?” I murmured over Zapper’s shoulder “Do they accept ponies…like me?” I made sure my voice was steady, not betraying the melancholy resignation. I was a freak. It hurt even to think about it, but I had been changed, and I doubted that a town would want me around for long. If even those I had rescued from hideous death turned against me, all that remained was a choice between hurled insults or torches and pitchforks.

He turned his head to look at me with a light smirk.

“Don’t you fret now. As ye’ saw earlier, things’ve changed since you’ve been nappin’.” He chuckled and shook his mane, “Ye’ keep puttin’ em down like before an’ it’ll be practically Hearts and Hooves.”

There was a rushing of steam and a groaning of metal. The illuminated sign split in half with a clang, a widening vertical gash releasing a blaze of light and sound.

Bright lanterns, heady smells, steam and shouting ponies as far as the eye could see. The freed captives streamed past as I stood in awe, taking in the sight of a great, cylindrical street, lined with traders hawking their wares to the densely packed herd. Buildings of rusty metal clung precariously on either side, the crude structures lined with lights of every colour, and I could see the end of the tunnel opened up onto even vaster caverns beneath the ruined city above. A whole town, in the sewers of the old regime. The thought drew a smile from me. Where is your kingdom now Celestia? Where are the good and kind ponies, the elements of harmony? The answer? Reborn, from your own shit.

“Grandmamma!”

I jumped and span about, startled by the delighted shriek. An adolescent filly emerged from the throng and seized the old mare in a tight embrace, tears of relief flowing freely.

“Now git yo’ cotton-pickin’ hooves off’ve me young un!” peeved the aged one, struggling feebly and causing the younger to cling all the tighter “You’re granny ain’t about te’ float away jest yet!”

“Ah thought ye’ were gone f’sure!” the filly sobbed, acid green mane falling over her eyes “Why? Why’d ye’ have te’ go off like that?

The aged one finally managed to extricate herself, and held the young mare at hoofs length. “We needed them ingredients. That rent weren’t about te’ go away now wus it?”

“But…” the young mare bowed her head, tearful and shamefaced “…whut about Slinky’s…offer? He’s been gettin’ awful persistent, an’ Ah could’ve…”

“No!” the old one stated firmly, gently bringing her granddaughter’s eyes level with her own, the same shade of bright , pure green. “Some things…” she shook her head doggedly “…just don’t. Ah don’t want ma girl mixed up with such…villainy!”

They hugged again, the old mare stroking the filly’s mane as she cried quietly against her shoulder.

I watched them for a moment, realising the implications. I had actually done something good, something that made another pony’s life that fraction better before they faded from this miserable existence. I felt a little glow of sanctimonious satisfaction, and smirked ironically, banishing it.

Eventually they noticed me, standing like a macabre statue with the crowd parting and flowing around. The old mare put a foreleg around her granddaughter and walked to stand before me.

“Ah’m Root Cure, an’ this is ma’ granddaughter Nell. Nice te’ meet ye’” she said, again fixing me with that tired but calculating gaze. Nell’s eyes went wide, and she took a step back, as if unsure whether to leap in front of her grandmother or hide behind her.

“And Nell, this here’s the nice gentlecolt who rescued you’re old grandma from some inbred flea-bit raiders” she added pointedly.

Smiling politely, and seeing no reason to be rude, I bowed in the traditional way as taught by my parents all those years ago. “A pleasure to meet you my good mares.”

Nell did a comical double-take, perhaps surprised at my Canterlotian accent which, despite years on the streets of Manehattan, had refused to shift.

“Oh! Erm…sorry…thanks….pleased te’ meet ye’” she stuttered in an utterly adorable manner. I stifled a laugh at her anxious apologies, and very nearly lost control as she gave a creditable attempt at a curtsey. A damn curtsey! Oh my word how delightfully quaint.

“Oh you don’t need to humble yourself for me miss…” I said pleasantly, suppressing my amusement “…I despise captivity, and your grandmother didn’t deserve the attentions of such depraved individuals.”

There. The old pleasantries creeping back. The social mores and small-talk, a result of careful tutelage by Mother and Father in preparing their foal for the immense complexity of Canterlot society…

No darling, one does not use the soup spoon for one’s Crême brûlée…

But Mother, it’s the right shape. All curved, same as the little bowls, see…?

That’s right sweetheart, but you should use the other one for that, the one with the long spindly handle. It’s smaller and longer, so you can get to the very last fragments of pudding without getting it everywhere…

But with the zoop spoon, I can get more crem brooly in one go, like this…

Yes darling, but now you’ve got most of it down your shirt instead of in your silly face you little blighter! Come here you…!

Urr yuck! Mother! Pfft! I can use…napkin…now! Gettoff…!

There, that’s better. Now darling, we’ve got to get you presentable for the soirée next week. All the important ponies will be there, and I’ve heard rumours that Fancy Pants himself may be attending, so I need you to be at your best. I know you can be the perfect little gentlecolt when you try, so try hard, for me dear…

Okay Mother…I love you…

I love you too sweetheart…

Then I was back in the street, staring blankly like an idiot. How embarrassing. I shook my head to clear it, angrily brushing away the faint moisture in my eyes. “Sorry, what did you say?”

Root Remedy raised an eyebrow. “Ah wus sayin’ thank ye’ for you’re kind assistance, and ye’ll always be welcome in our house”

She squinted sharply, and in a display of acute understanding added “An perhaps Ah c’n help with whutever’s inside ye’ head too”

I drew myself up, and regarded her solemnly. “Thank you madam, but I’m not sure there’s anypony alive who can help me there” I said, with Nell looking back and forth between us in bewilderment.

Solitude. I needed to go somewhere, anywhere that was away from here. But once again my conscience tweaked. Like the others I carried a bundle of loot, rolls of guns and valuables tied with rope. I swung it off my back to the ground before them.

“These are for you. Sell them high, they’re worth more than they look.”

They looked at the bundle hungrily, shuffling hooves impatiently, but not quite believing. Before they overcame their suspicion I lowered my head to Nell’s eye level. She cringed slightly but didn't look away, holding my gaze as I spoke.

“You now own some very fine firearms, and this Slinky character sounds like a bad sort. The next time he gets a little too persistent for your liking, shoot his apples off. That’ll send a message about respectable behavior. You’re a good mare, and don’t let anything drag you down.”

I turned, and walked away, all morality spent.

*** *** ***

Zapper and the others had gone shopping at the local arms dealers, but I had no wish to follow them just yet, as I had certain business to take care of that I knew Cog would certainly not approve of. The object I had salvaged from Trepanna’s lair was safely concealed in my saddlebags, but I could feel its incriminating weight as I strode through the crowds. I never needed to struggle as everypony else did. Each pony intent on forging a path through the suffocating masses would suddenly catch sight of me looming above the throng, and startle away as if shocked. A circle of empty space surrounded me as I walked, kept clear by their fear, but instead of hurt or anger I found myself experiencing the soft, lazy thrill of easy power. A self-satisfied smirk formed, and I was conscious of my fangs pushing gently against my lips. So this was how it felt, to be better than others simply because I had what they didn't. Strength and intimidation, the cheap high of a bully.

Suddenly an unpleasant thought pierced my cheerful superiority, was this how they had felt? When civilization deteriorated, the death toll increased and Equestria fell into the ever tightening grasp of the wicked, did they laugh? Did they toast each other in the boardrooms, and drink, and shake hooves, sealing innumerable ponies to a death beyond their choosing? Did they drink, and taste anything but ashes?

My smile tightened and faded. Who gave the order? Who told the grey guards to take my parents? Who kept taking and taking, and then reached and took my ponyhood away, and then reached further, and took my heart away as well. I tried to cut short my dark imaginings but they grew like a malevolent leech, I was trying to put faces to those who had wronged me, a desperate urge to see my truest enemies, to see something, anything to hate. But all my mind’s eye could see was greyness, faded, spiteful smoke scheming from afar, using and abusing all in the belief that all were there to be abused, all expendable in the religious reverence of selfishness.

The thoughts coalesced into a writhing nest of bitterness, my muscles twanged with the effort of not lashing aside the ponies in my path, and bile rising on my tongue such was my anger. I grimaced and dry swallowed, forcing down the mounting vitriol. The haze was there, I could sense it, lurking just out of reach and waiting for its chance to take control.

Only it wasn’t some other being was it? It was me, my fury, my wings, my weapon and my shield. Such…joy. Such a delight and strength. All things had become possible when the red mist descended, no more boundaries, no more petty restraints. I could fight anything, kill anything I pleased, and indeed it did please, terrifyingly so. I could lift oceans, tear mountains from their roots like rotten teeth, even wrench the Princesses from their gilded thrones simply because I wanted to, simply because it was fun.

A sick, delicious shiver shuddered me from head to hoof, whispering bloodlust, making me stumble in its intensity. I bit my lip as I trotted onwards, trying to distract myself with pain. Instead my fangs nipped, my own blood dousing my tongue with metallic sweetness.

Fuck. Stupid arseholes really hadn’t thought this through had they?

I lurched against a wall, churning nausea making my ears ring as I fought the urges. Whereas freely going berserk was a delightful amusement, resisting made my guts twist in knots, the world blurring like a cheap stop-motion animation. Feverish shivering took hold, and a pathetic whimper escaped me as my bones grew thorns. Pain, everywhere, pain and sickness, over and over again, itching, squirming, raking from every direction, a thousand attackers, a phalanx of needles inside and out, gnawing until I cried for mercy.

*** *** ***

Time passed. Eventually the tremors stopped, feeling returning, a numbness in my skin alongside deadened muscles the consistency of lead. I felt coolness, a soft rushing sensation. I was in water of some kind. I realised my eyes were clenched tightly shut, lids aching with the effort. I cracked them open, and saw my own forelegs folded ferociously around my head. A few tentative movements confirmed I was curled in a foetal ball, as well as making me moan in prolonged agony. My entire body hurt, everywhere, the deep, gnawing bite of a toothache. I was lying on my side, in a pool of chill, soothing water, and I could feel more of it pouring from above. I strained my eyes upward, and saw the concrete ceiling, curving up and away, the alley walls on either side, rusted metal, rotting wood, the burst pipe, gushing an arc of clear liquid, showering me with coolness. The world carried on regardless, marching past the alley in which I lay, moving and living while I remained paralyzed in damp and darkness. The tube rose in my mind, the sensation of waking and drowning in the same breath, and I struggled upright, whimpering pathetically in pain but determined to escape the realization which filled my heart with shards of panic.

Whips. That’s what you needed to make the unwilling do you’re fighting for you. Whether it be propaganda, inspiring speeches, a breath, a soft touch, there will be whips to follow. Obey, or suffer the consequences. Everypony has their whips, the little fears that spur us on. The fear of failure, of disgrace, or simplest of all the fear of pain. The whips take many forms, but always they are inflicted from outside, from the expectations of others, either those close to us or those in authority. But they…now, they had made me their perfect instrument.

They’d put their whips inside my head.

Fight, or suffer.

I stayed there for a while, leaning against the wall with legs trembling. The panic slowly subsided but I knew it was still there, a low level of animal fear like a rodent that knows a hawk flies above. I took a step forward, gritting my teeth at the expected surge of discomfort and tottering slightly, head swimming drunkenly. I was still upright, so far so good. Another step, and the ache diminished. And another, my confidence renewing itself as the light at the end of the alley grew nearer.

And then suddenly I was in the street, my aura of empty space reasserting itself as the town ponies flowed around me. I allowed myself a little glow of satisfaction at this small accomplishment, and grinned triumphantly.

I had won. The data on me had said I had been giving them trouble with regards to control and they’d been right. They’d tried to make me a slave, and they had failed.

The door to the marshal’s office creaked open at my touch. Bored guards glanced briefly before returning to their duties, and then did a double-take as their sluggish minds processed my appearance. I took no notice, and walked up to the front desk where a uniformed mare dozed in a reclining chair, breathing gently in slumber. I felt a surge of annoyance and rapped sharply on the desk, and she jerked awake, eyes lighting on me looming over her.

“Whoa, horseapples!” she swore, springing forward and reaching for something under the desk.

I interrupted quickly. “You deal in bounties correct?” I said sharply, before she did anything stupid.

She froze and blinked owlishly, hoof still invisible

“Uh…yeah…sure but…”

“Do you have anything on a mare calling herself Trepanna? Raider. Wears the skin of her victims. A bit of a basket case?”

That foolish blinking again, it really was getting annoying. Was hearing the tall scary mutant talk properly making their brains overheat?

“Uh…Princess Trepanna? There’s two thousand caps on ‘er. But hang on a sec here you can’t just…”

The saddlebag slammed onto the desk with a teeth-rattling thud. It fell open, and the object rolled out into the light.

There was silence. The watching guards winced and the desk mare goggled. I tapped a hoof impatiently and glared at her, daring her to make a move.

“Well?” I snapped petulantly.

She withdrew her hoof from under the desk, coming up empty, and looked at me with a mixture of awe and disgust.

“Dude…” she said incredulously “Ye’ didn’t need te’ bring the entire head!”

*** *** ***

Chapter Six - Blood Money

Chapter Six

Blood Money

Bored.

Bored. Bored. Bored.

One should never be bored at the prospect of going clubbing. Even if it was for business I should have liked to soak up the atmosphere and just possibly some drinks. But, sadly, this was the case. I found the very thought positively tedious. This worried me, as before the wars I had lived for the night, the pulse and shake of the dance. But then I already knew the reason for my jadedness.

I stood in the corridor before the glowing sign of the club, the violin case chafing my back, and read the curling neon.

Elysium.

The name pulsed a deep purple, while a neon red filly perched atop it winked suggestively at passers-by in an endless cycle.

Some things never change.

I approached the doors, the throbbing bass filtering tantalisingly through the walls, and flashed the identity card at the looming bouncer. I tugged down the peak of the grey work cap to hide my features, but the earth pony scanned the card without much interest and waved me through. He didn’t seem to wonder why a workpony three hooves taller than him with a hidden face was taking a violin case into his club. Oh well. My employer had said he had allies.

The doors swung inward, releasing a pounding beat and the stench of sweat, cheap perfume and alcohol. I walked into the semi-circular foyer, all shiny granite and plush red drapes, with portraits of the favourite dancers lining the walls. From the semi-darkness a sky-blue mare emerged, dressed in just enough clinging leather to make a bootlace.

“Hey hun…” she lilted, sidling close in a gust of perfume and fluttering ridiculously long eyelashes. “And just what can I do for you this evening?” A sneaky hoof caressed my leg. Perhaps tonight wasn’t so bad after all.

I groaned in theatrical despair. “I’m so sorry sweetheart but I’m actually here on business. Do you happen to know where a mister Slingshot is please? I have a delivery.”

She backed off, eyes narrowing. “Not a friend of yours is he?” she asked suspiciously.

“Not at all, exactly the opposite in fact.”

“Good. He’s a prick, too thick to take no for an answer. But anyway fuck him…” she resumed her tactile assault, breathing heavily in my ear, “why don’t you spend some time with me instead? I’m much better company...”

At this rate I wouldn’t make it past the damn foyer! Quashing my interest I gently pushed her away, with a light peck on the cheek by way of apology.

“I really am devastated but I just can’t right now, perhaps some other time,” I said courteously, laying on the politeness with a trowel.

She sighed. “Too bad sweetie, it’s nice to have a gentlecolt around for a change. Follow me then…”

I followed her swaying haunches through an arch behind the desk. We walked through a darkened tunnel of plush but ragged velvet, listening to the music getting progressively louder as we approached.

A curtain was brushed aside, and I was struck by a tangible wall of light and sound.

The tunnel opened up into a huge chamber, as if Luna herself had hollowed a tower block and filled it with all the brilliance of a meteor shower. The towering walls were covered with magic that changed shape and colour in response to the rhythm, throbbing lines of light in eye watering colours. In the centre, stretching all the way to the distant ceiling was a single column of power. A palpitating pillar of vermillion luminescence within which could be seen the shadowy mile high ghost of a dancer, her mane eddying with her movements and body pulsing to the beat.

I stopped before things got too loud for speech, and touched my escort on the shoulder.

“Listen… ah… this is awkward but… I meant what I said about not being Slingshot’s friend. I’m serious here, things are and will be the opposite of friendly. You understand? So get somewhere safe okay?”

She took a moment to digest this. Then then her eyes widened. She made to leave, then turned uncertainly.

“Um… thanks? I guess… ”

She pointed, and scuttled away. I stood for a moment, feeling slightly better about what I was about to do. Then I sighed, and strode to where I was about to ruin an otherwise clement evening.

Around the edge of the cavernous atrium there were walkways where ponies could dance, relax and drink and drug themselves into a stupor, preferably all at once. I had emerged onto one such walkway about halfway up the tower. I walked along for about a minute in the technicolor strobe, swaying around the lurching patrons, and there inside a padded booth was Slingshot, surrounded by his entourage.

Typical trash. Dash-eyed clan gangbangers who couldn’t hit an ursa if it was humping their leg. There was about ten of them around the table, a ragged mixture of diseases wearing blue neckerchiefs and spouting crudities and vomit. Slingshot sat in the centre, in barding he’d made himself out of cart tires. His blue coat was stained, and his spiked up mane, also blue, was shining wetly with unidentifiable effluences. He reeled in his seat, and noticed me standing in the light. My shadow was cast long upon the whole herd of them by the club lights. A nice effect.

“Ere… wh… what d’ you want?” he slurred, slobbering profusely.

“Are you Slingshot? Leader of the Blue Streak?”

He spat sluggishly. “Well ‘course th’ fuck I am, bitch! Whut th’ fuck’s it t’ you?” His cronies snickered, or just frothed, depending on their state of inebriation.

Buzzkill. Whatever enjoyment I had recovered from my earlier lethargy dropped like a stone. It’s no fun slaughtering morons.

“That’s all I needed to know. I’ve got a present for you” I said flatly.

I levitated the violin case, then switched the spell’s effect to the object inside it. The case snapped open and dropped away. Hovering mortally in its place was a Coltson M1ACP, Manehattan model with optional foregrip and drum magazine. Theatrical, and lethal.

I savoured the moment, and fired.

The gun shouted and bucked, the harsh bark of its voice audible beyond the bass as I held the trigger down and watched them dance through the jumping sights. The muzzle flash was a strobe in itself, the sound a virtuoso melody to the beat of the club, the recoil a shuddering exhilaration. I laughed quietly to myself, and panned left and right, mowing them down. They jerked and twitched, elegant sprays of red visible through the flickering light. For that moment, I was content.

The gun clicked empty. The music was layered with screams now. The club lights flashed over a mortuary, the smell of sweat and vice competing with the fresh, biting scent of gunsmoke. I grinned at the bloodbath.

“Well gentlecolts, it’s been a lovely evening… ” I said, sighing again as the thrill faded far more quickly than it should have. Morons. No fun at all.

I snagged a bottle from the blood-soaked table, and made my exit.

*** *** ***

By the time I made it back to my lodgings I was in a foul mood, the journey back to the upper levels of Haydes taking tediously longer as I avoided pursuit. The normally apathetic bouncers didn’t appreciate patrons being killed on their home turf, and I suspected I wouldn’t be welcome in their club for a while, at least until they got the stains out. Lawbreaking was tolerated to an extent, at least against non-employees, but unless you cleared out swiftly it was down the drains for ghoul fodder.

One foul, stinking tunnel after another. Rotten walls slimy with damp and mildew scrolled past my vision as I strode along, hardly paying attention to where I was going. Buzzing neon signs provided a bright but somehow fake luminescence, highlighting the slumped figures of those who, even in this hellhole, were down and out. Nightmare's teeth I hated this place!

Trotting through the dripping corridors I finally reached the bar where I was staying. The flickering neon sign announced it to be The Gatehouse, which was exactly what it was. Perched unsteadily above the main gates it served as the first resting place for exhausted travellers less interested in the debauchery below.

I impatiently kicked the door open. Ragged ponies started in fear, clutching their meagre belongings, but I ignored them and strode to my favourite seat by a window, overlooking the sewer terminal that led to the underground town.

I leaned back in the battered armchair, and sighed.

There was a weight on my shoulders, and it had been gathering mass for some time. I had parted ways with my erstwhile companions some weeks ago, and I missed them, despite their faults. Killing ponies for money, that was the issue. I enjoyed it, hell I loved it! The din of battle, the screams of the dying, and a fat stack of caps to boot. I could even choose my own jobs, and take out those who had actually done something to deserve my ire. I fitted in. I had been made for this.

But they had rejected me. Cog, damn his pious hide, had refused to accompany somepony who sold death in such a callous manner, although I knew it was also because he had something against the “differently evolved”. Zapper had no moral objection, just an obligation to protect his own skin, and he couldn’t do so if I was leaving a breadcrumb trail of bodies. And Rusty, well, he was just a total pussy.

And yet still I missed them.

I had no one.

Some emotions I couldn’t quite identify clamoured for attention, and I took out the bottle. Tearing off the cap with my teeth I took a draught, the pretty amber liquid burning my lips, tongue and throat as it seared its way down, tasting of cinnamon and napalm. I watched the bottle with detached interest as it emptied itself before my eyes, filling my stomach with heat.

Suddenly there was a grey pinstriped suit at my side, appearing from nowhere in a faint whiff of cologne. I didn’t look up.

“You really must tell me how to do that, it’s fascinating,” I said to the empty bottle in front of me.

“Ah well, there are some things I’ll keep to myself,” said a silky voice by my ear.

“I solved that problem. The toolbox is under the table.”

The suit withdrew the violin case. “Oh, excellent! Truly excellent. It’s so good to know a pony with a modicum of civility, and common sense.”

I nodded politely. “Likewise. But, and I hope I’m not intruding on your personal business here…why did they have to die? They were just some useless punks, not worth the ammo expenditure. I find it hard to believe somepony of your refinement would associate himself with such vulgar individuals.”

The voice exhaled wearily. The suit rustled. He slid into the seat opposite, a slender grey stallion in a brown pre-war hat, eyes hidden behind dark, tinted lenses.

“In all honesty…I made a mistake. They were hired to perform a very specific task, something even those putrescent creatures couldn’t fail to comprehend. They succeeded, but I underestimated the true level of their degeneracy. They tried to blackmail me, and thus my employer. A truly foolish mistake…”

He toyed with the glasses, and smiled wickedly. “Thank the goddesses for thoughtful and intelligent ponies like you and me.”

“Indeed…” I leaned forward “But currently, and I hate to bring up so crass a matter, I am mindful of the promised reward.”

His predatory grin widened in amusement.

“But of course, you are impatient for your recompense.”

A briefcase was slid across the table, clinking provocatively. I snapped the clasps, and strings of caps smiled up at me.

I smirked half-heartedly at my reward. The thousand caps, once so shiny and alluring, were now as dull as the rest of life.

“All seems to be in order,” I said, holding out a hoof. “Thank you Mister Umbra, it’s been a pleasure.”

We shook. He stood to leave.

“Likewise, Mister Outmode. And here, I want you to have this…”

He withdrew a data stick from his breast pocket and set it silently on the table.

“This is my frequency. I shall contact you if I should require your services again.”

He smiled again. Like a snake with all the aces.

“Good evening Mister Outmode…”

"Just a thought, but why a violin ca...?" I began.

And then he was gone, leaving nothing but a briefcase of blood money and the smell of cologne.

I watched the space where he had been, lost in thought.

It wasn’t enough. Death after death, life after life, shot after shot it wasn’t enough! My life had been taken, and I felt I had earned the right to take what I was owed. Too much time had passed while I slept, dreaming in the halls of my enemies. There was nothing for me here save death. What else was I fit for? They had made me a killer. Every life I took flooded me with narcotic joy, and the taste of blood gave me life in turn.

I had drunk blood. I was a mutant, a stereotypical freak. I had imbibed the ichor of another pony to preserve my own vitality. The taste, so thick, so heady, so…right.

Horror and self-loathing fought for dominance. Nausea won, and I choked back a snarl, fighting to hide the turmoil.

I was nothing.

Before I knew it the inhaler was before me, my magic crackling around it. I must have levitated it from my saddlebags. The little glass reservoir, with brown, brackish liquid swilling around within. The poisoned chalice, my enabler, the only thing that kept the dreams at bay.

I looked at the grey world, with its rusty walls, sputtering lanterns and drab, dull ponies. They huddled morosely around the tables, drinking away their worries, preserving sanity for one more day on the path of their meaningless lives.

The inhaler was at my mouth, a tingling, tantalising sweetness at my lips.

I pressed. I breathed. The taste of sugared cherries and sunshine.

The world swam into focus.

I exhaled slowly, feeling it sink in. The calmness, like a warm, comforting shroud settling over me. I watched the smoke in fascination. It changed colour, leaving a trail of rainbows, swirling up and up. The troubles were still there but they were muted, like noisy neighbours beyond a wall. All things were beautiful now, surrounded by a halo of primary colours. All the dullness transformed. All the ponies who were so tedious before now floated gently through the soothing haze; every movement followed by light, voices a soft, gentle murmur.

I listened to the slow beat of my heart, and smiled at the wonder of it all. I was content. All was well in the world.

I lay back, and drifted.

*** *** ***

Weeks flew by.

The money rolled in, crooked money from twisted ponies. Rivers of blood swept past my hooves, the deaths blurred, but I didn’t care. I cared for nothing anymore.

Bottles came and went. I began to acquire something of a reputation, overriding the initial antipathy of the locals at having a mutant in their midst. Ponies knew me now, at least in the pits of Haydes, as one of the better hired guns in this seething hellhole. Discrete, reliable, and lethal. My name was whispered in the tunnels, and ponies got out of my way.

I gained little pride from this. The dreadful, creeping apathy still held my heart in an iron grip. Nothing excited anymore. There were only the days blurring past, and the sweet smoke of soporific paradise.

*** *** ***

“Um…”

“Hello?”

“Is anypony there? Please? Only…I think there’s something out there, so…”

I stirred in my chair. So warm, so comfortable. Cherry blossom, the gravel driveway crunching beneath my hooves, Mother and Father welcoming me home.

“Hello? Anypony?”

I frowned in irritation. Where was that annoying voice coming from? I looked, and Stellar was by my side, smiling her cunning smile, alive and beautiful. Then the house was burning, flames billowing from every window. Glass broke, the trees fell in clouds of sparks, my parents crumbled to ash. Celestia and Luna laughed wickedly to each other in the sky, encircling the world in smothering wings. Stellar turned, looking directly into my dreaming eyes, and spoke.

“Please…help me…”

“Please…help me!”

I gasped and snapped awake, cold sweat, heart pounding fit to burst. I looked around wildly, this wasn’t my room! This was a dark place, reeking of dampness and bile. The sound of laughter and the occasional gunshot in the distance. A weight pinning my legs in place. Panic rising.

Recollection hit. I had passed out in my chair. I looked down, and saw an unconscious mare snoring softly in my lap. I couldn’t recall her name. There was no hangover, I didn’t get them anymore, but still my tongue felt freshly carpeted.

“I know somepony’s there! Let me in! Please! I can hear it coming!”

The voice!

“Hey you! No pony gets in after nightfall! Get lost!”

They came from beyond the window. I gently dislodged the sleeping mare and struggled upright, my curiosity and a faint, hopeless kind of hope burning through the cobwebs in my mind. I reached the window, and desperately ripped it open.

From my lofty perch I could see directly down the tunnel leading to Haydes. The main gates were directly below my window. There was a tiny figure down there, illuminated in a harsh spotlight. A filly, a foal, shielding her eyes from the white glare, casting a long, sable shadow into the dark. A sentry leaned from a hatchway in the wall beside the gates.

Bitter disappointment crashed down upon me. Now that I was properly awake I could hear the voice was different, the high falsetto of a foal, with some foreign sounding accent I couldn't identify. In my drug addled state I had mistaken her for her. My dreams had colluded to break me down. I turned to go.

“I can pay!” she yelled, her foalish voice shrill with desperation. “I have caps! Just please let me in!”

“I don’t give a damn how many caps you might have, you ain’t gettin’ in!” spat the sentry. “I ain’t lettin’ you in an riskin’ a ghoul infestation!”

I stopped. I needed to walk away, I needed another hit, I needed…

Crap. She was just a foal. Nightmare damn it but I couldn’t just let this go.

I leaned out the window.

“Hey arsehole! She’s just a filly, let her in already!”

They both looked up. I couldn’t make her out in the halogen beam, but the guard was the typical slab-featured thug Haydes liked to employ.

“I don’t’ see what business it is of yours, killer!” he bellowed, face twisting in rage. “You’re mutie trash an’ can go fuck yourself!”

I began to get impatient.

“So you know me then? Tell you what, I’ll go down the bounty office and see exactly how much your head is worth! How about that dickhead?”

“You wouldn’t dare!”

“Oh so you are worth something!” I sneered scathingly. “Just you wait there and I’ll come right down…”

The hatchway slammed shut.

We looked at each other, the little filly and I. There was an embarrassed pause.

“Um…thank you?” she quavered.

“Don’t mention it…” I said, and raised my voice slightly. “And I’m sure somepony just happened to be testing the mechanism as you came along...?”

Silence.

There was a metallic grinding noise, yellow warning lights flashed and the gates groaned and shuddered as they ponderously slid open.

Something stepped into the light. A pony, flesh ragged and decaying, yellowed bone protruding at impossible angles. Crooked teeth gleamed in the white revealing light. The filly screamed.

Then S.A.T.S. highlighted the tunnel in a comforting green glow. I drew my revolver, and shot it in the face. Rotten meat plumed in the air. Shards of skull pinwheeled away. The body hit the floor with a very final splat.

I drew a hoof across my face, angry with myself and tired to the bone. The elegant six-shooter hung beside me in a field of magic.

“And there we go, welcome to Shithole-Upon-Refuse. Good evening to you, and may Luna guide you in whatever you choose to waste your life on.”

I withdrew, dropped some caps on the unconscious mare, and made for bed.

*** *** ***

“Um…excuse me?

I blinked in surprise. Was that the Lick talking? It had sounded real, but then again there were a lot of rainbows about today.

“Um…they told me you’re for hire?”

I turned my head, the movement taking an age and causing the world to spin uneasily. There was nopony there. A polite cough drew my attention downwards.

It was the little filly from last night. Up close she looked even smaller, an earth pony foal in the tattered remnants of a blue jumpsuit, with a Pip-Buck encasing her right foreleg. Both unkempt mane and tail were a shimmering raven black, contrasting with a coat of pure scarlet. Or at least they probably would have been if they weren't filthy with ingrained dirt. She looked up at me, her little button muzzle twitching nervously, and I was startled by her eyes. A flinty, steel blue, determined, fragile. Those icy orbs scanned me, for a moment piercing the chemical haze, and I experienced the horrible feeling of being read like an open book. She had seen terrible things in her young life.

I shook my head, sending a wave of distortion through the music in my skull. The drugs were messing me up. I was far too wasted.

“Sorry, what did you want?” I said, not unkindly.

She gulped, gaze flickering nervously. “I want to hire you. You’re a mercenary right?”

Well this was a surprise.

I grinned in amusement, swaying on my seat. “Aren’t you a bit young to be hiring scum like yours truly?”

“I can pay!” she said indignantly, chin lifting stubbornly.

I very nearly laughed out loud as she plonked one of her saddlebags on the bar top, the crash of caps clearly audible.

“Two thousand, and another five later. Is that enough?”

I considered her, head on one side. She was serious. Very serious. To have the guts to trot up to the gates of Haydes, at night, with ghouls on your tail, and carrying that amount of loot across the wastes. That took something. I was genuinely impressed, and the price she offered was more than enough to buy the heads of an entire town.

“Fine, who do you want dead?” I gave a mirthless snigger. “I almost feel sorry for the poor shmuck if he’s got enemies like you.”

“That’s not why I need you. I want you to take me…” she glanced at her Pip-Buck “…to the Skyhook Control Station in Nizhny-Ponygova.”

My augmented brain clicked and whirred, a green map template winking into existence with a little shock of pain. It zoomed out, and further out, until finally the entire continent of Equestria flickered in my eyes. A dotted line originated from the tiny square labelled Haydes, bypassing all the unnamed coordinates that had been downloaded into my head, and drew a perfectly straight line right to the edge of the map.

She wanted to go beyond Equestrian borders. North-East, to somewhere in the frozen wastes beyond.

“Well aren’t you just full of surprises,” I murmured, looking down at her worried face through the green scripts. A thousand questions begged to be answered, and my natural paranoia was screaming to itself in impatience. That accent for one. A front of the muzzle way of speaking, with the T and H sounds strangely pronounced. Definitely not from Equestria that's for certain. Then why was she here? She was obviously desperate. Running away? Certainly. Running to something? Definitely. From what and why however would have to wait. She was determined to give nothing away. I could see it in her face, in the foalish expression of defiance, tight lips, jutting chin, ears flat back against her head. But her gaze flickered nervously, around and behind her, across me, hoping and fearing. She was worried, desperately so. Desperate enough to hire the ugliest, meanest mercenary she could find. Of course I wouldn’t say I was ugly as such but…whatever.

My train of thought derailed. Things were too blurry, too colorful, too…rainbow-y. Concentrating hard, I managed to put one hoof after another on the unaccountably mobile floor.

“Less’ go…” I mumbled through numbed lips, “Less’ go b’for I sober up…”

Snagging the saddlebags on the third try I swam through the bar, the little one trying to lurk close to my legs without actually touching, unwilling to go near the other patrons but equally unnerved by me. I stumbled a few times, other drinkers magically melting away from my erratically weaving route, but still politeness maintained its strength.

“S’rry…s’rry…s’rry old thing…”

My head was so heavy it was all I could do to find the corridor leading to the rooms. The door opened when I fell against it, and the remaining momentum carried me through the stacks of salvaged junk and onto the threadbare couch in the middle of the cramped apartment. From my recumbent position I could just see her standing on the threshold, staring in horror at the lounge area filled with guns, ammunition and nice clothes I had picked up from my more stylish victims.

“This is…where you live?” she asked, aghast, as if hoping I would deny it.

I grinned at her and spread my forelegs, encompassing the small, square room.

“Yup! This ‘s my abode, my chamber, my…what’sit…” I stared in askance at the ceiling lamp. “Castle! That’s it! This ‘s my castle,” I finished, beaming triumphantly.

My vision began to darken around the edges, and my eyelids were like lead. "Don' worry, you c'n have th' bedroom. It's clean. I'll have th' couch thing..."

I heard her hooves click gently past and the door to the bedroom creak open and closed. The room was silent again. Deathly, horrible, lonely silence. But...there was someone else wasn't there. A little soul in the other room. I hadn't even asked her name. My squelching brain, for some bizarre reason, threw up some words, and a song.

"Goodnight...sweetheart...well it's time to go..."

I heard the soft murmur of voices in the bar below. Laughter. The clink of glasses. A series of gunshots and a scream in the city below.

"Goodnight...sweetheart...well it's time to go..."

The soft noises next door. The noises of another pony living through their own troubles.

"I hate to leave you...but I really must say..."

What a stupid song.

"Goodnight...sweetheart..."

Unconsciousness dropped like a ton of bricks.

*** *** ***

Arrgh.

No hangover. That's cool. Just cold sweat, jelly limbs and the taste of...paint thinner? Perhaps with a hint of chemical waste? A sprinkling of iron filings maybe?

The couch was far from comfortable. But I was too fuzzy, too tired. The ceiling was interesting enough for the moment. Sagging plaster with cracks grinning down at me, gibbering mouths that my battered brain filled with spiteful whisperings.

The dreams. Wisps, flickers, splintered nothings that gave the promise of fear. I couldn't remember them, but I knew I had been afraid. Very afraid. My coat was soaked in chill perspiration, and I felt the distinct exhaustion of a troubled night's sleep.

A gentle breeze...

The smell of cherry blossom...

And from the sky...

Hardly worth sleeping at all.

"They will pay..."

I shifted my weight, and rolled from the couch and onto my hooves, wincing as I felt last night's indulgences sloshing around my body. Too much booze, too many stranger chemicals. And they were still not entirely working to drown out the nightmares.

No matter, a more urgent message was being transmitted via the bladder regions. Trying to focus through the cotton wool in my head was difficult, but manageable, as I staggered blearily through the piles of clothes that was my stolen wardrobe and into the tiny bathroom, barely five hooves across, stinking of inaccuracy and green stains seeping through the cracked tiling. Staring fixedly at the graffiti on the walls, I divulged myself, mentally correcting the grammar and some of the more impossible anatomical descriptions. The toilet wheezed and gurgled like an old stallion as it flushed. It reminded me of Skillet's laugh, and for some reason this struck me as incredibly funny. A little hiccup escaped my muzzle, startling me. Then I realized it had been a long time since I had laughed at something properly funny before.

When had that been? Oh yes, when I strangled that raider a while ago. But when had that been? A few days ago? Weeks? A month? Nightmare only knew.

There was a mirror bolted to the wall. An old fly-specked thing, with a large splintered star in the corner from another careless tenant. I looked into it, like I looked into it every single day, considering the long, elegant muzzle, the wide yellow eyes that glittered in the lamplight, running a hoof along my slender jawline. Perhaps I'd gotten used to the face inside that mirror...perhaps I even liked it.

"Who's the prettiest freak in Equestria?"

I gave an exaggerated wink. The reflection returned it roguishly.

"You are..."

The words rang a little hollow.

"What are you doing?"

How did I not notice her? She was standing right there. There was a little yellow spike at the bottom of my vision, alerting me to her nearby presence. I could even see her in the edge of the damn mirror! A pale blue eye watched me from the corner of the mirror glass, sullen, maybe even accusing? I swiveled with all the dignity I could muster.

"Preening. What does it look like?" I replied casually. She shrugged noncommittally in response. Yes, she was definitely hostile, a foalish scowl marring her otherwise angelic features. Her mane was all stuck up along one side, ingrained dirt having solidified overnight. She looked like she'd been crying.

There was no point in asking what was up, she obviously wasn't feeling talkative, but that jumpsuit was telling tales in her place. I'd been too plastered yesterday to comprehend what I was seeing, but now I recognized that ragged blue fabric, yellow trim faded to a sickly off-white. I had seen it shining grandly on the towers of the past, dominating the billboards of a tall and unspoiled Manehatten. Reserve Your Spot Today! Where Will You Be When The Holocaust Comes? Oh of course I wasn't selected for a place in a Stable, being completely off the official statistics at the time, at least from the ones not to do with law enforcement. The official stance had been that Stable residency was randomly decided among the population, but it had always seemed to be the well-groomed ponies from the better side of town that made the lucky draw. At least the shiny suits from Stable-Tec never showed their muzzles around my neighborhood anyway.

"Bathroom's all yours sweetheart," I said, bowing theatrically. "If I was you I'd take a shower, you look like you've been dragged through a hedge sideways."

She glared, and swept past with all the dignity of a queen, muzzle skywards in indignation. I stifled a snigger as the door slammed shut.

So...a little Stable dweller comes all the way from another land with a sackful of money and something on her mind. Something on her tail as well, something that she required immediate and possibly violent protection from.

I stood among my collection of weapons, and smiled again. Perhaps this would be an interesting diversion.

Suddenly I whipped around, the lights in my eyes blinking a warning. Among the crowd of peaceful yellow spikes indicating the bar's patrons a group of other markers winked into existence, getting steadily closer and glowing a threatening orange. No doubt about it, they were coming here.

"Miss!" I called over my shoulder, focusing on the front door in anticipation, "I should hurry! We may have company!"

There was a crash from the bathroom and the door snapped open again, the filly emerging with mane dripping wet. She was also terrified.

"What! No! They can't have..."

Her eyes were wide with fear, ears plastered back, and she had begun to shake. She stood frozen in the doorway, small, gazing at me with terrified pleading. "We have to go!"

I was startled. She really was afraid. That noble filly from earlier was gone, replaced with a simple frightened foal.

The orange spikes grew closer. The bar sounds had quietened, the patrons knew trouble when they saw it. I could hear hooves in the corridor, and the clink of metal.

Fuck it. Time to go to work.

I strode for the window, grabbing my machete on the way and slinging it around my shoulders. Ripping the shutters open and leaning out I considered the drop. The ground was about twenty hooves down, not too far for what I had in mind. Turning, I gazed blankly at the little filly standing bemused in the center of my room.

"Ladies first," I said, gesturing gallantly.

The door shook to thunderous knocking, the kind which says to the listener that the knocker is on a thin thread between knocking and battering. She scuttled forward, looking up at me for reassurance. I grinned back, and gestured again. She could barely reach the windowsill, standing on tip-hooves to peer over at the drop below.

"But...how can I...?"

"Hold on sweetheart," I said gleefully, and summoned the magic. My horn sparked, a tendril of crimson force reaching out and seizing her around the middle. With a gentle tug she was lifted out, struggling and bleating in distress, hanging over the abyss in a slender red rope of force. She weighed far less than I expected.

"Haydes City Watch! Open this door! Now!" bellowed a voice, the door rattling in its frame once more. I ignored it, concentrating on lowering my tiny employer to the ground far below. Watch personnel eh? Perhaps they'd finally had enough of me.

The still nameless filly touched down on the concrete just as the door burst open, lock tearing away. I hastily dropped my saddlebags through the window, turned, and was unimpressed. Haydes City Watch, another name for ponies with more brawn than brain cells, more cousins than functioning contraception. Five of them were arranged in a semicircle, two others taking up station in the corridor. They were a ragged bunch, dressed in a mildewed mixture of clothing and armour, the only uniformity about their persons being the stained shields pinned to their barding. Oh, and the eclectic array of large, intimidating firearms.

Let's see. Well armed, but clearly somewhat stupid. Time for some misdirection.

I let my face slide into a lopsided rictus of inebriation, slouching slightly to one side.

"S'rry lads, wuz sleepin' when you knocked." I slurred, smiling, and made a wide, drunken gesture of apology.

I laughed inwardly as they visibly relaxed. It was much easier to arrest a happy drunk, and judging by their appearance some of them were clearly regular customers down below. A glance at all the empty bottles I'd never got round to clearing out sealed the deal.

One of them stepped forward, ragged greatcoat swishing and shotgun barrel lowering to point at the floor.

"You Outmode?" he asked gruffly, looking me up and down.

Honestly, how stupid could one inbred be? Not like there's many other skinny freaks with electronic manes!

"Yep!" I said happily, swaying gently. "I'm Outmode, biggest, meanest..." I tottered, deliberately knocking some bottles to the floor, "...bugger!"

Some of them chuckled. That's right, go ahead and laugh. Laugh at the funny drunken freak.

"Kill them all..."

"Well, yer te' come with us," said the lead Watchpony impassively, laying a hoof firmly on my shoulder and gently lifting my machete away, "Melody wants te' see ye'."

I carefully maintained my expression of imbecility. This was...interesting. Nopony had ever seen the elusive manager of Elysium. She didn't get out much apparently, but that didn't matter, because she employed numerous unintelligent but frustratingly loyal bouncers to go out for her. Haydes belonged to Elysium. The club supplied all the resources the city needed, and thus the club was the city. There had been a mayor, once, before Melody had his brains plastered to the dance floor in a tragic accident. It did not do to upset her. She tended to spread that upset around. And she wanted to see me.

What could it be? I'd killed in her club before, and there had only been a vague, half-hearted pursuit of justice before the deed was forgotten. So it must be something else. Something important, as her goons hadn't simply killed me yet. Perhaps it was time to get out of the city for a while.

"Jus' a sec," I mumbled, and looked around vaguely. Damn, so many nice things. I didn't need much food, I could easily scavenge that out in the wastes, but so many lovely clothes I loathed to leave behind.

Ah. But there was only one thing that was truly irreplaceable right?

I looked beside the ruined door, and there it was. Tossed carelessly aside in a crumpled heap but still absolutely gorgeous. I walked over, picked it up, and stroked it lovingly, breathing in the scent of premium synth-leather and stale gunsmoke. A beautiful, slim-fitting black jacket, with chrome-spiked epaulets, razor-sharp lapels and a slender, gleaming chain across the breast. It had been expensive, normally impossibly so, but the mare at the counter had been ever so grateful for the mysterious disappearance of her husband that she had given me a sizable discount. Still, worth every. Single. Cap.

I shucked it on, relishing the sensation, and grabbed a bottle of Steelbit vodka from my overflowing drinks table.

"Aright, less' go."

They closed in, creating an impenetrable ring around me as we filed out into the corridor. I was still a head taller than all of them, and I made sure to stagger drunkenly as I looked about, calculating. So, time for an escape plan then. I patted my breast pocket, and found my cigarillos. I didn't smoke, it being a filthy habit with no discernible benefits, chemical or otherwise, but the slim cylinders of fragrant tobacco were a good way of impressing potential employers. Withdrawing one I fit it comfortably between my teeth, and leaned over to the nearest of my escort.

"Got a light?"

He blinked in surprise, then shrugged and drew a lighter from within his coat. The bar ahead was packed, and my escort was having trouble forging a path through the throng, and in the temporary lull the stallion held the flame steady as I lit up. The cigarillo glowed like a banked fire and I inhaled, tasting the complex flavors of decadence.

The crowd began to move, parting like a sea before the Watchponies. We crossed the room. The lead stallion had my machete at his side. The door was getting closer.

I checked the area around us. Crowded with nervous ponies, yes, but the guards probably wouldn't think twice about collateral damage. Damn. Couldn't be helped. I smoothly slipped the cigarillo from my muzzle and dropped it into the vodka bottle, glowing tip an inch above the clear, volatile liquid. Tables. Left and right. Five paces from the door.

Perfect.

I ducked, kicked, and the lead guard was on the floor. A burst of magic, and my machete was beside me as I leapt, vaulting from the back of another guard, forward and over one of the tables, turning it over. I thumped to the floor as gunfire boomed and hoof-sized holes appeared in table's underside, lined with blood.

Absolutely...perfect.

Screams, splintering glass. My elation was somewhat dampened at the thought of the civilians, but still the thrill was there. The sound, oh the sound! Every shot an adrenaline rush! And the smells! Cordite, alcohol, blood, so many fascinating scents.

No time to enjoy it. I looked mournfully at the cigarillo in the bottle. Such a waste, but again, necessary. With a sigh of regret, I tossed it lightly over the fallen table. With a dignified tinkle of glass and a throaty foom a tongue of yellow flame leapt up, joining with the pools of spilt booze on the floor to create an impenetrable wall. The smell of smoke joined my nasal orchestra of war.

Standing, I brushed some burning spirit from my sleeve, not wanting it to leave a mark, and walked out, closing the door behind me out of politeness. Okay, stock check. Blade? Check. Gorgeous jacket? Check. General awesomeness? No, no that's going too far, don't get too fond of yourself you moron, it's unseemly.

The damp concrete steps clattered coldly beneath my hooves as I hurried down them at as dignified a pace as I could muster, and turning the corner I saw the main gates to the city, with one bored-looking stallion slouched in the guard hut beside them. The road was sparsely populated, most of the population either still in bed or carrying on last night's revelries. Slowing to a more casual pace, I strolled up and knocked on the window, causing him to jerk upright and snap off a smart salute to thin air, before he focused on me. He relaxed, and grinned in a friendly manner.

"Ah shit it's you Outmode, 'sup buddy?"

I smiled back. I genuinely liked Spike Shield. He was one of the nicer guards, and I felt bad about the trouble this was going to bring him. "No time to chat my friend, I've got business outside. I know it's not strictly protocol to let folks through this early, but do you think...?"

He waved a hoof in dismissal, and pressed a key on his terminal. "Naw don't worry 'bout it, I owe you after that shit with the escaped prisoner. I swear after you brought 'er back she wus' eager to hole up in a nice warm cell!"

I grinned and nodded in thanks as the gates shrieked and began to open.

"Don't matter anyway, I'm off soon," he continued, "Wus' thinkin' of headin' up to the Gatehouse." He cocked his head, and I also heard the noise emanating from the bar upstairs. "But per'aps it's a little busy at the moment."

Oh damn, should I? It's so terribly crass, but this was just perfect.

Still smiling, I nodded. "Yeah, it's packed. Practically cooking in there."

The gap between the doors widened, revealing a tiny, sad little filly, forlornly sitting alone in the middle of the tunnel beside my bulging saddlebags, illuminated in the yellow light, looking up in hope and not a little dread. She looked so sad, so afraid, I immediately trotted up to her, and offered her an apologetic hoof.

"I'm sorry sweetheart." I whispered, meaning every word. "I'm so, so sorry..."

She looked up, and studied me. Blue eyes. Like steel, like diamond cutters. A long moment passed. Then she took my hoof without a word, and rose to her hooves.

Absurd relief filled me to the brim, and I felt my muzzle curve into the first genuine smile of the day. I picked up the saddlebags, the susurration of many caps emanating from within as I buckled them over my back. The doors closed behind us, cutting off the light. The yellow glow was replaced with green as we both flicked our Pip-Buck's to lamp setting. Ahead, a familiar tunnel stretched into the dark, and as we forged through the shadows and clouds of steam I felt the pressure decreasing, the sensation of huge, oppressive weight above getting lighter. Higher and higher, further and further the steps led, my mood lightening with every step, until there was one last door ahead. Stained, rusted metal, the last barrier. I reached out, pushed down on the handle, and stepped forward, into the light.

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