Fallout: Equestria, Darkness Falls

Fallout: Equestria, Darkness Falls

Chapter Twelve

“Calm!? I’m completely calm!”

Falling!

I helplessly plunged into some terrible abyss. Devoid of sound, so dark that I could see not a thing. Darkness that devoured every speck of light in existence. The only sensation I felt was that nauseating plunge of my gut and my hopelessly flailing limbs. Time was non existent; how long have I been here? Minutes? Days? Longer still? I had no way of knowing, but it was long enough for screaming in panic to lose its edge. Or my lungs gave out and throat grew raw.

The awful memory resurfaced. The basement of the museum, the strange artifact, the trap that I unwittingly triggered or awoken. The demon had to have swallowed me whole and now I tumbled into purgatory!

I was dead.

I fervently searched for an escape. Something to get me out, something to latch on to. My magic was useless in such a place. There was no way to know which way was up, down, left or right, it was like my body was stripped away from me, even though I could still feel. The one benefit I had was that I could not vomit.

“Silver…”

The light whisper felt like a boom in the unending darkness, yet I still had to strain my ears to hear it. The voice was so quiet that I missed whatever it had said beyond my name.

“Come on, it was just a joke! Calm down…”

I caught it that time. That was Harmonics when she was much younger, when we were both still fillies in school. The memory came up, I was less than pleased at the prank she had played on me, one that I had long forgotten but still remembered the anger I felt towards her.

This time I heard my own voice, small and young and not from my muzzle right now. “That wasn’t funny Harmonics! You’re horrible and I hate you!”

In my abyssal prison I cringed back from my own words. Did I really say that to the one I considered my best friend? I mean, I was mad, sure, and the prank had gotten on my nerves, but...

“Silver, you must apply yourself to your studies if you are to be High Priestess one day…”

This time it was a groan of disgust. My voice came again, cracked and in the middle of puberty. “I know, I know! Okay? I don’t need you constantly reminding me, damn it!”

Goddesses…

That was my guardian, emphasizing the weight of my new efforts. I complained that day, it felt wrong and unfair that I was being held to such a standard when nopony else was. In the end I did what I could, and succeeded, but the raw dread which evolved into some resentment still lingered.

I flushed as I fell through the endless dark, embarrassed that I had actually cursed at my beloved guardian like that. But, the pressure got to me; I was expected to learn and absorb so much and it was taking its toll. I wasn’t entirely to blame… was I?

“Goddesses, damn you!” Oh no. This memory. “Give me something already! If I’m supposed to be what everypony WANTS me to be, let me see something so I can go!”

I remembered all too well. This was my trial, the three days I spent in front of the Great Seal (Or, as I recently learned, the door to my stable). By the end of the first day I had grown impatient and angry. I wanted to get things over and done with and be on my way. The honor and importance of the deed was mostly lost on me; I had been told that this ‘test’ was what would determine if I was indeed to become High Priestess, not the hundreds of hours of gruelling study.
And… if I was being truly honest, that time was still irksome to me. Surely I had proven myself before that, why did I need a vision? It made no sense. The vision itself didn’t make sense either.

Abruptly I could hear the struggling and panic of two familiar mares as they tried to save another from death; Genesis and Gauze as they worked frantically against the clock to save Clover after Dawn had apprehended Whiskey.

“Goddesses damn that thing! It’s nothing but pure evil!” It wasn’t something I said out loud, but something I thought in my head, in the background to the panic and fear that Clover would die. In the back of my mind I was seething with rage. Murderous thoughts, despite knowing how distasteful and cruel such things would be, played out in my mind’s eye at that time.

And I was sorely tempted to act them out. In fact I am still tempted. No mare in Stable 46 would dare act out such a blasphemous deed as killing another. And for that, I looked down upon Whiskey and all those like him with disdain.

The next was more recent. No words or thoughts came, but now it was just raw emotion that coursed through my body like ice water and fire. A vaguely familiar agony shot through my hind leg like lightning. My lungs begged for air as a cold sensation coursed through my veins. Somehow the darkness around me blurred.

I was dying again, running from Ghost with the small white foal.

I feared for my life and that of the young one, but after I learned that another contemptible stallion was chasing me, at least some of that fear turned to a loathing that seethed within. Every stallion I met had been nothing but rude at best (I thought of Sentinel) or an outright monster (like Whiskey or Ghost, even if the latter seemed slightly less so for other reasons). It confirmed to me that the unicorn mares of Stable 46 were the only pure Equestrians. No pony in my Stable would commit such barbaric acts.

More memories, more voices assaulted my ears. I made out a few, like my first temper-tantrums when I was very young; other fights with Harmonics and different fillies, and the fact that I was largely left alone; arguments with Dawn and the anger I felt towards my destiny; doubt and resentment towards the Goddesses when things were not going perfect.

AHhhhhhh!

I tried to cover my ears but somehow my hooves refused to move.

“Make it stop. Make it stop!!” I plead with whatever cruel demon was making me relive my worst moments in my life; my mistakes, my misgivings.

They would not stop. The voices and sounds ran together to become incomprehensible, but the raw emotion coursed through my helpless body like poison. All of everything wrong with me was thrown back in my face. It was that, or recent experiences; the raiders in Goldpeak, their slaves, the horrible promises that Bracket made, the post office full of skeletons, getting shot at, when I shot Death Rain out of the air, everything!! Everything blurred together like a well-blended soup, nothing stood out enough to stir more than raw emotion. It choked and strangled me until the world fell away.

Anger.

Frustration.

Resentment.

I screamed when my mind tore.

*** *** ***

Something was grabbing at me now. My shoulders shook and I fought back, pleading, “No! No! Stop it! Make it stoooooop!!”

“Hey! Wake up!” came a voice that was very much not Eternal Dawn’s (the latest line in my torment had been yet another argument with my mentor, over my dislike for modifying prayers). It was a deeper voice than hers, annoyed rather than patient, rude rather than kind. Yet there was something else; a feeling that I had never expected to connect to that voice.

Suddenly I was drenched, water shoved its way into my muzzle and nose as it splashed over my face, then soaked into the robes I wore. My eyes shot open, wide with panic as I coughed and sputtered, then panted as my lungs tried to catch up with the rest of me while expelling unwanted water.

Who!? What!? Where am I!?

I fought a tense battle to keep from hyperventilating as my eyes darted back and forth. Eventually my panicked gaze landed on Ghost and an old bucket, overturned and empty in his levitation. Half of my vision became nothing but purple and white, my (now soaking wet) mane hung over half of my face.

“Get that away from me!” I snapped, batting away the revolver that Ghost had been poking me with in an effort to wake me up. I had enough sense to realize I was having some kind of night terror or something. Ghost grunted and slid the gun into its holster on his foreleg.

I was back in the museum main floor, the boarded up windows barely lit with streaks of light from the smothered morning sun, the blackness from my dream mostly gone. Or rather, what little of it that could penetrate the thick cloud cover. It was probably closer to noon than morning. But more importantly I was safe. (Well, safe-ish, all things considered).

“-- down there?” It only just now occurred to me that Ghost had been talking. I looked back at him and responded with a confused ‘huh?’. And he repeated with a roll of his eyes, “Are you dense? What were you doing down there?”

It took me a moment to recall: the basement, the idol, the demon and my panic. I checked myself over, running a hoof along my forelegs, chest, and neck; I found no obvious wounds or aches other than the waning ache that threatened to passive aggressively split my head open. I sat back and rubbed my temples in an attempt to assuage the pain.

Ghost, impatiently waiting, shoved my shoulder to get my attention.

“Alright!” I heatedly barked, then winced as my voice echoed around the empty museum. I glanced nervously at the window. I might have just given us away to the slaver caravan. Damn it!

“Relax,” he said at his normal voice. “The slavers left a couple hours before dawn.” He read my mind.

I sighed in relief. But, “Wait, before dawn? Why would they leave early?”

Ghost shrugged. “Dunno. Heard a few shots and went to look. Saw one of the slavers get gunned down; didn’t see the shooter. The whole caravan worked up in a frenzy and took off after them.”

I blinked and tried to comprehend that. What madpony would attack an entire caravan all on their lonesome? I asked that very question to Ghost and he just shrugged, then stated that there were definitely crazy ponies out there. Well, I supposed there could be other marks-ponies like Ghost, but still. Also he added that slavers were (unsurprisingly) not very popular. It was certainly not beyond the possibility that some pony was rearing for some vengeance after a loved one was taken. If somepony had foal napped Dawn or Harmonics, I’d definitely be chomping at the bit for some revenge. But…

Ashes engulfed me, falling from above with the steady click-click of an empty weapon…

I fought the urge to throw up.

“What did you find down there?” Ghost now asked as we tidied up our ‘campsite’. Which was half-good because I needed a distraction, but at the same time I did not really want to discuss what happened.

I paused, remembering the glowing red eyes and the head-splitting pain, then the horrible dream of assaulting voices. I shivered but spoke truthfully. “I don’t really know. I found some kind of ancient artifact; it was mentioned that there was a ‘Zebra exhibit’ that was scheduled to open, mentioned by a terminal I found. The door slammed shut and my torch went out, then I saw red eyes and… and…”

I paused, the vivid memory coming back to me. It was all I could do to close my eyes and concentrate elsewhere. At the same time my headache decided to flare. Vertigo twisted inside my stomach and fatigue stressed my legs. What a joyous time to be me right now.

“That explains the shattered chair.”

I nodded, remembering that part. Forming words to speak brought up bile. “Something… attacked me. I shot at it…” I pursed my lips and fought down last night’s -- actually I hadn’t eaten anything since the raiders; oph.

I found the nearest wastebasket bin and hurled, dumping the contents of my empty stomach into centuries-old garbage. Afterwards I felt very much like the trash in the bin.

Ghost then produced Conviction and gave it to me when I cleaned up a bit. “You hit your mark. I found you passed out on the floor and with shattered bones and feathers everywhere. You were kicking and screaming the entire time; made it a hassle to get you back up here. Also found this little bit of metal.” It was then that I noticed his cheek was bruised. I could only guess that I was responsible for that and I softly apologized, even though I knew he wouldn’t care about being hit. I was not in my correct state of mind at that time (while he sometimes annoyed me to the point where I wanted to hit him, in this case he didn’t deserve it).

In his levitation he brought up the metal shard that was bound in the center of the idol. Without the rest of the thing it seemed harmless.

But I now knew that such things were deceiving. “Why do you have that?” I asked sternly while leaning away, my eyes never leaving the floating piece of metal. The creepy, falsely innocuous thing made my coat stand on end.

“This is star-metal, and very valuable to the right buyer.” Of course he was keeping it for money. Why was I surprised. After all, he did explain that he was a ‘mercenary’ and that ponies like him practically coveted money.

“You should have left the accursed thing buried down there.”

“How many times do I have to say it. Ghosts do not exist.” He stowed the metal shard in a pocket that I couldn’t see.

I glowered at the arrogant unicorn (nevermind, I wanted to hit him now and he deserved that clopping I had given him earlier!), wanting to argue as my experience said the exact opposite of his words. I could not explain how or why, but a miniature pony inside me screamed danger about the little object and was losing her mind over it. I kept my muzzle shut, convinced that I would not get through to him otherwise. Despite how I felt, I now wished he would find a buyer as soon as we reached our destination, just to be rid of the thing.

With our unused traps disarmed, Ghost and I ventured back into the ruins of before. The slaver caravan had made quite the mess, leaving trash and refuse, along with the abandoned body of the pony that was killed last night, stripped bare of his belongings. A flare of anger spiked in my chest; there was no respect for the dead out here. Right now I was juggling who I thought was worse, raiders or slavers. It was a contest I would rather not see a victor for.

“Looks all clear.” Ghost had trotted ahead, using the scope on his revolver to peer down the streets.

“Good, then let us make haste.” I wanted to get out of this area. Whatever threat the wasteland held, there was no part of it I would enjoy.

*** *** ***

The winter in the Stalliongrad wasteland was indeed harsh. In a way, the weather was the most dangerous opponent that one could face in this hellscape. Radscorpions could be fought or at least you could run away from them. Raiders could be outwitted and fooled, and it seemed they were fairly clumsy with their weapons. Robots were fairly straightforward and only needed sufficient firepower to knock out, and as a plus the loud machines would never get the drop on you. Stygians were fairly dangerous, but they only came out at night and could be warded off with nothing more than a burning torch.

But this impenetrable, unforgiving cold? It was awful, cutting right through the bones of Ghost and myself. He bore it far better than I did, having spent his life (which I could not pry with conversation, he always stayed his tongue and deprived me of any small-talk) in this wasteland that was clearly abandoned by the Goddesses.

The wind howled and tore at my face, making it hard to focus and follow. My entire body shook, frozen over despite my thick clothing. The cloak whipped around in the wind along with my mane and tail, unable to help keep me warm.

Though it was not just the cold that had me shaking so.

My encounter in the basement haunted me. My nerves were still frayed and in the wind-swept distance I swore I could see those red eyes watching me, waiting for a moment when I was weak in order to pounce.

Eventually Ghost took notice when I had Conviction up and ready to shoot. He turned around and we paused. He had to yell above the howling wind. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry!” I replied, lowering my weapon. “I’m just really cold!” I lied.

He didn’t buy it, I could tell by the disbelieving stare that switched between my face and the weapon. Ghost levitated up a rectangle cylinder with a screw-on top, made of metal. He removed the cap and held it out to me. “Drink it.”

I blinked, wondering how water was going to help me (or if I could even drink it as it was almost certainly frozen solid). I took the canteen but asked what it was.

“Just drink it. It’ll calm your nerves and warm you up until we can get to town. Fair warning, it’s not gonna taste good.”

Oh, great, he wanted me to drink something that was going to make me sick. Still, I wanted to be warm and did not want to accidentally shoot him just because I was nervous and jumping at shadows. I brought the mouth of the canteen to my lips and took a large swig.

My reaction was immediate.

Goddesses burn me alive with the sun!!

The stuff was absolutely awful! The most foul and bitter thing I had even drank. And it didn’t warm me up, it burned as if somepony had poured industrial solvent down my throat. I coughed, sputtered and wheezed as tears gathered in my eyes.

My discomfort amused Ghost as he replaced the cap. “Good stuff, huh?”

“N-NO!” I coughed back, now trying to massage my throat.

After a few moments, to my own disbelief, I started to feel better. The shakes were gone, the fire in my throat now turned to a pleasant warmth that ran through my stomach and the rest of me, along with a semi-pleasant tingling buzz in the back of my skull. I blinked, surprised at myself as Ghost gave me a knowing smirk. I glanced around and noticed I wasn’t seeing the stalking red eyes anymore. Huh…

“What is that stuff?” I finally asked.

“Cinnamon flavored Firesprite vodka.”

Huh? Cinnamon? Oddly enough I did not taste anything like that, most likely because of the sheer burn. Also, since he had warned me that it ‘wouldn’t taste good’ I decided to guzzle it. Without me asking, Ghost explained that Firesprite vodka was a popular alcohol in the wasteland and worked wonders in many ways, now and before the apocalypse.

I felt pleasant again and could focus despite the wind. What few shadows were present simply stayed shadows. This was… nice.

*** *** ***

We were approaching another part of the city. It was similar to the residential district, but far more cramped and with large buildings, bigger than the accursed museum. The monolithic structures and piled debris gave us a fair respite from the biting, howling winds.

I followed Ghost closely while keeping my EFS up. I needed to practice with it and I had found that it could detect threats from a considerable distance away. I would stop and point out a threat, then Ghost would ask how much the little red dot was moving, then he would estimate (with a surprising degree of accuracy) how far away it was.

“Yeah, EFS works on a pony’s perception. The more perceptive you are, the farther away the spell can detect friendlies and hostiles.” Ghost and I travelled on as he spoke.

I was about to ask how the spell could do that (I doubted he knew the answer, but hey, what harm in asking, right?) when the winds died down and I saw rising columns of smoke in the distance. My first thought was that another store was burning to the ground, but Ghost waved away that notion.

“We’re almost there.”

Another block and we came to a road that was significantly larger than the rest. It was like walking into the Arboretum from one of the narrow hallways of Stable 46; the sudden opening gave me a brief moment of vertigo and my head swam despite the lingering effects of the Firesprite still in my system.

The road was littered with the old metal husks of wagons and long-abandoned vehicles, the paint peeling and the metal rusting underneath. Many of which had the remains of skeletons; some simply ‘rested’ on the steering wheels, others were outside, slumped over the ground as they tried to escape whatever was frightening them. Further down the street I saw a massive metal monster, likewise rusted. It reminded me of Bracket’s armor, except more refined with smooth plates and sharp angles; on top was a massive pipe pointing proudly into the air (some kind of weapon, I guessed). The beast seemed to be blocking most of the road, hence the cluster of vehicles that went on for miles down the road and into the city proper.

With a sinking feeling in my stomach I realized that we were walking through a graveyard.

Across the street, as Ghost and I weaved our way through rows of metal husks, a very different structure rose only slightly higher than the roofs of the buildings. It looked cobbled together with different elements of wood and metal; some were horribly nailed-together planks while others were wavy and crinkled looking and rusted sheets of metal. Among those were several things I could not even name. Walking along the tops were ponies -- not raiders, thank Celestia -- but I guess what passed as ‘civilized’ ponies. They watched us with wary eyes, a couple even had their weapons pointed at us (that’s when I noticed that Ghost was levitating his rifle above his head, the muzzle pointed away from the wall and armed ponies).

I could only assume that it was supposed to be a gesture to show a lack of hostility, that we came in peace. I took Conviction and followed Ghost’s example.

“Halt!” came the commanding voice of a mare. She was on a smaller outcropping of wall that was formed by stacking two of the metal husks on top of each other, and that surrounded a large gate. I noticed too that the area around another gate had been partially cleared, creating pathways that went in different directions. I stopped with Ghost.

The mare, a ruby red coat and yellow mane, was aiming at us through a scoped rifle that looked far less powerful than Ghost’s.

“What do you want here?” the mare asked.

“Trade and shelter.” Ghost kept his rifle raised and visible as he waited for her response. I decided to keep quiet.

Though it was not meant to be. The mare studied me with a scrutinous eye. “And her? Who the hell is she? I don’t think we can take any more crazy preachers.”

I flushed and returned that narrowed eye. Such impertinence, I am not crazy!

“She’s fine,” Ghost answered simply, though his tone suggested that he didn’t really believe his own words. Really now?

The mare shrugged, then yelled over at some ponies I could not see.

Metal screeched as the large door slowly swung open. At the same time a smaller door next to the mare dropped down. She lowered her weapon and a moment later the others did too, though they still kept a watchful eye on the two of us.

I followed Ghost in and was greeted with something that really made me yearn for my home yet again. The ‘town’, if it could be called so, was nothing more than a dump. Ramshackle huts were tacked onto half-destroyed buildings with not a lot of room in the streets to move. I doubted that one of the rusted wagons could fit through here now. Some seemed to be shops that sold things with some kind of theme; one sold nothing but guns and ammo, bringing back memories of Bracket’s arsenal of terror back in Goldpeak. Another sold food, but seemed to be more of the multi-centuries old foodstuffs in cans and boxes. To my horror, another sold the corpses of radscorpions and other creatures, like the rough-hided, hairless creature hanging by a hind-leg.

“What kind of depraved…” I trailed off, shaking my head at the last shop. The pony mare was giving me perturbed looks.

“Not as pretty as your Stable, huh?” Ghost said just ahead of me.

I shook my head. This was… odd, to say the least.

The shattering of glass ahead, a pony just thrown into the streets. She groaned on the ground. From the broken window an angrier pony shouted, “An’ stay out!”

I blinked, the act of violence caught me completely off-guard.

Ghost chuckled. “That’s the bar, where you can get more of the drinks that I gave you earlier. Some ponies can’t pay or they get too rowdy and get thrown out.”

“I see…”

“It’s also where we’ll find some contracts.” Ghost then trotted up to the door and I followed after a moment, just to make sure the pony was not hurt. He reeked a horrible stench and I quickly moved on.

*** *** ***

The place was small, only a couple of tables with a few mis-matched chairs each. A large gray stallion with a messy green mane without a horn tended the long table. Behind him was a large collection of labeled bottles with various colored liquids - yellows, browns, ambers, and even a few neons. One particular bottle had a puke green liquid with little purple globules suspended within. Most of the ponies inside were crowded around a table in the corner, watching as the seated ones played some kind of game with little colored disks and paper thin triangles. Soft music played through the small radio set; at first I thought Harmonics’s music had somehow found its way into this world, but I soon realized that it was a different mare’s voice entirely.

Sitting at another table was a creature I had never seen before. It was covered in gray feathers with sharp yellow claws, and wore thick armor with a bandolier and the word ‘Talons’ emblazoned across the breast.

The creature caught me staring and glared. I quickly turned my attention elsewhere.

I entered behind Ghost, unsure of this place and worried I would do something to get myself thrown through a window, much like the pony before.

“Go ahead an get a drink while I look over the contracts.” Ghost veered off towards an old board that held many pieces of paper tacked to its surface.

I hesitated. Drink? In this place? Was he mad? But then again… what other choice did I have.

I took a seat, nearly slipping on the turning stool, and faced the gray bartender. He was scrubbing a glass held in his hoof, eyeing me. “What can I do ya for?” he asked in a tone so deep and gruff that I flinched away.

“Uhm.” I tried to conjure what drink would be fine. What was the name of the stuff Ghost gave me? “Uh, Firesprite… vodka…?”

The stallion quirked an eyebrow at me, then laughed a deep and rumbling laugh. “Fancy mare likes the strong an’ cheap stuff, huh?” With skill and surprising grace, he tossed a glass on the counter, then opened and poured enough of the cinnamon smelling amber liquid to halfway, the bottle held in his muzzle.

“Thank you,” I said softly and took a sip. This time I did taste the sharp cinnamon flavor. The burn was a little more pleasant this time around too.

The stallion coughed once and looked at me expectantly.

I paused and blinked, then feeling awkward, “Sorry, I’m new around here.” I smiled sheepishly.

The bartender nodded once. “Ah, well no harm no foul, lass. ‘Round here, ponies pay for their drink up front. Fifteen caps if ya please.”

I blinked. “Caps?” I asked what was probably seen as the dumbest question in the world to the big gray buck.

He sighed, then gave what must have been a speech he had given many times. “Caps. Bottle caps. Used as money in the wasteland to barter with.”

Oh. Oh. He was asking that I pay for the drink, but… “But bottlecaps are just… trash… aren’t they?” I questioned.

His eyebrow raised again and he shook his head. “Nah, girl. But if ya can’t pay…”

“Oh, no, no, I can if… do you accept bits…?” I levitated out the little purse, one of the few things that survived Goldpeak. After all, it took more than a burning building to destroy solid gold metal coins.

The stallion nodded, much to my relief and the breath I had been holding. “Yes’am, I certainly do. But just a word of warnin’. Some ponies don’t accept old world currency. And if’n they do, it’s not worth as much.”

The gray buck took fifteen caps -- the cost of my drink -- and explained the exchange rate to me. Unfortunately, bits were worth far less than caps (which boggled my mind) and thus it took nearly twice as many bits to pay off my drink. “Bein’ that you’re new, I’ll give you a… ‘new customer’ discount.” He swept up the majority of my bits that I left offered on the table.

I nodded with a frown, thankful but with more than half my money gone already. I had been hoping that the bits would hold me over for supplies for much longer, but it seemed that was not the case at all, out here. I slowly sipped on my (very expensive) firesprite drink as I waited.

The radio song continued to play until it was interrupted by an overly cheery and loud stallion’s voice.

“Gooood morning chiiiildren! This your pal DJ Pon3 coming to you live from Tenpony Tower.” My ear perked as I sipped, listening to this new source of information. “I’ve got a slew of good news for those of you sitting pretty over in Stalliongrad; remember when I mentioned those two that made their way out of their Stable and took out a nest of raiders in Ponyville? Well, seems like everypony is crawling out of the ground, because yet another Stable-dweller joins the fray. This lovely gal walked straight into a raider camp near Goldpeak, a widely known raider hub of scum and villainy, and hours later the old town is up in smoke! She even rescued a captive and her kids. You probably don’t know it yet, but you did the Wasteland more good than you might realize! Thanks, from everypony!”

“Agh!” I coughed and sputtered, having been sipping on firesprite when DJ Pon3 mentioned Goldpeak and what I had done. And let me tell you, firesprite burns more in the nose than it does in the throat! Gyah! “Wha-what did he...!?” I held my hoof over my muzzle and hacked again, fighting back tears form snorting my drink.

The gray buck laughed, whether it was at my expense or because of what I said, I did not know. “Not done yet, listen.”

I am not sure I wanted to, but I needed time to recover.

DJ Pon3 continued, “That’s about the best news I can offer from old Stalliongrad folks. As always, if you’re planning on traveling through that area, be careful and stay away from the city center as it is still rank with heavy fighting. Your best bet will be to go to Reprieve of Mec-hoof, but for the former remember to take approved caravans, you do NOT want to travel there on your own, kids! Remember to stay indoors when the blizzards brew and at nightfall, and have your weapons loaded at all times. This has been your pal, DJ Pon3, bringing you the truth no matter how bad it hurts.”

Another song by a similar artist starts, a slow and sad tune.

I stared in disbelief at the radio. Was this pony watching me? Why? What for? What did they get out of it? Dozens of questions shot through my head at rapid-fire.

The bartender noticed my reactions. “Since you are new, you probably don’t know who that is, do ya?” I shook my head. “That’s DJ Pon3. He’s one of several broadcasts you’ll hear out here, but the only one really worth listening to. The others are a waste of your time.”

“Oh? How so?” I asked, then took a sip. I figured that if he was willing to tell then I should be willing to listen. Given how dangerous this place was, information may be what keeps me alive.

“Well, first ya got Red Eye. We get his broadcasts about the Goddess’s bullshit Unity and his propaganda. But it’s just that; propaganda and lies. He’ll build a better future all right, but he’ll snap your back in the process from all the slave labor you’ll be doin’ to make it happen.

“Next up ya got Resistance Radio. Them’s the ponies in Stalliongrad center, fighting off the robot ponies. Fire Song is some ‘high general’ from before the megaspells fell. Probably some ghoul, I reckon. He keeps broadcasting that they are the most important threat that Equestria’s ever faced and such, but he seems content to ignore the raiders, slavers, the dangerous critters, and all manner of other stuff that is killing folks. Keeps askin’ for recruits and volunteers, but I’ve heard rumors of them resistance fellows conscripting ponies against their will.”

I frowned. “That’s awful.” But then I gave him a look. “What did you mean by the ‘Goddess’ and ‘Unity’?” I was careful to conceal my urge to slap down his words as heresy, so as to not offend the nice pony giving me information -- for free, I might add -- as casual conversation. Plus, I did not really know what he meant.

“Ah, them are ponies workin’ for Red Eye. Particularly, alicorns.”

I sputtered. “Wh-what!? Did you say alicorns?”

“Yup. The Goddess is a divine being that sends ‘her children’ out into the wastes at Red Eye’s stead. Weren’t much of a problem until a few weeks ago. Been seeing less of the annoying priests that come to preach and more of the alicorns themselves. And if’n ya ever see an alicorn, run. Don’t try and fight them, just run. They’re as dangerous as termaponies and hellhounds.”

My head swam. Somewhere out there was a ‘Goddess’ that was stomping all over the Princesses’ names, spreading their blasphemy. My cheeks flushed indignantly.

“What’s got your pickle dipped, eh?” The bartender asked in concern.

I snapped out of it and gave a weak smile. “Nothing, just thinking.” I paused and brought the conversation back when he shrugged. “How does DJ Pon3 know these things?”

“Informants. Merchants that pass by Tenpony Tower in Manehattan. Mercenaries. Sometimes ponies will specifically go to the DJ to give him news. But I often wonder how he’s so… accurate sometimes.”

That is what I was wondering for sure. I was almost certain he could not have seen my actions in Goldpeak. And I doubted that the mare gave the news to the DJ. Besides, it sounded like this place was really far away from Stalliongrad and Goldpeak.

“Thanks for the conversation.” I nodded to the buck and left a few more bits as a token of appreciation.

He smiled and took the tip. “Happy to oblige, miss…?”

I hesitated, but he had been friendly enough. “Silver Starlight. My position is High Priestess.”

The bartender blinked. “Priestess? You’re not with the Goddess, are ya?”

I shook my head, fighting back the wave of annoyance that he would think that of me. “No, I am not. I am from… someplace else.” I smiled in kind. And at his unease, I added, “I’m here on special circumstance.”

“Business?” I nodded at his question; it seemed an appropriate response. “Ah, well I probably don’t wanna know.” He looked off to the side and spotted Ghost as he was looking up at contracts. “Bodyguard?”

I blinked, confused and asked him to elaborate. “He’s one of them Reapers. Dangerous folks; ‘Specially that one. You know his name, right?” I nodded again. “He’s one of their deadliest. Best markspony in the group I hear. Rumor had it he pulled off a shot from the desert boundary of Reprieve and killed the previous mayor through a tiny little window.” To put emphasis the window’s size, he held his forehooves about a foot apart. “Distance varies, but everyone says it was at least a kilometer.”

I blinked again, shocked at the sheer deadliness of my unicorn companion. I gave him a nervous glance. If he wanted to, he could kill me with relative ease. It took hearing about him from another to really help that sink in.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the feathered patron eyeing Ghost with a scowl.

Bartender followed my glance. “She’s a gryphon. One of the Talons. They’re always in competition with the Reapers. Nasty business, don’ get involved.”

“I’ll keep in mind…” I swiveled back to my drink and hummed. “Tell me about them?” I asked, my curiosity piqued.

“Well, arguably they are the toughest merc group in Stalliongrad. See that barding of his?” I nodded. I had seen it up close. While bleeding to death. “You can tell most of them apart by that specific barding. Kinda their trademark. But be careful now, some can’t wear the barding, so some you won’t even know they’re a Reaper.”

Can’t? Hmm, I wonder why that is.

Bartender continued, “Only a hoof full of ‘em. ‘Round eleven or a dozen. But make no mistake. There ain’t no deadlier force in Stalliongrad.”

I nodded slowly, now a little cowed and nervous about continuing to travel with Ghost. And yet, didn’t this super deadly reaper pony mean I was safe from just about anything if I stuck with him?

At my confliction I downed the rest of my glass in one go. Bartender offered me a second, which I politely accepted and hoofed over the appropriate bits. “Thank you.”

“Any time there, lass.”

“I never did get your name.”

“Oh, everyone just calls me Bartender.” He gave a dismissive wave and then went back to cleaning glasses.

I blinked. Of course they do...

*** *** ***

“I said no and that is that.” I stomped my hoof for a second time. I was not going to allow this.

Ghost, annoyed by my defiance, rolled his eyes. “If you want to make caps, this is how you do it. Unless you want to sell yourself.”

I didn’t know what he meant, but I had a feeling that would not be a good option either, if for nothing else than the disdain in his tone. I reiterated, “We are not murdering ponies for money!”

When Ghost was done perusing the jobs on the bounty board, he had come up with several that we could do. And at first this seemed promising as most of them held the reward for hefty sums of bottle caps (still can’t get over the fact that they used what amounts to trash as money), until I saw that each and every one of them involved ‘kill this pony’ or ‘kill and maim that pony’ or ‘wipe out this group of ponies’. What kind of barbaric practice was this? Why would another pony offer money to kill another!? This was so flank-backwards it was making my head hurt. At the same time it deepened my dislike for my unicorn companion, knowing that he does these things frequently and for something as empty as material possession.

Ghost sighed. “Well, what do you suggest we do then…” He acquiesced and I felt a small surge at the victory.

I blinked at that and tried to think. Remembering where Ghost had gotten the contracts, I stomped back into the bar and found the board, ignoring the still staring gryphon.

“There has to be one that doesn’t involve murder…”

There were still several posts on the board, so many that I had to lift up some of the often ragged and dirty pieces of paper to look at the ones underneath. As I feared, the most profitable contracts were indeed exclusively related with pony murder and small-scale genocide. There were others, salvage contracts, bodyguard, caravan protection by what I could make out, but the sums were a mere fraction of what the disgusting murder contracts were.

My heart sunk. We would have to do ten of these other contracts to equal even one of the lower ones that required killing.

Then I saw one ray of divine hope. “Ah-hah!” I plucked the little yellow piece of paper off of the wall and turned to face my impatiently waiting companion, a smug smirk on my muzzle. “We can do this one.”

I turned the page and waited as Ghost muttered its message aloud, “Wanted, expert salvage team to recover medical data and equipment from Stable 68. Completion of salvage operation with intact data: 10,000 caps, plus an additional 200 to 500 caps per requisition of additional equipment and supplies, exact value to be determined by Dr. Suture & Sgt. Steel Bulwark. All ponies interested to report to the town’s inn.” When Ghost finished, he tilted his head and looked up at me.

I held that smug smile and waited until he responded. “And you’re sure that you want this one…?” I nodded quickly and he sighed. “All right… salvage contract it is.

Yes! I gave a tiny squee at my further victory.

Footnote: Level Up! Speech is at 50%

New Perk: Observer: Your perceptiveness lets you spot things that others would normally miss, also opens up additional dialogue options and enhances speech checks.