Sector: Sunflower's Trading Outpost
98 Years 4 Months 3 Days PSR

Neon blue sparks spat past my goggled face as I cut through the outer plating of the defunct generator. Several stray flecks sprang into my fur, but I paid them no mind. Over the past few months I'd become accustomed to these minor injuries, and just took them as a matter of course. To be honest, I barely noticed them anymore. The only protection that was really necessary was the pair of dark-lensed welding goggles I now wore. Unfortunately, I'd learned that the hard way (only a hasty healing spell from my mom saved my vision).

Music blared on the radio in the background, effectively blocking out the sound of the flame springing from my horn searing through the half inch of metal. The song playing was a jazz number. Saxes, trombones, and an array of other instruments made themselves heard through the enhanced speaker system of our radio, which had been converted to a shortwave model three months ago, allowing for even longer range reception.

I'd learned a lot in ten months. Scores of moth-eaten equipment manuals and ancient tech magazines, a few dozen lessons from repair ponies, and lots of trial and error nurtured my still growing repertoire of repair skills.

After minutes of careful cutting, I finally finished making the incision. I released my flame spell and removed the plating. I slid the goggles down my head, letting them dangle around my neck where they generally rested, and lit my horn before peering into the newly created cavity.

The generator had been modded (badly) to use energy cells for power. The energy cells were leaking and had to be thrown out. Instead of replacing them, I would hook up a solar panel job I'd come up with a couple weeks ago. I hadn't tested it yet, and I wanted to make sure the rig worked.

Other than that, most of the damage was pretty standard. Half a dozen wires had weathered away and needed to be replaced. A couple bolts ought to be tightened. Some of the energy storage units required adjustment. The hardest part of the job was getting into the stupid thing.

I sifted through my box of parts, sitting next to me. About a year ago it had been my dad's toolbox, but as my I expanded my supply of repair spells, the majority of the tools became obsolete. It was mostly full of common spares.

After retrieving strands of wire and my screwdriver, I set to work. The easy stuff was done in ten minutes. Now for the fun stuff.

I'd prepared the solar panel setup soon after thinking of it weeks ago, so now it was just a matter of attaching adapters and fixing the solar panels to the side of the generator.

I headed to our wagons and levitated out the panel job, as well as the necessary adapters. Back at the generator I resumed my work. I checked and double checked the generator diagram before soldering the compatible wires together and welding the adapter casing over top of them. Then I worked on attaching the panel system to the outside plating, testing to make sure it was secure and picking up the sunlight. The status screen read 67% EFFICIENCY, but it was cloudy out, so that was acceptable. 67% was more than enough to run this outpost anyway.

As an afterthought, I added a handle to the removed plate and reattached the plate with hinges, for easier access to the machine's inner workings.

As had become custom, I moved ten feet away before reactivating the device. After a nasty shock from a previous project, I no longer started anything I'd just worked on without a safe distance between it and myself. I used telekinesis to flip the switch.

The outpost's porchlight sprang to life, and I heard the air conditioner pick up its steady drone. Excellent.

I flicked off the radio and decided to trot inside for a drink. I'd been fixing up little doodads around the outpost all day, so the clerk would have no problem with giving me a freebee.

Before I could step through the saloon style doors, I was stopped by raised voices at the counter. It was my parents and the owner of the outpost, a ghoul named Sunflower. Fearing the conversation would stop if I intruded, I remained outside to listen.

"–telling you, Knick-Knack, it's dangerous out east. Raiders, slavers, fucking dangerous ponies, are out that way. No, you want to head in some other direction."

My dad spoke up. "Well, our options are limited. We're about as far south as we can go. North is devoid of any settlements for 200 miles, and isn't worth risking unless we're in a caravan with five times our number. And we both know what's out west. East is our best bet."

Sunflower's already gravelly voice became hoarser, as she pleaded, "Please, Knicky, you've known me since you we're a filly. Listen to me. No one who's gone out east in the past few month's has come back. I don't want you, your son, or even your mule-headed husband–"

"Hey!"

"–to run into trouble out there. You could wait here a few weeks for a bigger group, then head north. What do you say?"

"Well, Rummy, it couldn't hurt to wait for a little bit..."

Dad groaned. "Oh, I can't believe this! I haven't heard a single thing about this 'disappearing' bullshit. Knicky, we're shoving off east first thing tomorrow morning, and that's final!" He directed his voice to Sunflower. "As for you, I don't know what you're trying to pull on us, but we ain't buying it! Come on, dear."

I hid under the porch swing as my parents walked out to our wagons, my dad seething and my mom looking concerned. What the hell was that all about?

Not wanting my parents to discover me lurking out on the porch, I scampered inside.

Sunflower was turned away from me, cleaning a mug with an oil-stained rag. I clambered up onto a shipping crate repurposed as a stool and waited for her to notice me. She continued cleaning the mug.

After a few minutes it was clear she was ignoring me, so I snorted and started talking on my own. "Um, I finished with the generator, Ms. Sunny."

"Good for you," she responded tersely.

I blinked. Was she angry with me? "I was wondering if I could get a Sparkle Cola?"

"Sure. Here."

She took a bottle out the fridge. Thankfully, the fridge had its own internal power source, so it had worked even without the generator. The soda was nice and cold. I uncapped it with my magic and took a swig.

Sunflower continued to clean the mug. By this point she was just making it dirtier.

"Er, did I do something wrong, Ms. Sunny?" I ventured.

She glanced over at me and sighed. "Naw, nothing you did wrong, dearie. Sorry for snapping at you. Ole Sunny's just frustrated is all."

"Cause we're going east?"

She gave me a knowing look. "Somepony has big ears. Yes, that's why. Scary things happening out there."

"Like what?"

"You heard me. Raiders, slavers, Celestia knows what else. I've known your mother and father a long while. Your mother's a dear, and your father... well, he wants what's best for his family, and that's what matters. Whether he likes me is neither here nor there."

I considered this. "Why doesn't Dad like you?"

"Long story, not worth getting into." It was more than that, I could tell, but I didn't press her any further.

I took another sip of my drink. "Dad said there was something out west, but didn't say what. What is going on out there?"

Sunflower gave me wan smile. "Nothing that won't sort itself out in the next few years. I've been around a long time, seen lots of things come and go. No, it won't last. Nothing for a colt your age to get into a fuss over."

It seemed like she wasn't going to tell me much else, so I got up to leave. "Thanks for the drink, Ms. Sunny. I'm gonna head ou–"

"Wait a minute! There is something else I want to tell you, before you strike out east. If you run into any trouble out there, don't fight. Run or hide. Try to convince your parents to do the same, cause they're more likely to try and sort out the trouble with guns. I know your daddy knows his way around that revolver of his, but that little pea shooter won't do squat against whatever's out there. So I'll say it again: run or hide." Her voice had somehow gotten even more serious. It spooked me.

"Okay, okay, run or hide."

"That's a good buck. Now skedaddle."

I scurried back to wagons as fast as I could, my goggles bouncing against my chest as I went. That mare was pretty gloomy for someone named Sunflower.

Sector: Sanderhoof Power Plant
98 Years, 4 Months, 16 Days PSR

Run or hide. Good advice in theory. But a lot of things sound good in theory, don't they?

Looking back, the battle that transpired that afternoon must have been over within thirty seconds. But while it was happening, everything seemed to be moving slowly. I can remember everything.

We were approaching the power plant when the calm afternoon exploded with surreal suddenness into a cavalcade of thunder. I saw muzzle flashes from the roof of the plant. My body seemed to be frozen. Run? Hide? I couldn't even blink.

A pair of hooves wrapped around my midsection and tossed me roughly into the wagon. My paralysis broke and I rushed to the side of the wagon to watch the scene unfold.

My parents crouched behind our second wagon while my mother levitated my dad's six shooter out of it. Once he had it in his mouth, he raised his head above the cart and emptied the revolver's chamber. With every shot hammers pounded in my ears. Coupled with the relentless "ratatatatatata" showering us from the rooftop, I was left completely disoriented.

Were we winning? We had to be winning, right? We were the good guys! Those were the thoughts running through my mind when my father's head exploded.

It happened in slow motion. One second his head was there, the next it was a wet red balloon, slowly expanding until it popped.

Then there was red. Red dripping everywhere, with chunks of white and pink and grey thrown in for good measure. Blood oozing down the side of the wagon. Dribbling down my mother's screaming face. Painting the ground. None of the blood hit me, but a piece of bony shrapnel gouged into my cheek, drawing its own burgundy leak.

My mind shut down my body, forcing me into a merciless spectator mode. I couldn't move, couldn't scream, couldn't cry: just watch.

My mom wailed in agony and fury. She lifted my dad's pistol (reloading as she went) and brought a shotgun out of the cart with her magic. She raised a pink shield with her magic and charged, firing her weapons wildly as she went.

"YOU KILLED HIM YOU BASTARDS! I'LL CRUSH YOU, FLAY YOU, TEAR YOU LIMB FR–"

All fire from the rooftop trained on her, and within seconds her shield was peppered with holes. A few seconds more and it shattered entirely. Her body spasmed and snapped like a marionette controlled by a madpony. As the bullets connected, gory chunks tore off her body.

By the time the shooting stopped, she was reduced to an ugly crimson stain in the dirt.

I don't know how long I sat there in shock. Long enough for my body to let me start crying, half my tears plopping onto the wedge of skull still stuck in face, sliding down it, and mixing with the blood streaming out of the wound.

I heard voices coming from the direction of the factory, getting closer.

"–you always overkill it, Jitters. I swear, you could take down an army with the ammo you waste."

"Can't help it. I like the way they flop around. Did you see the mare? Looked like someone stuck a live wire up her ass."

A third voice snorted. "Yeah, it was kinda funny..."

I felt like I was going to throw up. I think I would've if my body had let me.

"I hope these motherfuckers had something worthwhile on them. I need some more fuel for Trogdor," said the third voice.

"You named your flamethrower?" asked Jitters.

"Yeah, I wrote him a theme song and everything." A strange whistling sound echoed in my head, and my vision spun.

"You're fucking crazy, Charbroil," said the first voice.

The sound of breaking glass and falling parts filled the air as the trio looted our first wagon. As the three continued their conversation, my thoughts raced a thousand miles an hour.

–oh goddesses im going to die here im going to die theyre gonna find me and shoot me in the face like dad and mom and oh please please please dont let it hurt i dont want it to hurt quick and painless let it be quick and painless please please please–

"Man, there ain't shit in here. The other cart better have something good," said the first voice, getting closer as it spoke.

I couldn't even cringe as the terrifying orange face peered down at me. A curdled grin spread across his face and his bagged, insomniac's eyes bulged.

"Well boys, lookee what I found!" He lifted me out of the wagon. My legs fell limp beside me. "A fresh set of hooves. Ooh, Swing's gonna love this."

Selfish relief flooded through me. They weren't going to kill me.

"Why ain't he moving, Deadbolt?" asked Charbroil, a hulking green earth pony with a machine gun resting at his side.

"He's in shock, numbnuts," replied Deadbolt. "Lucky us, we don't even need to waste tranq on him. Here." He tossed me like a sack of potatoes over to the skinny red unicorn who must've been Jitters, who caught me with his magic. "Gag him, bind his hooves, horn-lock him, and stuff him in with the other one. Charbroil and I'll finish up here."

Jitters sighed. "Fine, but you better save me something good."

He trotted behind the facility, toting me like luggage with his magic as he went. Our destination was the last in a set of three over-sized supply crates with wheels attached underneath. He took out a length of thick rope, a small metal clamp, and a suspicious white stained rag from his saddlebag before tying my hooves together and gagging me. As a final touch he applied the clamp onto my horn.

He knocked carefully on the door to the crate ahead of opening it. He pressed his ear to the crate, listening for something. He let out a sigh of relief as he unlocked the the door and swung it open with his magic. "The little nag must've calmed d–"

Something small, dark, and fast sprang out of the container onto Jitters' face. His magic vanished and I fell.

"I'll rip your dick off, you cowardly, ambushing cocksucker!" rambled a savage voice under its breath. "You've forgotten your father's face, harrier!"

My curiosity broke my paralysis. I lifted my head to watch the brawl.

The rampaging thing attacked Jitters with animal viciousness, biting and tearing and swearing as it climbed all over his body, trying to do as much damage as possible. The creature moved with such speed that I couldn't discern any details of its appearance, other than its primary color, which looked to be greyish in tone.

After thirty seconds wrestling with the thing, Jitters managed to pull it off with his magic (much to my dismay). The assailant writhing helplessly in his aura, he smacked it against the crate with brute force. There was a sharp crack and the attacker went limp, coppery red tinging its head. Now that the attacker was still, I saw that it was a female batpony.

At least the ambush's target hadn't gone unscathed. Jitters was covered head to foot with dozens of nasty looking bruises, gashes, and teeth marks.

"Fucking crazy cunt, hope you got a fucking concussion. When you try to escape, you're gonna make my day, you little shit." He shackled and wing-clipped the pint-sized assassin and chucked her into the container full force.

He then proceeded to do the same for me. I sustained a harsh blow to the head, but unlike my cell partner, remained conscious. With both of us secured in the wagon crate, he shut the door, followed by the sound of a lock turning.

It took my eyes awhile to adjust to the darkness. All the light I had to see by came through bullet sized holes in the crate's side. I hoped our captors weren't planning anymore gunfights while we were in here.

I glanced over at the filly laying in the back of the crate. Based on her size, she couldn't be much older than me, but she was definitely dangerous. I knew I should be frightened of her, but based on how she'd torn apart the raider earlier, I was willing to give her the benefit of the doubt.

I wriggled closer, trying to get a better look. While doing so, I noticed two things.

One, she was still bleeding heavily from the crack in her head. I attempted to spit the white stained rag out of my mouth. After several minutes perseverance, I had success. Using my still tied hooves, I clumsily bound the gash with the rag, slowing the blood flow. It might be gross, but it was preferable to letting her bleed out.

The next thing I noticed was that this wasn't a batpony. She shared some characteristics with them, like the bat-wings and ear tufts, but there were many clear differences. Her mouth was filled with sharp teeth, uncommon for batponies and normal ponies alike. Not the teeth of a herbivore or even an omnivore, but a full on carnivore. Her fur also wasn't the greyish tone I initially thought it was, but a dark purple.

But by far her most striking difference were her legs. Below the knee, her limbs went from violet pony fur to black reptilian scales, ending in razor claws.

She was most definitely not a batpony. But whatever she was, the threat of her bleeding out was passed. It had taken a lot of time and effort to crawl over and apply the bandage, and now I was exhausted. I lay down on the floor to catch my breath.

I sprawled out, letting my mind wander. Bad idea. With nothing to occupy my mind, the terrifying reality of the situation came crashing down on me all at once.

I was so preoccupied with my cell mate that I'd momentarily let the events of the past hour slip my mind.

My parents, the wonderful ponies who'd raised me for the last nine years of my life, who'd loved me, cared for me, kept me safe, were dead. Obliterated in the space of thirty seconds. And I'd let myself forget. You selfish fucking bastard.

The dam broke and the tears returned one hundred fold. Choked and coughed out tears streamed down my face, pressed down to the splintery floor of the crate. They were gone, and I'd never see them again. Never. The finality of it terrified me. All I had left of them were memories and the wedge of skull still sticking out of my cheek. What if I forgot what they looked like?

The moment that thought entered my head, I conjured up their image mentally. Seeing them in mind's eye calmed me enough to slow my sobbing to a quiet trickle. At some point during all of this, the crate prison began to move, rocking the small room back and forth gently. I must've laid there picturing them for hours before my companion stirred. I was yanked out of my daze by the "filly" mumbling in her sleep.

"No Bert, the Lookout's funny... really, I promise... oh Bert, I fell asleep, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry I was tired, please forgive me, I didn't mean to, I'm sorry..." She was having a nightmare. Whoever this filly was, she was in just as much pain as me. I had to help her, if I could.

I nudged her with my bound hooves, trying to wake her up. Her eyes fluttered open and revealed a pair bright yellow orbs, each split down the middle with a slit pupil.

She pulled on her bindings in futile hope of snapping through them, but gave up quickly. "Damn, they did them properly this time," she said. "Next chance I get, those assholes' throats are getting slash– hey, who're you?" Her gazed flicked over to me.

"Um, Revamp. Nice to meet you," I mumbled.

"Feeling's mutual, I guess." She tapped her throat three times with two talons of her right claw. "You've, uh, got something sticking out of you cheek," she said. She stretched forward and pulled out the shard of bone with her teeth. "That's pretty nasty. I'd patch it up first chance you get, or it could get infected."

"Thank you. Uh, what's your name?" I asked.

"Wick."

"Oh, uh, okay." I wanted to ask her a question, but I wasn't sure how to do it politely. "Um, is it okay if I ask, I mean, if it's okay with you, what, wait, I mean, what kind of–?"

Wick snorted. "Don't hurt yourself. I'm a half pony, half dragon."

"Oh, uh, okay, cool." I decided to change the subject. "Any idea where we're going?"

She shook her head. "Not really. I think a slaver camp's probably a decent guess, though."

"Yeah, probably... oh shit..." I was crying again, reminded of our circumstances.

"Hey, don't do that... it'll be okay... shit, it's fucking hard to comfort someone when you're tied up."

"No it won't," I moaned. "They killed my parents. I can't fix that. I can't fucking fix that! All I can do is cry in here like a fucking baby..."

Wick was silent. After several minutes, I felt a leathery wing drape itself over my body. She'd unclipped her wing to comfort me. I mixture of surprise and gratitude filled me at the gesture. Just the fact that someone cared helped.

We fell asleep that way, strangers huddling close together as light faded from the bullet holes of our prison.