Andromeda felt the muddy creek bottom squelch around her boots, the morning sun's crimson rays pierced the periwinkle sky at her back as she trudged through the shallow waters. Poking out of her right saddlebag was the handle of a machete that looked to be made from a lawnmower blade. It was quite useless, but she had accepted it so as not to insult the marauders. She used her DMCs to keep her path clear, whether that meant cutting through brush or smash certain obstacles out of her way. All the while she kept the navigation arrow in the center of her vision.

"What kind of deal?" she had asked the black unicorn, watching the little blades hover just fractions from cutting the teenagers' jugulars.

"We need you to retrieve something that was stolen from us," he said with a sideways look at her, as though he was sizing her up. That mesmerizing reptilian eye roved over her body, until it reached her helmet and squinted as the hole he had made finished sealing itself up.

"What is it I need to find?"

The black stallion closed his eyes and took a deep breath before reopening them and staring into the mare's eyes. "Very dark items that you shall know as soon as soon as you see them."

Andromeda slipped on a rock and landed face first in the stream. She watched the water rush by the outside of her helmet, along with a few water bugs. She got back up and shook some of the water off, more out of a principle than necessity. She looked about to see if there might have been any predators close by. That unicorn had made her weary of other things that might live in the forest. Perhaps there was some other foul monster in these woods that could cut her helmet as well.

Not those weeds. Those things were pathetic now that she knew a proper defense mechanic.

"And what will I get if I retrieve these... dark items for you?" she had asked him, hoping he would say she could go.

"Then you and these traitors may depart," the stallion said with a casual wave of his hoof.

Bonus. She was going to plead for their lives as well had said otherwise, but this saved time and frustration. She immediately agreed to his terms and he magically downloaded the location of these items onto her pipbuck. She still couldn't get the expressions on the faces of those two teenagers after she hugged them and told them in a maternal tone that she would be back for them. It also seemed to leave the rest of the blasphemous crowd speechless as the black unicorn deposited the machete in her saddlebag and she headed off in the direction indicated on her HUD.

And she still wasn't tired. "It's the suit," she kept telling herself. What other answer could there be? There was no such thing as the walking dead. No matter how much Peppy seemed to insist otherwise.

She eventually got out the stream when she came to a bend, and began traipsing over a rocky field with little patches of weeds. Crossing it quickly, she took a moment to duck inconspicuously behind a tree and look back. She'd actually done this a few times already, a shiver would run up her spine and that clammy feeling one got when they sensed eyes upon them would creep into her mind.

However, every time she looked back, nothing was there. Not even a shifting branch or fallen leaf. And, each time, she would berate herself. She had seen these ponies walk without bending the grass, or catching on the thorns. If they were following her to make sure she was doing her job, than she would never see them. There could be fifty of them around her at all times and she would never know.

She looked up into the green canopy, watching dust dance in the sunbeams. A sparrow, stared back at her, peeped, and then flew off. With a sigh, she continued on again.

The sparrow alighted on another branch and turned to look back at her. The eyes lighting up with a green mist. It observed the mare slow down, the mist dimmed, then the pony picked up her pace. The mist brightened and the sparrow flew after the strange are. It was the only creature, other than insects, that would dare get close to her.

Mercy began to think about what kind of thief would steal something from such insane ponies. Somepony equally or even more insane. Was the best she came up with. What dark items did they steal anyway? Bones scrimshawed with magic runes? A special gun or knife? The unicorn had some special knives anyway. Maybe they used to be a set of three. Or, as she felt she needed a laugh, it was a some sort of "male enhancement" underwear stolen in a panty raid. That might very well require the thief to go into hiding.

She paused for a second and shivered suddenly. "Mercy, you moron, sure it was a funny thought, but you have to carry that back with you. I don't care if scholar say magic can't transfer disease, that's just disgusting."

---WARNING---MAINTAIN SANITY---YOU ARE ALONE---

Andromeda just groaned. "Is there any way to turn that off Peppy?"

---NEGATIVE---

"If you weren't a very expensive piece of Ministry tech, I would take you off and throw you in a river," she hissed at Peppy. Then she shook her head. She was back on the ground, found civilization and actually talked to physical ponies. Albeit they were either rude or just perverse. But, it should have been enough to keep her from screaming at a pipbuck. Even if it did keep telling her she was dead.

"Peppy," she said in a determined voice, "play the unicorn Arcanum Hymn*. I could use a moral booster."

---BEGINNING TRACK 12 of 23---

Andromeda puffed out her chest and inhaled a deep breath of peach-flavored air, before going forth at a steady gallop. The music started steadily with a single violin, playing a haunting little melody, than rose with more strings and woodwinds, adding mystery and an air of caution, than burst into a flaming spirit with brass and drums. This carried on for a minute, until a single angelic voice pierced the orchestra's majesty. Sweetie Belle's royal command performance with Maneheim Steamroller was considered one of the highlights of her young career.

Your mighty power shall be as a torrential wave,

Bursting forth with the limits of imagination and logic,

With your horns as hard as iron and your hearts as purest gold,

A glorious shield shall you be to your brothers in battles thick,

Sharpened are your minds pure minds never letting your honor be sold,

Through trial and tribulation against a master and slave,

You shall carry on with this great power our majestic hosts of war.

Oh, how she would have loved to feel the wind in her mane at that moment, to set it free. But the memory of a certain unicorn stallion with sharp teeth dissuaded her from cutting another hole. The forest was prettier in the daylight, still dark and menacing, but prettier all the same. The music boiled her blood ecstatically.

Never faltering in your duty to your country,

A beacon of strength to your sons and daughters,

And a warm wave of love and pride to your ever waiting wives.

Your powers and knowledge shall grow greater each century,

Your great understanding shall heal the wounds and bones of others.

Never shall you regret this divine choice to live as brothers,

You shall all stand as one to the earth and sky our majestic hosts of war.

Leaping over a shallow hole she carried landed heavily on the other side, not detecting any strain on his body, and bounded off again. Had she been paying attention, she would have noticed that the hole was instead a crater, and at the bottom were the charred remains of a unicorn stallion with blackened metal spikes imbedded in his legs. He faced the same direction Andromeda was headed, but was now crushed and burnt to carbon by some unforeseen force. He would remain untouched, a testament to the others who might follow in his steps. Completely missed by a mare in a space suit.

Let your enemies blow away as dust in the wind,

Then they all shall kneel and beg for forgiveness for having sinned,

You shall command them with great voices and they shall obey.

The oppressors and evils shall quake as you lead their own slaves against them,

Those who were ordered to attack your country shall be united to you as brothers,

And they shall fight by your side forever,

Giving their lives for your beliefs and ideals our majestic hosts of war.

The possessed sparrow continued after the mare, flapping hard to keep up, the green mist glowing even brighter as whomever controlled it forced magic into its wings to fly faster. But the mare kept on pulling away. The magic in the wings soon began to be forced out between the feather, tinted red as they broke apart with an overload of power. The sparrow began to appear like a radioactive phoenix, falling apart with every flap of its burning wings.

The sun will rise and give you her celestial power,

The enemy hosts shall see this and cower,

Running before your might as vermin before the mighty predators.

All hearts as one you shall cast your power over the fools,

Those who dare to think they can have victory,

But it shall be torn from them in a wave of your glory,

All hearts shall fall as you march on our majestic hosts of war.

Possession can only last as long as the host is alive. So when the body finally disintegrated, the magic mist that held it dissipated as well. Leaving nothing but ashes and charred meat. The possessor cursed and reached out into forest for another weak-minded beast to anchor to. But they had all fled for some reason. This mare's speed did not impress the magician, there were stranger things in this horrid world. This stranger was merely one of many.

Blessed with great intelligence and fortitude before our time began,

Strategy and planning have always been your strengths,

Our enemies shall strain themselves and go through great lengths,

To counter your offensives and overcome your walls,

But they shall hold firm and all your brothers shall be safe.

Their offensives will burst and their mightiest fortress falls,

Before your intellect and power our majestic hosts of war.

The magician became perplexed when no new beasts were available. Insects were too fragile, and plants needed constant transference of energies that could drain magic. The rune were ignoring the stranger, and the magician felt something was wrong. Shifting from the lumpy cushion in the center of a circle of bones scrimshawed with glowing runes, and moving towards a bookcase full of odds and ends, the magician grabbed a particularly familiar object from the clutter and returned back to the cushion. Eyes closed to reach out with her senses and prepare a trap.

The moon shall light your path in the darkest night,

And you will see your enemy as he tries to hide himself,

Your great inventions shall spread terror and win the fight,

The machines of your imaginings shall lead us to victory.

All of your brothers shall shower you with praise and glory,

Under your eyes shall the world progress against the godless,

Leading us onward into new ages and dreams our majestic hosts of war.

Andromeda bulled right through a blackberry bush. That's what she told herself anyway. She had tripped over a rock and when rolling across the ground like a bowling ball. Salvaging the pride would be a polite way of saying it. When she picked herself up and dusted off her shoulders, she took a step forward and stopped. Her mouth fell open as she stared up at what had to be her destination, all the while, the final chorus of the song played inside her helmet.

When it is at long last your time to pass,

The world shall never forget your generosity and magical friendship,

And we shall await the day we can see you again.

Keepers of the knowledge of heaven without hardship,

Always ready with answers and knowledge,

In that eternity without war and forgotten pain,

And we shall stand forever in harmony with our majestic hosts of war.

"And mention of death, of course," Andromeda muttered in annoyance, slightly regretting her choice of songs now. "That's not part of my plan."

---DENIAL---

She didn't pay attention to Peppy, preferring to keep her eyes locked upon the door of a stable. One that was labeled 41. Her legs began to tremble and she swallowed hard as she took a step forward, wishing she was not seeing what lay before her. Her desired destination appearing as a nightmare before her eyes.

The door had somehow been ripped off its hinges, long scratches dragged across it's surface. She walked past the door and into the control room. There was blood everywhere, and even tufts of fur scattered about. The stable door control panel was bashed in, and a broken tool chest laid close by, its contents dumped out as though somepony had tried to find some specific tools in a hurry. Too late it seemed.

Venturing further, she gulped and shivered at the vandalism visited upon the place, obscene words and images painted in blood and bile. She gripped the handle of the crude machete in her magic and levitated it out in front of her, giving it a practice swing. Clumsy, displaying her lack of skill. This was the work of wicked ponies, and she had recently learned her DMCs didn't work on them. She still found that to be slightly racist.

Proceeding into the metal halls, she waved the blade about the corner just in case something was hiding behind them. It would almost be comical if it weren't for the Picasso of massacres she began discovering. Tossed into piles, pinned to walls, or hanging from hooks and chains were mutilated corpses that she couldn't bring herself to stop looking at. Maybe that was the purpose, to hold the gaze of anypony that wandered in. A disgusting tactic that she had never heard of.

Mercy might have vomited, if not for certain recent events. As of now, she was just feeling the terror of a wife and mother, knowing that her family were supposed to come here in case the bombs fell. Luckily, she thought, they hadn't. But if this was supposed to be where they would go, she would need to inform somepony that it was in a dangerous area. How could Stable Tec make such a terrible mistake? Unless certain rumors were true.

She recalled hearing gossip of things, strange and awful things. She had heard that Stable Tec was using some of the stables for experiments. Social manipulation, military sleepers, population control, subtle chemical and radiation exposure, and even political systems completely opposed to Equestrian values. But those were just rumors right? No pony would ever try and do such terrible things. Right?

But, this was Stable 41, and it was right in the middle of a dangerous forest, where dangerous criminals and racist bigots were the closest neighbors. Perhaps there was some substance in those rumors.

"Suffice to say," she said to herself as she clung to a wall and peered around a corner, "I am not letting my family come here. I'll ask for another reservation." She looked around at the blood and corpses. "And they had better give it."

After what seemed an hour, mostly due to caution, she arrived at a long hallway. It was odd, to say the least. It was simply long, and no turns, no doors along the sides, and no blood. It was clean as a whistle. Which would have been strange in and of itself, if not for the next thing she saw. In the middle of the hallway, and just a few steps away from her, was a shotgun. She put away her machete and slowly trotted closer to examine the weapon.

It was a work of art. Black, 12 gauge, drum mag, short barrel(not sawed-off short), red mahogany stock, and completely inlaid with gold scrolling. It had gems for iron sights, sapphires in the back and a ruby up front, perfectly cut. Along the side of the barrel were the words: A Really Good Time. Checking the drum, she found it fully loaded with unfired shells, and each one of the shells had a message written on it in fairly decent hoofwriting. Messages like: 'Hoofball party', 'Shooting gallery', 'Mares and alcohol(definitely a stallion's gun)', and even 'Winning the Lottery'. She put the shells back in and pumped the receiver. It was smooth and without catch, almost silent.

Her inner nerd threatened to come out.

Armed with the new weapon, she trotted forward into the hall, the shotgun levitating out in front of her. She kept her ears alert just in case anything tried to sneak up on her, but up until now, she hadn't even come across so much as an insect. Not even flies around the corpses. That was slightly disturbing. But, Peppy wasn't warning her of anything, so she continued forward.

"How long is this stupid hallway," she groaned after about ten minutes of a steady trot.

Indeed, the hall seemed to go on forever, and with each step it became darker. Fortunately, all pipbucks had a light. Which she used when it started getting too dark to see. That horrid feeling was starting to crawl over again. She began to insanely imagine that she had indeed found somepony else in the stable, and he had killed her, the hallway was like walking towards the light. Or deeper into the darkness. A weight settled in her stomach as she imagined herself on the road to Tartarus for some unknown crime against pony kind. Was killing those awful ponies last night damned her to eternal torment?

Well, there weren't any screams of tortured souls yet.

She paused for a moment when she started to see a light up ahead. Dim at first, but growing brighter. She picked up her pace and lowered A Really Good Time's barrel. It wouldn't do to accidentally shoot a possible survivor in this gutted stable. Perhaps this was an escape route, a long straight tunnel, no cover, unless the builders had planned that and left shields for the ponies to drag behind them in their retreat, forcing any pursuers to either leave off the chase, or be mowed down. That would account for the lack of blood.

The light was much brighter now, and she began a full gallop when she saw the outline of the hall's ending. She smiled and called out reassurances so no pony would shoot at her, for all the good that would do, she even managed to put the shotgun in her other saddlebag to show she meant no harm. She turned off her pipbuck light and gave a mighty leapt, bursting out of the hall and and into a room, looking around gleefully in hopes of finding some civilized and friendly ponies who might help her.

What she got instead was an odd mare pointing a large pistol in her face.

All at once, the illusion that was the stable, the metal halls and everything just melted away, revealing stone and dirt, with roots poking through the ceiling. The room was basically circular, and their were odd wooden shelves and full of clutter, a table of jars and pots full of strange substances, a circle of scrimshawed bones surrounded a lumpy blue cushion, and a bed of pine needles off to the side. the light source she had followed was a simple fire pit.

As for the mare, she was butter yellow with a purple mane, tied back in, of all things, a ponytail, and her tail was wrapped in bandages to keep it from tangling on anything. Her hooves were calloused from long hours of hard work, going well with her thick legs and broad hips. She wore atop her head an old traffic cone, which was really confusing, under which her almond eyes peered like rattlesnakes, daring Mercy to make a move. Attached to her neck was a twilight-blue cape, bearing the image of golden wasp swarm, covering her cutie mark.

Andromeda was both relieved that this wasn't Stable 41, and greatly annoyed at the mare for such a cruel trick.

"What the idea?" she demanded of the mare angrily. The mare opened her mouth reply, but was cut off by Andromeda, who took an aggressive step forward. "I mean, come on, I almost had a heart attack. Does torturing other ponies' brains get you off or something? Try soaking your rump in a bucket of ice next time you get one of your sick fantasies. For crying out loud. I could have been here, grabbed the stuff, and left an hour ago. So, where are these dark items those sick clowns want?"

The odd mare tilted the traffic cone back a little in surprise at the strange mare's boldness. This action revealed a small, curved, white horn. As if levitating the pistol wasn't proof enough that she was a unicorn. She tipped her head to the side and brought the pistol closer to Andromeda's helmet, letting her get a good look at it.

Andromeda looked at it contritely. It was a revolver, 500 Smith and Whinny, five round cylinder, with a tarnished chrome finish, and cracked plastic handle. It would have been more alarming if the mare wasn't aiming at the helmet. Everypony aimed there. Then they all learned that it was extremely stupid. Anywhere else and it was sure to leave a bruise.

"Cute," Andromeda said, pulling out A Really Good Time. "Mine's bigg...err..."

She blushed a little to find that the shotgun was a just a bunch of evergreen roots held together with fish bones. What was it with all these ponies and bones anyway? She tossed it aside and pulled out the machete. The odd mare chuckled as she turned the pistol and blasted the blade to tiny shards with one shot. She didn't even aim.

Mercy shook her head in pain from the sound of the blast. The gunshot echoed over and over inside her helmet. It was like having a pot beaten over her head with a metal spoon.

The mare sighed humorously and moved the pistol back to Andromeda and leaned her head forward with a wicked smile. "So, little filly, did those raiders send you to retrieve their precious bitties? I'm afraid I don't feel like giving them up just yet."

Andromeda adopted a curious look. "Raiders?"

The odd mare rolled her eyes dramatically. "Marauders, as you prefer. I don't care how tidy they are. They're still just raiders."

"Tidy? They live on a carpet of skeletons," Andromeda quipped.

"Better than a rotting brahma carcass chandelier," the mare returned with a shrug. This was odd, the mare thought. Why was this strange mare making her not want to pull the trigger? In fact, why hadn't she just shot her the moment she popped inside the room?

"That's just disgusting," Andromeda gagged, although unsure what a brahma was.

"Well, you're working for them," the mare said, playing with pulling the trigger, but holding the hammer in place. Seriously, this mare should have been dead by now. Was she using some sort of spell? This could be trouble.

"To save a couple of teenagers who chose to hang out with the wrong crowd," Andromeda reasoned.

The mare looked at curiously. "That has got to be amongst the stupidest things I have ever heard. Once a raider, always a raider. No matter what their age is. Put them all down, snuff the cribs, and burn their rot. That's what you do with raiders."

"No pony's above redemption," Andromeda stated with a stamp of her hoof. Then she thought again. "Well, save the ones who sell their souls to the devil."

"And fully sold they are," the mare said with a flourish of her left hoof.

"Not these two," Andromeda said with a scowl.

The mare felt the desire to pull the trigger returning. It had to be some sort of magic. "What makes these two so special? Oh. Perhaps a pair of stallions bearing a healthy pair each. Hah. You like them young, don't you?"

Andromeda clenched her teeth. "How dare you. Who are you to say such perverse things?"

"Misses Marigold Miserables," the mare said, tipping the traffic cone forward, covering her horn. She began squeezing the trigger. "You're suit shall look marvelous on my wall. A novel little item."

"It's bulletproof, Mrs. Miz-er-obbes," Andromeda said behind her burning scowl, hoping she pronounced the fancy name right.

"Three words," Miserables said with a fiendish smile, "armor... piercing... bullets."

BA-LAM

Feeling a headache coming on, Andromeda somehow managed to keep her eyes looking forward. The crazy mare had actually managed to nick her helmet. Somehow that made her feel better. She knew the helmet's limits now. But, if there was only a nick, then where did the blood come from?

Wiping the red ooze away with magic, she locked eyes with the stunned Mrs. Miserables, Then, slowly, the both looked down and saw a large hole in the yellow mare's chest. She dropped the pistol and staggered back, knocking over some bones in the ring. Both mares were silent, then panicked.

Andromeda danced on the tips of her hooves, crying out apologies. This mare, though a jerk, was just defending herself in a forest full of vicious outlaws. It would be a horrible thing to be shot in her own house, by a bullet from her own gun. She looked around for bandages or any form of medicine. But there didn't seem to be anything.

Mrs. Miserables was shrieking in pain and fear. The bullet had missed her heart, but she was almost positive it had pierced a lung. The blood was flowing out of her quickly, running down her chest and dripping onto the floor. She feared death more than she feared the strange mare, who, apparently, wasn't taking this any better. She turned her back on the mare and staggered towards the table, but collapsed when she was only halfway there. The traffic cone fell off her head. She put a hoof over her chest and coughed loudly, tears streaming down her face as she found herself unable to move any further.

"WhatdoIdowhatdoIdo," Andromeda shrieked, rushing to the mare's side and trying to get a look at the wound. "Let me help you. I'm no good with anything other than Band-Aids, but I can learn. Tell me what to do, I'm a good listener."

Mrs. Miserables was too scared to refuse her help. He motioned with her head to the table. "Pot... yellow... please," she gargled out through the blood that was threatening to drown her. She silently pleaded with whatever god was out there, begging for her life. Begging that this wouldn't be her tomb. She hardly noticed as Andromeda ran to the table.

Mercy set her front hooves on the table and began to throw stuff about. Jars were knocked out of the way, and lids flew about like Frisbees as she looked for something yellow. She found it, the last thing on the table, of course. She gripped the small pot in her magic and rushed back to the mare.

Mrs. Miserables had managed to roll onto her back in an attempt to stop the bleeding. But that made more of it fill her lung. Either way, she was in a pickle. A pickle sandwich sounded good all of a sudden. How long had it been since she had one? These strange thoughts in this dark time suddenly vanished when a searing heat enveloped her chest.

Andromeda, not realizing that the contents were especially hot, had pushed the protective hooves from the chest, and dumped the contents out over the wound, hoping that that was how it was supposed to be applied. She leapt back when the mare suddenly sat up, screaming so hard that she expelled the blood from her lung, along with the deformed bullet, glared vengefully at her, and then promptly fainted.

Mercy watched Mrs. Miserables for a moment, sweating fearfully. Praying she hadn't been more harm than good. The mare was still, almost lifeless. That made the sweating become even worse. Biting her lip, she took a couple steps closer, stopping when she heard a soft snore.

"Thank the Maker," she said as almost she collapsed in gratitude. She used her DMCs to lift the unconscious mare off the ground and move her over to the bedding, where she gently laid her down and placed a couple of dirty blankets over. Then, she proceeded to do the next logical thing. Clean up the mess.