The looks on Statchel’s and the “pony’s” face didn’t at all surprise Kiako when he walked into the room and spoke. He was just as surprised himself that he could now understand — in English, no less — Statchel and the equinoid before him, though he kept his immediate emotions beneath a facade of indifference.

He was fairly sure that the method of him being able to understand the duo — and perhaps Razor-Quill as well, since Kiako had only met him after he was able to understand their language — wasn’t telepathic in nature: his time with the Lightbearers, a faction comprised of monks, doctors, and geneticists, had given him the knowledge to protect himself from those who would violate the sanctity of his most private thoughts.

“... And you said he couldn’t talk.” The deep voice of Statchel brought him back from his memories, back into the real world. Kiako clenched his jaw, frustrated with his inability to pay attention to all things at all times.

“I said I didn’t know a word he was saying,” the equinoid said, ears pinned flat and eyes narrowing as she looked at the squat griffon. When Kiako had first set off from Zanesville, a parting gift — and payment — had been an old nag to carry him on its back. His time with horses from then on had given him the experience needed to tell what they were feeling, and right now he was pretty sure that this one was annoyed.

“...And I didn’t know what she was saying, either. As we can see, that’s changed, somehow.” The man shifted onto his other leg, immediately regretting it as the pressure sent a twinge of pain shooting up his lacerated calf.

“I wish he didn’t know how to talk, else none of us woulda been here,” grumbled Rosewing from the corner of the clinic, Kiako knowing her name only by the brief conversation he had struck up with Razor-Quill on the way to get the man’s belongings.

“You were being quite rude,” Kiako replied tersely, crossing his arms as he stared at the female griffon’s back. “I don’t know if you came from either egg or vivipary, but obviously you were born in a crater if you think I’m going to let you get away with your behavior, without even a comment.”

The man heard a snicker behind him from Razor-Quill. “The one time you mess with someone bigger than you, and you wind up in here.”

“Wait a sec, hold on!” the equinoid interjected, cutting off Rosewing’s biting response to Razor-Quill. She looked over to the sulking griffon. “You said that you could understand him? When?”

“When I was ‘escorting’ —” she raised her claws to give a pair of air quotes, something that he didn’t expect these creatures to have, especially since the language and writing styles they used were assuredly not English —”that thing, before I came to the pantry. He’s some sort of nerd, like you.”

That got him a wide-eyed stare from Statchel, and Kiako had a suspicion that the griffon didn’t get a chance to stretch his intellectual muscles nearly as much as his actual ones, which were quite impressive for a creature his size. Kiako gave the much-attentive griffon a slight nod, tossing him a bone.

“Where I am from, I am an Applier and Daedalian for the Techs. Before we go on a side tangent though, we need to figure out why you two are suddenly intelligible to me, and why… Rosewing… was the first able to understand me. I’m quite confident that you are not speaking my language, nor am I speaking yours.

The man could practically see the want in Statchel’s large eyes, the want to ask more questions, specifically about what he did. That would have to wait though, and wait it did as Statchel let out a frustrated sigh.

“It’s gotta be some sort of spell, that’s my guess.”

Kiako was about to scoff at the idea of magic having any involvement — quite openly, too — but before he could the equinoid cut in. “Unless you folks got a unicorn tucked in another room of this place, I don’t think that’s what’s going on here.”

“It isn’t telepathic in nature, either,” the man asserted, sharing the equinoid’s feelings about mythical creatures: there was enough trouble in the world without involving magic and fantasy. “...Unless of course you have a few dozen All-Mind cultists in the next room over. In that case, we’ll need an All-Mind detector.”

The others in the room were staring at him with their large eyes, as if he had just tried to explain cold welding to a group of savages.

“What?” the man asked, quite serious. Realization came a beat later, and his lips formed a hard, thin line at his own foolishness. This wasn’t the Province, and despite the fact that they could all miraculously understand each other, that didn’t mean that his life experiences would have any meaning to these sheltered creatures.

“Right,” Kiako bit out, some of his frustration leaking into his voice. “How can we explain the phenomenon that we are currently experiencing? The information we have thus far is that up until recently — with the exception of Rosewing, for reasons unknown — I haven’t been able to understand your language, and you haven’t understood mine. Suddenly, we’re all perfectly capable of understanding each other in our mother tongues.”

He looked at them, hoping that they’d know something that he didn’t. As of late, challenges of the mind were few and far between, but he at least wanted to have a chance of solving the problem. This, this was something different: it was beyond his knowledge as an Applier and Daedalian. What he needed was a Theoretician, someone with the training and mind for problems of a theoretical nature.

Statchel opened his beak to say something, but then closed it. A moment later he opened it again, this time with a question of a more personal nature. “Much as we all want to know what’s going on, you mind if I ask what your name is? I’m Statchel, Saber Squad’s medic and, heh, technician.”

The griffon’s sudden bashfulness threw Kiako for a loop, and for an uncomfortable moment Kiako was trying to realize what exactly it meant. Thankfully, a rude wisecrack from Rosewing helped move things along.

“Statchel, you’re a technician the same way a nurse is a surgeon. Don’t try and jump yourself up a rank just to try an’ impress a freak.”

“Hey!” the equinoid chided.

“I suppose I should introduce myself in a way other than my job description,” the man said, ignoring the earlier wisecrack and bending at the waist to give a light bow. “My name is Kiako Lalene.” He pronounced it slowly, as Ky-ko Luh-lean, so that he wouldn’t have to repeat himself.

“While we’re on the subject of names, I’d also like to know yours.” A wrist flicked to point a finger in the direction of the most familiar of the group, the equinoid.

“Finders Keepers,” the mare said, nodding in his direction. “I’d say ‘a pleasure to meet you’ and all, but I don’t think our meeting was that pleasant.”

Kiako’s lip twitched in a brief smile, knowing exactly what she meant. “I can’t help but agree with that statement. It’s unfortunate that our current situation hadn’t happened sooner, otherwise this —” he waved a hand across the room “—might not have occurred.”

A retching sound brought his attention to the corner of the room, where Rosewing was getting off of a pile of butter-yellow crates, the same kind that lined the walls of the room. “Lemme know when the weirdo is gone.”

The man sidestepped out of the way as the rose-hued hybrid made her way to leave the room, a gust of wind blowing into his face as the door slammed shut. Well, Kiako thought, at least the peanut gallery is gone.

He hadn’t heard Razor-Quill speak for a few minutes, so he could only assume that he had already left, which meant there were just the three of them now: Statchel, Finders Keepers, and himself.

“...And good riddance, too.” Finders Keepers shifted on her gurney, as if trying to find a comfortable position in which she wouldn’t have a gunshot wound. Might as well wish for the moon, too.

“She really, really hates you Ky-ko,” Statchel said, intentionally drawing out the name in the same fashion the owner of it had originally.

“It’s Kiako; you don’t draw it out,” the man clarified. “As for her hating me, there’s nothing we can do about that, unless you happen to know a good psychotherapist. Barring that, we can solve this problem simply by me not being here. How is the wound?”

A succession of hooves clattering against wood brought Kiako’s full attention to Finders Keepers, who had just slid off the gurney. He had expected her to keel over almost immediately afterward, but to his mild surprise that wasn’t the case.

“Bit stiff, actually, but I can at least walk until it mends itself, right doc?” A hoof pointed in the direction of the bloodied bandaging on her flank.

“Very nice, but let me change the bandages first.” The griffon went over to do just that, but not before opening one of the nearby butter-yellow cases to remove some fresh bandages. Are all of these crates medical supplies?

“You know,” Finders Keepers visibly winced, ears flicking backwards for a moment as Statchel worked on her, “when I first saw you get buried underneath that pile o’ gravel, I didn’t think you’d be what you… well, what you are.”

“There’s really no easy way to ask ‘what are you?’, I think,” Statchel cut in, and for his quip he got a weak whip of his patient’s tail directly to the face.

Kiako took a step back, leaning back against the door and crossing his arms over his plated chest. The signs of him being in a foreign land were hard to refute, but up until now it hadn’t really bothered him. Even in the variety of ecosystems that the Province hosted, people had always managed to prove themselves adept at finding their way into every nook and cranny — from the grassy plains of the Union controlled Northfields to the blasted ecological hellscape that was Alpha County.

Everywhere but here. Decades before the Fall, GlobalTech had bought the Grand Canyon from the government of the time, the United States. While the man didn’t quite know the specifics of what might have lead to that decision, GlobalTech’s legacy had survived the apocalypse: whether that be in the form of the Province’s long defunct monorail network, or himself and the many clones like him.

Mulling it over it made more and more sense that the creatures before him were some type of experiment, and experiment to create a new breed of… something. Soldiers? He could see the griffons as being useful in that regard: low to the ground and capable gliding. The equinoid? Useless, and obviously a failure.

Still, whatever the experimenter’s reasoning, they had done a fantastic job in minimizing human interference to a level that was frankly astounding. The buildings, weapons, and even the very language these creatures spoke had been crafted solely to make them think they had a society of their own. That level of control over an experiment containing intelligent lifeforms was unprecedented.

...And over twelve decades later, here I am to finally ruin a successful experiment. I know of Theoreticians who would have loved to witness this in its prime.

Science for the sake of science: that was what the Theoreticians espoused, whereas Appliers felt that science needed to have a clear goal in mind, in order to benefit mankind as a whole. GlobalTech was long dead, and there were no Theoreticians around to yell at him.

With a hissing sigh he pushed himself off the wall, taking a step forward to finally answer the duo’s question. “I’m a human, Homo Sapiens Sapiens to be specific.”

“H’umahn? Mahn wise-wise?” Statchel questioned, head tilted quizzically. “Well, I really can’t complain, I’ve never even heard of a h’umahn before.”

“Why’d you say ‘wise’ twice?” This came from the equinoid, or ‘pony’.

Kiako opened his mouth to say that he hadn’t, but then closed it. Thinking about it, that was what he’d said, wasn’t it? Except it was Latin…

“I didn’t, actually,” the man said, after all. “But I do believe I’ve found a quirk in this translation phenomena, in that it will translate any word in any language so that others can understand: the words Homo Sapiens Sapiens are not my native tongue, but a much older language used in science, specifically taxonomy.”

His hypothesis only drew a blank stare and a nod from Finders Keepers, but Statchel seemed to understand what he meant, and seemed quite excited. “I know a few Griffic words, let’s try them out!”

The griffon had gained the firm attention of both the man and the equinoid, and when Statchel’s beak opened recognizable words did come forth. Something seemed off, though.

“Well, whatever it is, it doesn’t work for me because I didn’t get any of that,” Finders Keepers remarked.

“Repeat what you just said for me, please,” Kiako asked, moving closer so as not to miss anything.

“Crossbow, mutton, cloud-seeding, sunrise.” These were the words that Kiako heard, just as he had before. That same offness was still there, too: some of the words sounded as if they’d been sped up, as if by sound software.

“Are you aware that some of your words are sped up?” Kiako asked after a moment mulling over what he had heard. “When I speak, does the same thing happen?”

“Actually, yeah,” the equinoid said, blinking with the realization. “Did you hear it, Statchel?”

The griffon nodded at that. “It sounds like some sort of weird unicorn spell, doesn’t it?”

“Please stop with the talk of unicorns, please. It isn’t conducive to the topic and has no place here.” It was the second time he’d heard the word ‘unicorn’ as an explanation for the strange phenomenon, and already he was getting irked by such an ignorant excuse for actually trying to figure out what was going on.

“Well it has to be some kinda magic, right?” The words came from Finders Keepers’ muzzle, but Kiako had no interest in whom the question was directed at. There were quite a few things he wouldn’t tolerate, but the the talk of superstitious drivel made his blood boil like nothing else.

“Let me know when you’re ready to leave, Finders Keepers. Finding an answer to our dilemma at this juncture has proved fruitless and we waste not only time, but brain cells as well trying to come up with magical solutions to the problem.” With that, the man kicked the equinoid’s saddlebags across the floor before pivoting on his good leg to leave.

*** *** ***

“What an absolute ass!” Finders Keepers fumed, speaking only when the door had slammed shut. That biped, that h’umahn, was not only an idiot but an ungrateful one to boot! She’d been the one who had dug him out of that pile, and ever since she’d been suffering because of that decision to do a good deed! Who in Tartarus did that freak of nature think he was?

She wanted to scream, she really did. Kicking over the gurney behind her would have felt so good, but she held herself back: she was better than that. Instead, she merely resigned herself to taking a few deep, calming breaths to settle herself down.

“You okay?” The voice beside her was deep and reassuring, something that she appreciated greatly right then.

“Yeah… yeah, I’m fine now,” Finders Keepers lied, shaking her head. She went over to her saddlebags to check if anything had been damaged.

“Do you… uh, you want us to make sure he doesn’t follow you?” Statchel offered hesitantly. “We can probably do that.”

That definitely gave her something to think about. She had been willing to lead the biped to the nearest settlement, but that was before her encounter with the raiders. I’ve already taken a bullet for him, do I really need to do anything more for him?.

“We can give him a map of the area, mark down the nearest settlement.” Statchel offered, surprising the mare. “Closest one is a few days away, so I don’t think he should have too much trouble getting there.”

Finders Keepers turned around to look at the griffon, into his deep, brown eyes. They stared right back at hers. She liked to think that she was a good judge of character; it had definitely helped her out in the past, that was for sure. Still, Statchel had shot her, even if he hadn’t been aiming for her.

The mare frowned. Even if Statchel hadn’t been aiming for her, the bullet was still meant for Kiako. Would the h’umahn have kept fighting even after being shot? He did seem like the stubborn type, at least from her brief time with him.

There was also the issue with Rosewing’s obvious xenophobia; despite everyone else in the building treating Kiako somewhat fairly, Finders Keepers didn’t think that everyone else in Equestria would be willing to take an ‘ask first, shoot later’ policy.

“That would be nice…” Finders Keepers trailed, liking the idea. Despite the offer, she had her doubts. “I just wonder if he’d even be let into a settlement, or if the guards would just shoot first.”

Statchel brought a talon to his beak, stroking it as if in thought. “Don’t think Rosewing is a good way to judge everyone else, but I get what you mean. Say, do you know if he can read at all?”

Finders Keepers raised an eye at that. “What’re you getting at?”

“I’m saying that if Kiako has his own language, then he probably only knows how to write in that, right?” the griffon began, waiting a moment for the mare to nod her head before continuing. “Right, well if that’s the case, I don’t think he could read any map we gave him.”

The earth-pony’s stomach sank, head lowering in resignation. As much as abandoning the strange biped to the wasteland appealed to her, she knew that it would be one of those things that weigh her down for the rest of her life if she did. She didn’t want anyone to die because of a choice she made, even if it was a stranger.

With a mournful sigh Finders Keepers raised her head to look back to Statchel. “I don’t suppose one of you could do it?” she pleaded, already knowing the answer she’d get.

Statchel gave her a sympathetic look, before shaking his head in regret. “Sorry, but my place is here. A contract’s a contract, and I’m bound to it until it’s finished.”

The pony gave one last sigh before standing up straight. All she wanted was to make a living in accordance with her cutie mark, but it looked like she now had a mission of a different sort, one she was loathe to do. In for a cap, in for a carriage… I’m probably not even going to get paid for this.

Still, there had to be a way to make her life at least a little bit easier. “Is there anything you can give us? Supplies? Weapons? What were those raiders carrying?”

The griffon considered it for a moment, before giving her a crooked smile. “Get your stuff on and follow me, I think we can give you two something to use.”

Thank the Princesses for small favors, Finders Keepers thought.

*** *** ***

Kiako saw Statchel leave the party and head toward the stairs with Finders Keepers, once again wearing her belongings. If he weren’t otherwise occupied, he might have even asked what they were doing, and when he could leave. His annoyance with the pair’s superstitions had long since passed, instead superseded by a problem that personally affected him.

One of the slim hydraulics that made up part of the brace on his left leg wasn’t matching his stride perfectly, which was a big problem since that was its entire purpose for being: to help him carry heavier loads over long distances.

His first few steps when putting the suit back on had been a real pain, and he had to force the hydraulic to move with his leg whenever he wanted to move. Not a good prospect with the way his calf was. Still, he was fortunate neither he nor his backpack were carrying anything too heavy, otherwise he’d not only be having trouble walking but would be off-balanced to boot.

As for the cause behind it, his best guess was that the explosion that had buried him in rubble had either damaged the power pack or blown out some of the weight-sensors in the leg brace’s joints.

Weighing just over nine kilograms and wrapping around the waist and back before running down the legs, it was normally useful for carrying heavy loads, and didn’t impede his movement at all. Now it was just a hindrance, albeit one that he was loathe to rid himself of. True, he could always get the parts for another one an assemble it, but it was still quite expensive. The nice thing about having lots of money is that you don’t need to do work, all you have to do is watch what you buy.

Do these creatures even use chips?

The man cursed the moment the unwelcome thought had entered his head. If he was the first human to be here, then of course the Bankers wouldn’t be here to regulate the economy or the value of the local currency. Looking down at the little poker chip dispenser on his belt, he let out a low groan as he realized that he couldn’t simply buy what he needed, not unless he took a 9mm shortcut to the nearest LifeNet pod.

Before he was even aware of it the stubby revolver was in his hand, thumb pulling back the hammer experimentally. For those like him, there was always a way out.

“We’re back!”

Kiako jerked at that, turning his head down the hall from whence the voices came, and he was met with the duo that had left minutes earlier.

“Uh, you’re not planning to use that, right?” Finders Keepers asked, gesturing with a hoof to the weapon still in the man’s hand.

“No.” Kiako decocked the revolver, slipping it back into its thigh holster. “Merely checking to see that these rounds have primer.” Even a misadventure is an adventure, I suppose.

“Good to hear,” Statchel breathed out from behind the equinoid. The griffon’s brown wings were spread as though in flight, a useless endeavor considering the weight of the creature they were attached to. Still, despite the fact that the wings would never be capable of flight, the items that were balanced atop them were of interest.

“We’re being given some stuff by Statchel,” Finders Keepers started, looking back to flash a grateful looking smile before continuing, “so that we can handle ourselves on the trip to Stableside.” As she said that, the griffon arched his back and maneuvered his wings forward, the objects sliding down the feathers and onto the floor before him The maneuver impressed Kiako much more than what he and the equinoid were being given.

Unidentified canned foods were mixed with a few jars of what looked to be pickled vegetables, and along with that there were a few items he couldn’t identify, including a trio of metal-framed bulbs full of something purple and viscous. Some sort of jam, perhaps?

What really grabbed Kiako’s attention though were the two firearms that were also on the floor. As far as he was concerned, these weapons looked more likely to explode in his face than anything else. Still, guns were guns, and he picked out the one weapon that was actually meant to be fired by someone with manipulator digits, whether they be talon or finger.

The fact that he could fire it by hand was about the only thing the weapon had going for it. A rudimentary weapon at best, the improvised firearm looked to be made with a heavy iron barrel connected to a piece of furniture with fasteners that looked like they would fall off if he looked away long enough. Add in the fact that the weapon lacked even basic sights and was terribly unbalanced, it was a break-action on a weapon that he could likely already snap over his knee with one good motion.

Kiako brought the weapon up experimentally, trying to bring it as close to his shoulder as possible despite there being no actual stock. He had no idea how bad the recoil would be, but he had a feeling that it would only add to his opinion on the weapon.

“Where did you find such a piece of junk? This is amateur work, and that’s being generous. I don’t suppose you have any crossbows?” One of the man’s first weapons had been a crossbow, and its utility and versatility had come in handy during his early days out of Zanesville. I suppose this isn’t so different from back then. I have minimal weaponry, a meager amount of supplies, and a pack horse to carry my things… maybe.

The hybrid gave him a look that could have belonged on the face of any human. “And where would I even find a crossbow? A museum? Sorry, but we don’t have many spare weapons, and you’re lucky that I’m even giving you these.”

Give me a workshop and materials, and I’ll blow your little mutant mind away, Kiako thought, agitation simmering beneath his stoic facade. Thankfully, his equinoid companion — or perhaps “guide” would have been a more accurate term — was willing to profusely thank Statchel for the metaphorical table scraps he’d provided.

Finders Keepers had apparently already stuffed everything in her saddlebags while the man had been glancing over his new “weapon”, and the only thing of what they’d been both given that he could see was the weapon she had taken, hanging from her neck by a leather cord.

Closer inspection of the stubby and battered weapon revealed that it was indeed mouth-operated, much like the magazine-fed pistol the equinoid already owned. This newer weapon was also magazine-fed but, judging from the size of the magazine and barrel, almost certainly carried many more rounds to fire. It didn’t look very accurate, though.

Statchel started moving down the hall again, not toward the stairs but in the opposite direction, away from the pantry. The hybrid beckoned the duo to follow him, before turning around the corner. Finders Keepers and Kiako obliged, the latter moving his head to the side to avoid a jutting candlestick. Turning the corner, they were met with a rubble-strewn room that looked to be the lobby for the building, judging by the front desk and a line of frankly uncomfortable looking chairs that had no business holding a human backside.

Unlike the hallways they had been walking through, this room had no lightsource beyond what candlelight leaked into it. That wasn’t to say that there were no windows in the lobby, but only the frames could be seen behind the pile of rubble that barred both entry and the outside from getting in. Between the two blocked windows was a set of inward-swinging double-doors that presumedly led outside, but only if someone removed the rather large crate of rubble that blocked entry and exit.

Statchel sidled up against the crate, pressing his side against the wood. Legs bending to stabilize himself, the griffon began to push against the crate, the rasp of wood scraping against wood being the sound of progress. The movement of the equinoid’s ears flattening at the admittedly grating noise caught Kiako’s attention, and he couldn’t help but feel a bit of amusement at Finders Keepers misfortune of having more sensitive hearing.

“Do you need help?” Finders Keepers asked, ears still flat against her skull as Statchel continued to shove against the crate.

“I got this,” the griffon croaked, still straining against a crate that was just a bit taller than he was on all fours. He was moving it alright, but not nearly as fast as the equine wanted.

“It would probably go faster if I helped you,” Finders Keepers piped up, starting to move forward. A harsh flick to the ear stopped her though, as Kiako moved past her and toward the crate.

“I’m sure that your doctor would disagree,” the man quipped dryly. He ignored the insult the wounded equine hurled back at him, setting the improvised firearm down against the rubble.

With the man helping to pull the crate whenever Statchel pushed, the duo were able to move it far enough that one of the doors could be opened, while completely blocking the the other one.

A piercing white glare immediately blinded Kiako, and his eyes shut with a will of their own to protect his vision. He stumbled back a few steps, the heels of his boots scuffing the dusty floor as he sought refuge until his headache subsided. He wasn’t the only one suffering from the sunlight either, and he heard two other groans from within the room that weren’t his own. In a way, it gave him a small sense of peace knowing that he wasn’t alone in his suffering.

It had only taken a moment for his right eye to acclimate to the unfiltered sunlight, and by that time he’d already scooped up the improvised firearm to peer out the doorway. With only his good eye used to the sun, he looked around to see if anyone was lying in wait to gun him down.It wouldn’t be the first time.

The only thing that assaulted him was a fresh breeze against his face, the wind carrying a the mixed scent of growing things and a chemical smell he couldn’t quite place. Being inside for so long, he allowed himself a moment to bask in the open air, both the breeze and the sun feeling wonderful against what little exposed skin he had. It was pleasant, but he had things to do. Tearing himself away and ignoring the pleasures that nature provided, he looked back to the rest of the group, who seemed to have recovered from the light just as he had.

“Which way are we headed, and what is the destination?” Kiako inquired, head tilting toward the street. The shoddy weapon was cradled in his arms, barrel pointed away from the other beings.

“I’m taking you to Stableside, but I need to get my bearings first.” Finders Keepers walked by him through the doorway, her ears swiveling just as a horse’s would. If there was anything that the equinoid heard that was a cause for alarm, the man didn’t see it in her posture.

Statchel was next out the door, the hybrid’s wings brushing unwelcomingly against the man’s legs. The sound of the griffon’s talons took a different pitch when he’d passed the threshold, the clicking of keratin on stone reminding Kiako of ticking machinery.

“...And what sort of place is Stableside?” Despite actually being curious, Kiako couldn’t clamp down on the amusement that leaked into the question. Thinking about the name, a particularly amusing thought weaved itself into his mind. One wonders if a stable and prison are one and the same to these creatures.

Before he could get an answer the man was buffeted by a blast of dust and air, and he reflexively took several steps backwards into the lobby. He wasn’t surprised for long though, and a few quick blinks cleared his eyes.

When he looked through the doorway again he could see that Finders Keepers was still there, if slightly more dusty — not that it was easy to tell, what with her coat color. Curiously, she was looking up, not anywhere she should be if she was trying to get her bearings. Peeking his head outside, he turned his gaze skyward.

It felt like he’d been punched in the gut, and if he hadn’t been holding onto the doorframe he might very well have fallen from sheer surprise. So many things raced through the man’s head as he looked up to the sky, seeing the familiar silhouette of Statchel. Not gliding. Flying.

He might have continued to stare in awed bewilderment were he not broken out of it by the insistent prods of a hoof against his leg.

“What!?” Kiako yelled hoarsely, his head snapping down to toward the offending limb, only to see a startled equinoid. The two looked each other for what seemed an eternity, before Finders Keepers spoke.

“...Are you okay?” The voice sounded cautious, as if afraid that the man would yell again. More than that, it was soothing, and Kiako felt some of the tension in his body leave him. That still didn’t remove the weight of unease that hung from his shoulders like a lead cloak, though.

“I’m fine,” Kiako lied, his voice coming out gruff. His eyes shifted back toward the sky, his fists clenching.

*** *** ***

It’s good to stretch my wings again, Statchel thought. While he may have been a bit on the heavy side compared to other griffons he’d met, he had no trouble when it came to flying.

A light chuckle rumbled deep from within his throat, thinking about how he was flying while Razor-Quill and Rosewing were still inside. Saber Squad had been laying low inside the motel, a strict “no-fly” rule being put in place by Razor-Quill once they’d dragged the pony and hu’mahn into the hideout.

And now because she couldn’t keep her stupid trap shut, she’s gonna be in there for just a bit more. If karmic justice existed, that was surely an example of it, at least in Statchel’s opinion. Rosewing was undoubtedly the most aggressive griffon out of the whole group, and her flying style showed as much.

Statchel banked to the left, looking down toward the motel expecting to see two figures walking towards the edge of town. The griffon let the wind take his sigh of annoyance once he saw that the duo below hadn’t moved an inch.

“This better not be like last time,” he muttered, flapping his wings to get more altitude as he widened his patrol path.

*** *** ***

Two days earlier
Haybale, Equestrian Wasteland

From above, the dilapidated buildings that made up the township created a ragged tapestry of many faded colors. Originally built to make use of rich farmland that had previously gone unused before the war, it was definitely built to last. Two hundred years of neglect had not been kind though, and the residential district was a large splotch of muted red, the once proud brick homes and public buildings now crumbling.

The market area wasn’t any better. While still colorful in comparison to the other districts, looters had been through the area enough times that the damage from pony hooves more than outweighed anything time alone could do, many of the stores and stalls being gutted and burned out wrecks.

It was all old news to the griffons riding the thermals above the township, something to which they had long grown accustomed. Their interest lay in the two figures walking through the residential district far below them.

Deciding to investigate, the flight leader broke off from the front of the V-formation, wings diagonal to the ground as he killed his speed enough that he could corkscrew to a lower altitude. With the sun directly overhead, the male could see his shadow expanding on the roof below him, and he killed the rest of his descent with a few well placed flaps of his wings before landing expertly.

The leader’s wingmates arrived a few beats afterward, spreading out on roofs across the street from where they had seen the two figures enter a building. Only when the team was set up did the leader remove his goggles, exposing his blue eyes to the world. The female of the group did the same, her hazel eyes meeting his own.

Unlike the first two the third griffon did not remove his flight goggles, preferring instead to shield his eyes from the bright sun. While not of one mind, the trio of griffons were of one group, their barding all having the same white sabre insignia emblazoned on the breast.

Taking cover behind the reverse side of the roof, out of view from the street the others were looking down on, the third griffon, began to undo some of the equipment buckled to his flanks. Anything that might be needed in the aftermath of a firefight was in the pair of steel medical boxes: Med-X, healing bandages, and the all-important healing potions were the most important amongst the supplies.

As an afterthought, the griffon unfolded the fore-limb brace that was built into the stock of his snub-nosed machine pistol. Making sure that his supplies were safely secured to the roof, he shimmied up to get a good firing position over the street, before nodding to the leader.

Nodding in acknowledgement from his prone position, the leader looked backed into the second story window across the street, machine gun in position.

Just keep it together, Statchel, the medical-griffon thought to himself, covering the entryway with the machine pistol.

Still covering the doorway, he was about to hiss a question at Razor-Quill when he was interrupted by a scream from within the house, and his gaze swung around just in time to be met with a violent explosion that blew out the left and front sides of the building in a cascade of falling bricks and mortar.

Heart trying to beat through the insignia on his barding, he looked over to where Rosewing and Razor-Quill lay prone, hoping that the dust hadn’t billowed from the street and up to them. Unfortunately, whatever explosive had gone off had displaced enough dust to effectively obscure Statchel from the other two griffons, and vice versa.

“Rosewing, fly up and circle the area! See anyone hostile, you buzz ‘em!” came Razor-Quill’s voice hissing through the dust, the reassuring tone of command helping to ease Statchel’s worries, if only for a moment.

By the time the dust had cleared enough from the street, Statchel could see into what remained of the living room and the kitchen, as well as the entryway. It was as if someone had sawn off a section of the first floor to expose the inside to the rest of the world, and it was truly a wonder that the rest of the building hadn’t fallen into the street.

Just as he was about to check for wounded — and against his better judgement, too — the telltale sound of ponies clip-clopping down the street gained his attention, and he forced himself to stay behind the apex of the roof.

Another hiss from Razor-Quill was heard, this time being directed at him. “Statchel, incoming. From the right.”

Statchel nodded his head, rasping his own affirmation in reply. He pivoted on the roof and shifted his view toward a street corner, a pair of talons adjusting the sights his weapon.

He sat there for several minutes, unmoving. Occasionally he would look up to see Rosewing flying lazy circles around the town, throwing in a few barrels rolls for good measure. At least that idiot is too high up to cast a shadow…

Statchel had to wait a few more minutes until the posse of ponies he had heard earlier came around the corner, but by then he already knew they were bad news by what little he could hear. Made up primarily of earth-ponies but with a few unicorns mixed in, he could definitely tell by the grisly trophies they carried that these weren’t scavengers.

Great, not only do we have to deal with this ghoul problem, we also gotta deal with a raider problem too, Statchel thought sourly. He had heard reports of raiders popping back up again, but he had just chalked it up to banditry.

His tongue dry as it ran along the edges of his beak, he fought down the murderous urge to squeeze the trigger until his gun ran out of ammo, and then reload until every last piece of his filth was dead on the street. Normally a calm and collected griffon, this was an urge that would not be beaten into submission. The pulse in his head began beating faster as his rage began to take hold of him, the urge to kill rising with every second. Despite his efforts, a talon slipped over the trigger.

Just as he was about to let loose his own personal justice upon the raiders, he felt a set of talons rest on his shoulder, and just like that he began to felt the rage evaporate.

The whispering voice of Razor-Quill spoke from beside him, “Easy. Don’t let your heart rule your head. We wait for Rosewing to get back to us, and then we let ‘em have it.” Statchel received a gentle squeeze on the shoulder, and that combined with Razor-Quill’s calming words helped quench Statchel’s anger. If only for a little bit.

Talon off the trigger, Statchel grumbled in acknowledgement. The griffon smiled weakly, secure in the knowledge that he’d soon be able to avenge himself on the nameless trash below. That smile quickly dropped from his beak as he heard a screech from below.

“Well lookie he'a! We got ou’selves ah new fuck toy und’uh this pile!”

An overwhelming sense of dread came over the griffon, his hackles rising as though a stormcloud were overhead. That dread turned into horror as he saw one of the raiders uncover the head and leg of a beige earth-pony, one that was clearly still alive.

He turned to Razor-Quill, frantically gesticulating at the unfolding scene before them, silently begging to be given the order to fire. If Razor-Quill took notice of his pleas he gave no sign of it, continuing to watch the situation unfold.

As the lewd comments and suggestions of the raiders continued, Statchel turned away from Razor-Quill and instead looked to the sky for assistance. The sky was clear and sunny, a brilliant blue that would have been one of the rarest sights over ten years ago. Clear skies were not what the griffon was looking for though, and he had found no sign of Rosewing.

Looking back down to where the raiders were, he could now clearly see that the bandit’s prey was talking as well, though he could barely hear her voice. He didn’t need to know the words that were being said though; he could tell well enough just how the stricken pony was feeling.

Once again Statchel slipped a talon over the trigger, his heart heavy with what he was about to do; not with the fact that he was about to take a life — he was quite eager to do that, in fact — but that he was going against Razor-Quill’s instructions.

The raiders’ sudden halt threw him for a loop, the unkempt ponies no longer taunting and harassing their captured prey. He saw the lime green unicorn magically draw a rusty revolver from another pony’s holster before hissing at her followers. In a short amount of time the raiders were all seriousness, and their weapons were out and ready as they looked about the area, their ears swivelling.

Once more the the lime green unicorn was on the earth-pony’s case, this time with a gun against the latter’s head and the former asking questions. Statchel cast another glance at Razor-Quill, who still seemed to be waiting for Rosewing to arrive.

Stifling a frustrated hiss, he swung his gaze back onto the situation below, just in time to see the unicorn’s yellow-lit revolver swing across the poor earth-pony’s muzzle. Statchel was ready to end that unicorn right then and there, but was distracted by the sight of an object slowly sliding towards the wrecked remains of the kitchen.

The distraction was forgotten as another bit of movement grabbed his attention again, his eyes catching the sight of a picture frame falling off a wall before shattering against the floor. That single falling picture frame had taken everybody’s attention away from the street, and it was at that moment that Rosewing struck, zipping down the street and pumping buckshot into the open room.

A beat after Rosewing had finished her strafing run Statchel and Razor-Quill took over where she had left off, letting off bursts of automatic weapon fire down into the gutted building, quickly finishing off the ponies that Rosewing hadn’t already taken down.

In the span of only a few seconds it was over, the raider’s few shots coming nowhere close to the griffons who had vanquished them. Before Statchel could even get all of his medical supplies gathered Rosewing was already starting to scavenge the dead, and by the time he himself was down there the female griffon had moved on to a second body.

She can play with dead corpses for all she wants, Statchel thought as he saw Rosewing tearing away at something just out of view. I have something more important to do.

The sudden flapping of wings followed by the clatter of talons clicking against the rubble strewn floor signaled Razor-Quill’s arrival. Statchel ignored it and continued moving toward a specific pile of rubble, the one covering his newest patient.

Claws wrapped around the edge of some masonry the griffon pulled his forelimbs toward him as though he were trying to turn the page of some giant book. The squeal of talons grinding against stone was followed by a massive crash as the debris was clear of the earth-pony.

“Try not to bring the rest of this house down will you?” Rosewing squawked from across the room, her voice laced with scorn. “We won’t get paid if we destroy all the buildings!”

Statchel ignored her, not wanting an argument to distract him from what was most important: the downed earth-pony. Judging from the quick check of her — and it was definitely a her — vital signs, there didn’t seem much to be wrong with her aside from her coat being slick with sweat and an above-average pulse.

Whatever the reason for her being unresponsive, at least she was alive. Perhaps she had passed out? Either way, a docile patient was the best patient. A sedative would keep it that way, at least for a little bit longer.

A minute and a spent syringe later, Statchel looked up from the pony and called out to Razor-Quill, who was currently digging through some rubble in what looked to have once been a kitchen — at least judging from the refrigerator sitting triumphantly atop some rubble. “Boss, the pony seems stable but I think we should take her to the hideout just to be sure.”

“Why should we have to deal with a pony that was stupid enough to get caught by raiders?” Rosewing countered suddenly, her voice coming from uncomfortably close behind Statchel, giving him startled jolt, “Way I see it is that if she’s not dead we don’t have to deal with her. Boom, problem solved.”

“And that’s why you’re not a doctor, Rosewing,” Statchel said without looking back to the griffoness. He continued to look at Razor-Quill who had since stopped digging through the rubble to give them both his attention. “The way I see it is that we have plenty of medicine, and there’s no way we can carry it all with us when we leave; so why don’t we actually use it for what it’s made for?”

The older griffon’s face worked as if in thought, though only for a brief moment. He gave Statchel a curt nod before giving a glare to Rosewing, effectively cutting off any further argument from her. With a final huff, Rosewing moved past Statchel to get to another body, but not before giving him a shoulder check just to show how she felt about his idea. The male griffon just shook his head went back to work freeing the earth-pony of what debris remained.

“Hey Razor, check this out!” Statchel heard Rosewing call out, her voice oddly cheerful and excited despite not getting her way mere minutes ago. Must mean she’s found something shiny, Statchel thought.

Looking up to see what the female griffon had found, he found that he had been right. Rosewing was holding up some sort of jewelry to the air, sunlight glinting off its golden surface and reflecting back into his eyes, blinding him for a brief moment.

It only took a few seconds for his vision to recover, but it was still uncomfortable. Opening his eyes again he saw that Rosewing was showing her trophy to Razor-Quill, who just nodded his head and said the appropriate ‘yes’ or ‘cool’ as the griffoness babbled at him.

Shaking his head at the female griffon’s antics, he moved gather up his supplies once more. As he was about to stuff a syringe of Med-X away he heard a soft thump accompanied by the sound of metal hitting stone. Statchel’s body tensed as he snapped his head up toward the source of the noise, and he was sure the others were doing the same based on the burst of movement from the corner of his vision. The subtle rattle of weapons being lifted followed soon after.

It was a wasted effort on their part though; there was no mortally wounded raider that had managed to draw a gun on them, and instead the trio of griffons were met only with the sound of wind blowing through the wrecked house.

“I wasn’t the only one who heard that, right?” Rosewing asked to no one in particular, her hazel eyes darting between mounds of rubble and occasionally to the street.

“No,” Razor-Quill replied, his head also scanning the area for any signs of movement. “This was a bad spot for the raiders, and it’ll be a bad spot for us too if we stay any longer.”

A great sheet of debris covering the floor of the house, a mixture of brick, insulation, and wood all covered by a thick layer of dust — something to be expected from a building of its age.

There were parts of the building that had no film of dust on them, though. A lot of dust had been blown toward the rear wall of the living room when the griffons’ had flown in and landed, with trails of pawprints expanding outwards from the large, dust-freeish bubble of floor.

Statchel’s eyes had caught another little trail in the dust, one that was just hidden from view for the others. Unlike the other trails this one wasn’t made by paws or hooves, but was instead a series of lines of varying widths that occasionally curved when a chunk of rubble was in the way.

Ignoring the others, Statchel followed the trail, his body instinctively lowering itself low to the ground like that of a cat he in part resembled. It wasn’t a long trail but it did take him to toward the kitchen, the same area Razor-Quill had been in earlier.

If he hadn’t been following the trail, Statchel would have thought nothing of the patch of blue in the rubble, since there were other blue objects occasionally scattered around the room; a chunk of a vase, a couple of coffee mugs, and other miscellaneous objects.

This bit of blue wasn’t just detritus floating in a sea of dust and rubble though, and as Statchel got a closer look he could see that it was strapped down to some sort of grey-clothed limb, one that ended with a type of object he was no stranger to. It took him a beat to realize that this may have been the other individual that had walked into the building earlier, before the explosion.

“Just need to disarm you first,” Statchel muttered as he braced the limb with a claw while attempting to gently pry the strange, lithe digits from the grip and trigger of a small, black revolver.

Potential patient and raider-victim disarmed, Statchel began to clear away rubble from off of what was hopefully a living body and not just a severed limb. His ministrations had not gone unnoticed by the other griffons though, and he could hear one of them padding over to him.

“What’re you doing? We already got all the good stuff, and you gotta start moving that… pony…” Rosewing’s sentence trailed off as Statchel removed another chunk of rubble, and for a moment both were speechless.

“Everything alright over here?” Statchel was jolted by the sound of Razor-Quill’s voice from behind him. Rather than simply reply, he stepped aside to give the leader of the group a full view of what he had dug up.

“I, um, found the other one,” was all Statchel said meekly, unsure of what — or who — he had uncovered. He held up the small revolver up to Razor-Quill, the weapon carefully pointed upwards. “I found this on… it. Pretty sure that the gun is what made the noise we heard.”

The older griffon examined the weapon for a moment before nodding, handing it back to Statchel. “Good work finding the source of the noise, but we still need to move out of here. Check to see if the —” Razor-Quill gestured to the subject of discussion “— is alright. You wanted to take care of one patient, now you have two.”

“Woah woah woah,” Rosewing spluttered, her eyes darting between the two male griffons. “Bringing the pony to our place was bad enough, but we don’t even know what this thing is!”

“It’s alive is what it is,” Razor-Quill commented, his voice carrying an edge of annoyance. “Saving lives isn’t breaking our contract with the Republic, and if you really want to argue then do it later.”

“How do you even know it’s alive, though! It looks dead to me!” Rosewing insisted, sweep a limb toward the body for dramatic effect.

“I guess your pissing and moaning is enough to wake the dead,” Statchel finally snapped, his voice coming out far more harsh than he had meant it to be. It had the effect he wanted it to have though, and Rosewing visibly flinching as though struck.

Rather than saying anything more he simply gestured to the creature’s fingers, which were no longer pointing outward but had instead curled inward to form a fist.

“Knock it out the same way you did the pony, Statchel,” Razor-Quill said, and soon Statchel was doing just that, needle in claw.

“And no more beak from you, Rose. You’ve held us up long enough, don’t make me take it out of your pay.”

Letting out a hiss, Rosewing complied, walking away from the other griffons. The padding of her paws on the rubble faded quickly, and Statchel idly wondered if she simply took off.

As the medical griffon searched the biped for a vein to stick a needle in, it occurred to him that he had seen the creature’s weapon before, atop the computer on the other side of the room. He cast a glance behind him to look at the little trail that had led him to his newest patient, and wondered.

Author's Note

Well it's about time I got this thing done! It's a relief to finally post this, as now it means I can actually write something that isn't strictly pre-planned! Once again my thanks go to my editor, as well as to Kkat for creating the universe that so many fans base their stories in.

I'd also like to thank all of you for your patience, and I hope you enjoyed the chapter! The next one should (it damned well better) be out much, much sooner!