//------------------------------//
// Chapter 1 
// Story: Bad Future Crusaders 
// by TonicPlotter 
//------------------------------//

        Clop…clop…clop…
        The owner of The Agistment was slumped behind the bar, resting his head on one hoof while impatiently tapping his other on the varnished mahogany surface. Being a bartender he had seen his share of slow days, but the boredom he had endured today had bordered on torture. His quaint place was devoid of any customers and had been all day, giving him nothing to listen to but the slow tick of the clock on the wall and the sound of his spiritless tapping. The sun had had set completely outside and most of the ponies in town had finished work and were looking to relax and unwind. On a normal day his beloved bar would be alive with pleasant chatter and clinks of liquor glasses as the place filled up with customers. Except—
        —Except for that blasted patrol that’s due to pass through town.
        Not only was The Agistment the only bar in town, but it was also a place to get a decent meal. The Royal Guards knew this and always stopped by for a quick meal and to tie one on before moving on. The trouble is, is everypony in town is well aware of this as well. Any day when a patrol was due to head through town, that patrol was the only business he would get all day. Between the scoundrels who’d prefer to stay as far away from the law as possible and the general townsponies who simply were afraid of them, he wouldn’t get one single customer that wasn’t wearing a breastplate of black silver alloy.
        “Shouldn’t have given them the day off…” He said aloud for nopony to hear. By now he found himself wishing he had kept at least one of his staff on with him. He was well able to work the counter and grill by himself for a patrol, and rather than pay one of his workers to basically do nothing he had decided to save the bits and do it himself.
        At this point, a full shift’s pay for some company would be worth it.
        Sugarcane the chef was downright hilarious when he had nothing on his hooves but time and would have been excellent company, but he would have even settled for that obnoxious new waitress who’d only worked a week so far, and whose name escaped him at the moment—
        —and CREEEEEEEEEEEEAK!
        The bartender was jolted from his boredom-induced stupor. He knew that sound; that most wonderful sound of his doors stubborn hinges whining in protest of a customer.
        Please be the stallions from the construction company, or those downright pleasant folks from Environment Equestria who moved here last month…
He threw his eager gaze at the doorway to find a pony he had never seen around town before holding the door at hooves length. It was a yellow mare, dressed in an odd kind of button-up gray vest that looked worn and aged from travelling. She wore a dusty sun-bleached Stetson hat pulled low over her forehead, which obscured her eyes and most of her bright-pink scraggly hair from the bartender’s view. This mare, this stranger hesitated for a moment, raising her head just enough to cautiously survey the room before entering. Seemingly satisfied with the lack of customers, she entered.
Is she wanted? Or just some random paranoid reprobate? Either way, you sure picked the wrong day to come looking for a drink.
She entered slowly, stepping short on her front left leg with a noticeable limp as she walked. Her steps were accompanied by a quiet jingle that reminded the bartender of the sound of keys; she had some kind of small metal blades strapped to her rear legs the likes of which he had never seen before. Mid-stride she raised her limping leg and adjusted her hat, not slowing down at all as she continued to walk confidently on three legs. As she turned and headed for a table, he saw it on her side.
A gun…?
The Bartender had only heard about guns and never seen one in real life. They were quite the common commodity in countries overseas, to the point that just about everypony carried one, but were completely unheard of in Equestria. The stranger slumped down on a pillow at the table in the corner, and the bartender stretched and approached. He had heard a few nasty stories about these ‘repeater pistols’, particularly about a civil war over there that was still raging on.
He reached the table and leaned on its polished surface. “What’ll it be, ma’am?” He said pleasantly, hiding his nervousness beneath a veneer of polite courtesy.
She didn’t even bother to look up at him. “Cider.” She said coldly from beneath the brim of her hat.
“Comin’ up.” He said as he headed back to the bar to pour her drink.
He came back with her drink and leaned casually on the table to strike up a conversation. He was a nervous of this one, but she was the only customer to come by so far and he desperately wanted to talk to somepony. Besides, he was rather fond of foreigners: he loved nothing better than to meet somepony from another country and just make small talk. He would do it for hours if they would let him, and he wanted to know more about this mare. Unfortunately, she didn’t seem very interested in chatting. She took the cider and, as if she hadn’t even noticed him, downed half the mug in one noisy gulp. As she raised her head to drink, he couldn’t help but notice the rather large scar on her cheek and felt his curiosity flare up.
“So… new in town, right miss?”
She took just a sip this time. “Passing through.”
        She was a tough nut to crack, but he’d get a conversation out of her yet. “Well, you won’t find a better cider anywhere, ma’am.” He said proudly, “The recipe’s courtesy of the Apple family what used to live around these parts.”
        She raised her head slowly and just glared at him with what could have only been hate in her orange eyes. Less than a moment later she looked away once more and, after a mirthless chuckle, continued drinking. He didn’t know how, but he had clearly struck a nerve with her.
        I’m better off being bored.
        He knew better than to try and force a conversation with the wrong pony, and this one just reeked of bad news. With blades on her legs and a gun strapped to her, she seemed like the wrong kind of pony to irritate. He salvaged what was left of his composure and turned to walk away—
        —and he almost walked headfirst into another customer. “I beg your pardon miss… ter?”
        The pile of rags standing in front of him could have been a mare OR a stallion; he honestly couldn’t tell. This… thing was one of the tallest ponies he had ever seen; even hunched over the way it was it stood a full head taller than him. It was draped in a filthy and frayed brown cloak that was wrapped haphazardly around it’s otherwise unknown form. It’s face was completely obscured by randomly colored pieces of cloth wrapped carelessly around the entire face, and with large sunglasses to hide it’s eyes. The ‘pony’ didn’t respond to his awkward greeting; it didn’t even take the time to look at him. Instead it shuffled silently to the table where the stranger was drinking and sat down across the table from her.
        How did it open the door so quietly…?
        “You’re late.” Said the stranger with noticeable irritation in her southern twang of a voice.
        “Took the long way to avoid some guards.” The thing in rags replied in a seductive tone, “That being said… we might want to wrap this up quickly and leave before they get here.”
        The stranger glanced at the three wanted posters displayed near the entrance. “Wanted or not…” she said as her gaze returned and looked her partner up and down with disapproval, “Ah told you to lose the mask. Ah don’t fancy with masqueraders.”
        The ‘masquerader’ chuckled briefly. “I’m pretty sure you of all ponies can understand why one might want to keep their identity hidden.”
        The bartender listened closely to their conversation from behind his bar, not out of boredom but out of sheer curiosity. Although nervous, he couldn’t help but be intrigued by these two. A lifetime of serving ponies from all manner of locations had given him an ear for accents, and he could detect a definite Appleoosan drawl in the stranger’s speech.  The thing in rags, on the other hoof, was a complete mystery to him. Other than sounding extremely female under those rags, he had no clue where to place her silky purr of a voice.
        The masquerader waited momentarily for a response before reaching out of her cloak with a small bag draped across her pale pink hoof. She dangled it midair in front of the stranger and let it drop with the recognizable clatter of money. “Perhaps this will change your mind?” she said in a sing-song tone.
        The stranger eyed the bag with disinterest, and continued to stare with unrelenting disapproval. Although her statue of an expression hadn’t changed, it was clear the mare wasn’t pleased at all with what was sitting in front of her. For the first time in his life, the bartender found himself actually hoping the patrol would show up. He had seen his share of bar fights start like this, but one of them had a gun and who knows what the other had stashed in her cloak.
        Come on guards, get a wiggle on and get here already. Keep these two peaceful.
        After what felt like an eternity, the masquerader broke the silence. Her pleasant tone had turned cold and business-like. “Don’t be like that. It’s an easy job. And I know you: you need the money.”
        “You don’t know nothing about me.” said the stranger, her drawl deepening into a near growl.
        “I know more than you think.” Said the masquerader, leaning close to the unmoving mare as she spoke, “I recognize the vest; Now, I wonder what a conscripted soldier would be doing in a completely different country chasing bounties for a living?” She looked directly at the wanted posters on the wall, and back to the pony. “I don’t suppose you got into some… trouble… over there and had to flee?”
        Click.
        The bartender felt the blood drain from his face. Although he had never heard the sound that had just come from beneath the table, his fear told him exactly what it was. He moved down the bar slowly to get a clearer view, and sure enough the stranger’s holster was empty. She had readied her gun.
        The raw fury on her face was matched by the poison in her tone. “Ah don’t like what you’re implying.”
        Don’t shoot please don’t shoot…
        The masquerader raised her front hooves in an inoffensive gesture. “I didn’t mean to imply that,” she said, once more in a pleasant purr, “I meant to imply that it must be difficult, having to drop everything and go to a different country.” She made no effort to hide that she was studying the mare’s cutie mark, an apple being pierced by an arrow, as she spoke almost sympathetically. “And given your innate talents it must be so hard to find honest work. And I wasn’t lying, it’s an easy job: one pony, alive, payment in advance.”
        Another soft click came from beneath the table, and the bartender let out the breath he just realized he’d been holding the entire time.
        Let’s hope that meant she put it away.
        He wasn’t afraid to admit that the very concept of guns absolutely terrified him. He had seen fights; ponies struck with magic, cut with blades, bucked and kicked, and even killed. Somehow the idea of a tiny pellet of lead moving like lightning and punching through a pony like a needle through fabric seemed worlds worse than anything else he had seen. He took another deep breath to calm himself down; the mare still didn’t seem pleased with the proposal, but at least she had lowered her gun.
        “Really?” Said the stranger cynically. “What’s the catch?”
        “No catch. I just need her alive. I can’t stress that enough. You see, this pegasus—”
        “Ah don’t rightly care about the details.” Said the stranger, raising a hoof as she spoke, “Now, where might Ah find this pegasus?”
        “About a four hour trot from here. Canner Canyon I think it’s called… Last I heard she was headed through there on hoof. It’s—” 
        The stranger’s eyes lit up with intrigue and she raised a hoof to silence the masquerader. “Ah know Canner Canyon. It’s north of here. What Ah’d like to know is why a pegasus would travel on hoof.”
        The masquerader managed only a shrug. After staring silently at her for a moment, the stranger grabbed the bag of bits, shook a few onto the table, and slipped the rest under her ragged vest.
        “Excellent…” the masquerader purred, in a voice so pleased the bartender could hear her smile underneath her makeshift mask. “Now, this pegasus wears a purple bandana around her eye like an eye patch; never takes it off. You’ll have no trouble recognizing her.”
        The stranger finished her drink in one big gulp before making her way to the door. A loud creak from the door announced her exit, and she was off to hunt down a pony like an animal. The bartender watched her every step of the way and let out an uneasy sigh when she had vanished. If it wasn’t Royal Guards driving away his customers, it was criminals and bounty hunters putting bits on the lives of ponies.
        And some days it’s both. What I wouldn’t give for just one day where I served nothing but decent folk.
        He put the thought out of his head and did what he did best: serve his customers no matter who or what they were. “So, might I get you something to—”
        —but the one he was speaking to had vanished. He stood alone in his bar, silenced and dumbfounded. There was one door she could have gone through; a door with hinges that protest loudly anytime somepony opens it. The only evidence that the masquerader had ever been there at all were the bits left on the table. She had arranged them into the shape of a heart. He walked over and stared down at the dissonant leftovers of the two pony’s bargain, then scooped up the bits and headed back to his counter.
        At least the scoundrels have a sense of humor. He thought as he resumed his undignified slouch behind the bar. And at least they leave tips…
        Two faint echoing pops came from the direction the stranger had headed, and the smirk on his face melted away. Somehow he knew those pops could only be gunfire.