Six friends set out to end the evil that plagued the Equestrian Wasteland. But they've been corrupted, changed. Can the remaining pony stop his former friends, or will their history prevent him from doing what he believes is necessary?
Judge was once part of a group of six. They traveled the wasteland, hoping to try and preserve what good remained, wandering from Hoofington to Manehatten, even through the Buffalo Lands and to the frosty north. They encountered the very worst the Wasteland had to offer. After years of conflict, the friends went their separate ways, expecting never to see the others again. After hearing dark rumors about ponies matching the descriptions of his old friends, he sets out on a self-given mission to make things right.
We thought we could go out and change things. Somebody had to do it; why not us? We figured change would be for the better, that we could do it like the heroes on the radio shows. That the Wasteland was just waiting to be tamed by a ragtag team of well-equipped ponies.
It ate us alive. Maybe we were lucky; maybe we were more skilled. Raiders, slavers, anyone we thought were scum, we wiped out. There were more than a few close calls over the years that left their scars, but we all made it through. From the ruins of the Crystal Empire to the Dead Desert, from Hoofington to Manehatten, even a trip to New Oatleans and back, we wandered the wastes doing "good".
As time wore on, we lost ourselves. We drifted apart, torn by what was happening around us and not seeing anything improve. It wasn’t sudden. Weeks, months, years, you lose track of time. Five ponies let the Wasteland beat at them and wear them down until nothing was left except bitterness and a few shreds of hope. The Wastes took everything good about us and spat it back in our faces.
I tried so hard to keep us together. I persuaded and argued until my throat was shot and all I could manage was rasps and it hurt to breathe. I fought hoof and nail to keep us friends. Punch, Snowflake, Wire, Taffy, and Basket. I watched them go, one at a time. We all said we’d make the Wasteland a better place or die trying.
I'd be passed out or dead in a ditch next to a bottle of booze if I hadn't heard a piece of gossip in some ramshackle town's saloon. Somebody was doing something bad. And he matched the description of one my former friends.
A ragged teddy bear lay in the middle of the room. The rest of it was bare aside from a wooden desk in the corner. The walls were a bright yellow and the flooring consisted of scuffed pink tiles. Yellow paint drops dotted the floor and boards used to cover the broken windows. I didn't dare stick my head in further through the doorway; the entire Ministry of Peace clinic was rigged with all kinds of traps. Quick hooves let me acquire a few landmines, but at least once I'd been saved by pure dumb luck.
I grabbed a crumpled tin can from my saddlebags and tossed it at the teddy bear, slamming the door shut and flattening myself on the floor. There was a very familiar beeping before an explosion sent shrapnel and splinters whizzing overhead.
Nothing hurts; always a good sign. I got up and could feel dust sticking in my mane and tail, and it was probably coating my leather barding too. Thankfully, I was never one for vanity. Edging closer, I opened the door wide enough to look inside. Confetti swirled around and stuck to the walls and floor. The air reeked of sulfur. Newly created holes and gashes adorned the entire room, some letting light filter in. The teddy bear was right where it was before, slightly askew. Parts of the ceiling had been blown out from explosive charges.
No other door. This was the room at the end of the hallway. There should be an exit to the third floor deck. Something wasn’t right. Crackling static buzzed through the room, a breathy voice I knew well projecting over a hidden intercom.
“Still alive, Judge? I’m not out of jokes. Like the confetti? I threw you a party. For your Death-Day. You know, like a birthday, except it’s on the day you die?” Psychotic laughter filled the room, and the voice spoke faster. “That’s not funny. It’s not. What’s funny is you think you can help me. Turn me back into who I was. That can’t happen. There’s nothing to laugh at out here. Only the fun I make others have. I can still make them happy before they die.”
I glanced around, trying to find a camera. ”What makes you think I want to help you?”
“Because. You’re Judge. The one who tried to keep us together. You want us to go back and be friends. Want me to make you laugh again. Make Taffy heal again and Flake give our supplies to hungry children. Want to know what I think?” he asked, in a tone entirely too casual.
“Not really, no,” I said flatly, examining the walls more closely.
“I think that’s funny.” I could almost see the smile on his face. More laughter. “Pretty funny, eh? You making somepony laugh.” I continued to search the walls, convinced there was a door somewhere. There… An outline. Somepony, I didn’t have to guess who, had painted over the door with the same bright yellow paint as the rest of the room. Removed the knob and filled the lock with Wonderglue. “Did you find the door yet?” he cackled. “I painted it myself. I’m an artist. Paint the world. Watch it grow. Pick the fruit. Paint the world. Watch it grow. Pick the fruit.” That laugh was really starting to get annoying. The nonsensical ravings I could deal with, but that laugh was making my mane itch. “So. Joke book? Pepper gum? Hoof-buzzer? How’re you planning on helping me?”
It had to be in my saddlebag somewhere… Aha! Dynamite. “I’m not.” I popped the cap, left it at the door, and ran back into the hallway. Ka-BOOM! Now to find this sick bastard.
“You’re … uht?” The voice warped as the speaker died. Heading back in the room, the door had been blown clean away, along with much of the wall. Sawdust particles hung in the air, mixing with the confetti still floating around. The light shone in, casting long flickering shadows through the dust and debris. The deck seemed clear. I trotted out, looking for signs of booby-trapping. The patio was filled with nothing more than a few wrecked tables and umbrellas.
“WHERE ARE YOU!?” I roared, drawing my revolver from the leg holster and holding it in my mouth, scanning the bleak landscape.
“Yoo-hoo!” I turned to see a yellow and blue figure waving at me from a few hundred feet away. He was on the top of a hill next to a smashed wagon. He raised a megaphone to his mouth and yelled, “Ten!”
Ten? Ten what? “What do you mean!?”
He raised the megaphone again. “Six, five.” Oh shit. Shit shit shit. Can't run back in, he might've rigged the whole building. Have to jump? From the third story? “Three.” I sprinted for the edge. “Two.” I jumped, air rushing by before slamming into pavement, feeling my left legs crack and break from the fall. Pain exploded in my head. “One.” At least I had the sense to cover my face with my intact forehoof.
A pop and a horn sounded, along with a whooshing noise. I peeked out from under my leg, and a white banner with the words, “Fooled Ya” scrawled on it in what looked like blood unfurled from the ledge under the patio. Fireworks streaked into the sky, detonating just under the dark clouds in flashes of colored fire. Gasping for air with what felt like a punctured lung, I turned to look at Punch. “See!?” he yelled, “THAT’S funny!” He turned and galloped away, no doubt very pleased with himself.
The contents of my bags were strewn over the ground. I scrabbled for my only healing potion and managed to down it. The pain reigned itself back to a mild agony, and I could feel my left forehoof starting to mend along with my side. My rear leg was having less luck; it felt as if nothing had healed. “Dammit." I was gonna need a splint. I managed to get my bags repacked and slung over my back, and began limping towards the building.
The top floor exploded, deafening me with the blast. I hit the dirt, covering my head and cursing loudly as my wounded leg reminded me of its presence. Small chunks of debris fell around me, and more than one piece bounced off my barding. Once I stopped hearing the plinks and thuds, I struggled to my feet and observed the damage. Half the top floor collapsed, with the other half buckling and sagging. I still had to get inside; it's a two day trek to New Appleloosa, and there's no way I'd be making it without a splint.
The double doors swung open easily enough; I'd already disarmed or set off all of Punch's traps. Just inside, I pulled boards off a window and set to searching for something to tie them together with. In doing so, I happened across a room I hadn't checked. It was an unassuming wooden door, one I thought was a broom closet. Curious, I swung it open and leaped back, expecting an explosion or other boobytrap.
What I came to face was the body of a little yellow filly, tied spread-eagle onto an examination table. The ropes had been so tight they cut into her hide, and the ones around her chest probably collapsed her lungs. Her limbs were crooked and bent, probably broken to put her in that position. There was no mane or tail to speak of; the green hair had been ripped out and was laying in clumps on the floor. A small gash on the side of her neck was coated in black, dried blood, of which there was a lack of on the floor. Punch's banner was written in blood. On top of her lay a teddy bear, oozing out a recording of, “You hugged me. So I hugged you,” every few seconds. In Punch’s happy, enthusiastic, foal-friendly voice.
He'd always kept a stock of teddy bears. He’d pass them out to town kids or caravan children. He once gave one to Basket after her horn burned out and he was shot. Punch always made sure ponies were happy, or at least a little less sad. I’ll never forget when he came across an entire community of foals on the outskirts of Hoofington. He made us prolong our stay as he spent days rigging together toys and gadgets for them to play with. The smiles on their faces stretched from ear-to-ear. Remembering back, I grinned, which quickly turned into a scowl when my attention returned to what was still before me.
A simple lighter would've been sufficient to turn the table into a pyre, giving the filly a proper send-off from this world, a decency most of us will never get. But that three-seconds of butane might save my life between here and New Appleloosa. Sorry, kid.
I woke to an explosion and snarling. Judging by the soft, murky light seeping through cracks in the boarded windows, I had slept through the night. Another explosion made the building shudder. That meant I had two dynamite traps left. A third boom. Down to one. Sleeping on the second floor was a really good idea, provided the third floor doesn't come crashing down on my head. Repurposing Punch's disarmed traps for myself and barricading the stairwell was easy enough, even with my hurt leg.
Being sure to keep weight off my broken limb, I hobbled forward, revolver in mouth. Reaching the stairs, I cautiously pried the door open, looking down. All clear. I steadily made my way down until I could see through the debris stacked at the bottom. Two feral ghouls stood, heads swiveling, attempting to sniff my location out. The dismembered and mutilated bodies of their pack lay behind them, singed from the blasts. Taking aim through a hole in the debris, I bit the mouthpiece. The revolver roared and a bullet found its way through one feral’s head. The other’s eyes met mine shortly before I sent a bullet straight between them.
The first floor was a mess. The smell was bad enough. The dynamite had torn chunks out of the walls, and pony gore painted the hallway. Including bits and pieces of yellow hide. There was no gurgling breathing, no gnashing teeth, no I’m-going-to-eat-you-alive snarling to indicate there were any ghouls left, so I took down my last trap and pushed the barricade forward enough for me to slip out.
The ruins of a few other smaller buildings lay on the side of the road across from the warehouse, having collapsed long ago. No movement, no shifting of rubble, nothing to indicate there were any ghouls outside. But that didn't mean they weren't there, and as I limped out and headed south I kept my head on a swivel.
Punch most likely made for the raider-infested Ponyville, seeing as they seemed to recognize him as one of their own. I couldn't risk setting foot near that place until I had recovered. Tracking Punch this far south had cost me all of my healing potions, and left me with two sticks of dynamite and twenty rounds for my revolvers. New Appleloosa was only a two slow days' walk, and the section of road was untraveled enough that ambushes would be extremely unlikely. Still, I kept well off the road, barely keeping it in sight as I limped on.
I paused behind a blackened tree to flip on my portable radio. The voice of DJP0N3 came loud and proud over the speakers, ready to relay the latest bits of information. I turned it down so I could barely hear it as I moved.
“Goooooood morning Wasteland! Rise and shine for another beautiful day out there! Ya want some news? I got a steaming load of it.
“Recent reports coming in from around Ponyville and New Appleloosa are saying some sick pony is leaving booby-trapped dolls on the sides of caravan routes. So if you see a lonely little doll, don’t touch it! And especially don't let your kid touch it. In a bucket of news from near my home of Manehatten, an entire caravan has gone missing. Five adults and two little colts. They were due here at Tenpony Tower yesterday and didn’t show, and a search party came back empty-handed. Wailing and screaming continue to be heard echoing around the suburbs. I’m not sure of the source, but whatever it is, I don’t think I wanna know and I sure as hell hope it's not the caravan. And finally, in a report from a troop of scavengers that had probably been drinking too much, a ghost can be seen watching ponies from rooftops and windows throughout Manehatten. Now I like the sauce now and again too boys, but leave some for the rest of us. Stay safe out there, you don’t want to end up on this broadcast. This is DJP0N3, bringing you the truth, no matter how bad it hurts."
Nice to hear Punch got himself on the morning report. Some lonely little colt probably wanted a toy to play with, found one of the traps, and got his forelegs blown off. Well, shit happens. Sometimes it happens to good ponies. Punch was purposely doing it to good ponies, and that was reason enough for me to stop him.
As I crested a small hill dotted with blackened trees, I spotted movement below. A large, hulking figure was examining a pile of rocks. Diving (or rather, wobbling) behind a tree, I got as low as my broken leg could get me. Wishing for Med-X, I edged my head out for a closer look, and immediately changed my wish to include an anti-material rifle.
A massive Hellhound stood watching me from two hundred feet away. It cocked its head, sniffing the air. I had two sticks of dynamite, three .357 revolvers, and a broken leg. It sniffed again, and stood straight up. The most massive revolver I've ever seen was gripped tightly in its hand; it looked like it shot cannonballs. This wasn't right. Usually they attack on sight, or from below ground. And they carry laser rifles if anything, not a revolver the size of light artillery.
It leveled the weapon at me, cocking its head. What an odd time to notice the over-sized mutt wasn't massive for a Hellhound, just massive compared to me. I also happened to notice my legs weren't responding to my brain, which I thought had been telling them to 'run', and 'fast'. Additionally, thanks to the wonders of reflexes, I had gone and drawn my .357 magnum from my foreleg holster and was pointing it back at the beast.
The Hellhound lowered the gun, and walked on three of its legs towards me. Its eyes were full of curiosity, and wasn't making aggressive moves. At least I thought so, I had never seen a Hellhound act this way before. Something in my gut told me to lower my revolver, and something in my brain told me not to. On one hoof, the bullets were hollow-points and probably couldn't penetrate its skull. On the other... I was dead anyway.
"Pony... Where can I find bullets?" The words came in a slow, scratchy voice.
"Huh?" The gun dropped from my mouth and onto the ground.
"Bullets... For gun." The thing waved its weapon around in the air like a toy, and I got a good look at its claws; they were long enough to slice me like bread.
It was asking me for ammo. Any Hellhound could just tear me apart in the blink of an eye using nothing more than its own body; why would it need ammo? This was strange. "Uh... W-what does it shoot?" I stuttered, hardly believing I was helping it.
"Cyber-dog made for me. Said was thirty, seven, milli, meter. Don't know what that is. Said get more and protect."
37 millimeter? This Hellhound has a handgun that fired rounds once used to stop dragons and heavy Zebra mechs. As I was thinking, I noticed little wires in the wrinkles on its forehead, and more around his ears. I never met any "Cyber-Dogs", but they sounded like the type to go messing with fancy electronics; maybe they found a way to neutralize Hellhounds. It hadn't attacked me in a frothing rage, so maybe they'd done it. I'd just like to be on their side if the idea worked. "I'll tell you, if you promise not to hurt anybody who doesn't try to hurt you."
"Cyber-dogs tell me this too." it said. "So I say yes." At least the Cyber-dogs were friendly, or at least not out to kill ponies. Nice to have a little confirmation on that other than the fact I wasn't a fleshy puddle right now.
"Go south and look for Maripony Military Base. If any place around here has your bullets, that would be it." I didn't have a clue if there were more there, but it was Hellhound territory and he wouldn't be killing or getting killed in there.
It turned its head south. "Thank you, pony. I will tell them you helped me." It stepped off, moving quickly across the hill and out of my sight. I shook my head, clearing my mind. Carefully wiping the sweat off my face, I retrieved my weapon.
"That's something I ain't never seen before," I muttered. Getting back on (or rather, off) the road, I continued on my way, still puzzled by my encounter. Doc and Snowflake would've wanted to help the thing the moment they saw it was friendly. Basket would've let 'em help. I found my mind wandering back to the old days as I pressed on, remembering back to when we were just kids in the Wastes.
"C'mon Basket, you can do it!" I whispered. The blue filly in front of me was panting with effort, her horn glowing. We were hiding under a red boxcar in the dirt. "Tan. You need to be tan!"
"I know that!" She snapped. "Sit your impatient butt down and hang on. This isn't easy." A faint blue glow washed over her, and her fur and mane turned a dirty shade of yellow. "There," she panted, "How's that?"
"Good enough. My turn!"
"How many times do I have to tell you? I can only do this for myself. You'll have to roll around in the mud like usual," she snorted.
"Aww, you said you'd figure it out!" I whined. She promised me she'd be able to do it to me this time!
"Someday, but not now," she replied. I huffed and started wallowing around in the dirt, making sure it was sticking.
"How's this?"
"Good! Ya really think this'll work?" Basket peeked out from under the boxcar, observing the ponies of New Appleloosa.
"It better, or we'll be hungry tomorrow. Is anpony lookin'?"
"Nope. Let's go." She led the way, sprinting into an alley. I was hot on her hooves, keeping low. We came to a stop beside a rusty tan boxcar, being used as a shop. "Okay, you're up!"
I nodded. "Here I go!" Running out into the street, I immediately collapsed, screaming at the top of my lungs. "Help! I been poisoned! I been poisoned!" I started convulsing for good measure. Several adults came running. Including the one that owned the shop, hollering for healing potions and herbs. Out of the corner of my eye, Basket was blending in with the color of the store, sneaking inside to acquire certain necessities. She'd better hurry before these ponies started shoving stuff down my throat!
A green mare pressed a vial against my lips. My jaw clenched, wrenching my head side to side so she couldn't give it to me. "What's wrong with him?" The multicolored ponies surrounded me.
"He said he was poisoned!" shouted one. I whipped my head around some more, making sure to keep my mouth firmly shut, especially after last time.
"I'd say he looks like he's got an infection-fevah! Get a thermometah!"
"I brought one, here!" A brown stallion passed one to the green mare. I thrashed some more, trying to delay them as long as possible.
"No good, he's got lockjaw," the mare said, looking me over as I convulsed.
"It doesn't have to go in the mouth," he replied.
What did he mean, 'it doesn't have to go in the mouth'? Where else would it... Wait... Uh oh. My eyes widened, and I opened my mouth and screamed. "NO! NO! I BEEN POISONED I TELL YA! I BEEN POISONED, I DON'T HAVE NO FEVER!"
"Hold him down! He needs help!" The stronger ponies placed their hooves on my back and held me there. This is it. This is the end. I'll die of humiliation. I struggled even harder, kicking and swinging, knocking the thermometer out of her hooves. Two more ponies grabbed my free limbs and pinned them down. What the hell was wrong with these ponies? Just give me a healing potion. Some bandages! One of those sucker-things doctors use to get venom out of snake bites! Luna above, some Psycho! Who sees a child in trouble and their first thought is to hold them down and jam something up their butt?
"Hey!" A box of Cram sailed over me, knocking the green mare in the head. Another flew into the pony restraining my head. "Take that!" A barrage of empty tin cans proceeded to rain down, the adult ponies dashing for cover. Glancing up, I saw Basket on top of the boxcar, throwing our recently acquired goods with both hooves and horn. "Run Judge!" I didn't need to be told twice. I jumped up and skedaddled on out of there.
Basket turned and jumped down into the alleys. I joined her, and together we ran. The same group that was willing to try and heal me were now trying to catch us for stealing their goods. So much for charity. "We'll split and meet up at the boxcar!" I yelled.
She broke left, and I went right. I managed to slither under the nearest boxcar-house while the mob ran back out into the streets, thinking that's where I'd gone. Basket was having a little more trouble, attempting to flee and keep the bag of goods levitating behind her. She ran out towards the railyard, three stallions closing in. I wriggled out and dashed after them. She was leading them in a big circle, and I caught a glimpse of the burlap sack above me as it was magically tossed into a flipped boxcar, her pursuers not taking notice.
She suddenly stopped and turned to face her pursuers, her small horn lighting up. I closed my eyes and ran through them. The angry yelling was the signal to open my eyes again. Basket was sitting on the boxcar she tossed the bag into, motioning for me to get closer. When I did, she levitated me up and in.
We landed on the inside, listening for the ponies just on the other side of the metal walls.
"Damn it! Where'd that little bitch go?"
"I think she took off for the gates with her little bastard friend!" A hoof thudded angrily against the ground.
"Well good riddance. If the guards don't catch 'em, somethin' else will. They only grabbed a few cans of food anyways."
"We chased her around like that over a few things of Cram!"
"Hey! I'll buy you a drink, if that'll settle you down."
"Fine." The sound of the three stallions trotting away made me feel a little safer.
"You alright?" I asked her quietly.
"Hmmph. I'm fine. But it seems you might have a temperature," she teased.
I growled, before slowly cracking into a grin and joined Basket laughing. "Couldn't have cut it much closer, couldja?"
"I had to find empty cans. Unless you wanted me to throw the good stuff at 'em." She dumped the sack on the floor, revealing enough food to last us a few more days. "Think we're safe with two meals today?"
"Probably. But we need to add a few cans to the travel supply if we want to make it to Manehatten." I shuddered at that mention.
Basket laid down beside me. "Still don't like the old cities?"
"They're... They're just creepy. That's all. Like there should be ponies everywhere but there aren't. Always feel like I'm being watched."
A large, fleshy being plopped down next to us. Basket eeked and pressed up against the boxcar wall. I put myself between her and the thing, ready to try and fight. It took a moment for me to realize it was one of the other shopkeepers, a ghoul pegasus, with a small blackboard around her neck.
'You shouldn't steal!' was written on it. One of her eyes refused to look at us, while the other was burning away in a stare. Using her mouth, she erased the words and wrote, 'So here's a gift.' Behind her was a small sack, filled with food and even two healing potions, and her gaze softened when she saw our eyes going wide. She wrote on her board again, the words scrunched so they'd fit on it. 'You can stay with me if you want. But no more stealing!'
"S-sorry ma'am," Basket said politely, "But we feel safer out in the Wastes." The mare gave her a worried look, so the unicorn filly added, "Don't worry. We have hideouts nopony but us can find. Right, Judge?"
"Yep!" I nodded furiously. "Nopony can find our hidin' spots."
I wondered if any of those hiding spots were still out there. I guess they weren't more than holes in burned trees or small caves in ruined buildings, but back then they kept us alive. We first met Ditzy a long time ago, more than twenty years, if I remember it right. Back when it was just me and Basket, two orphans roaming around the Wasteland hiding from Raiders and stealing to stay alive. Basket learned a few neat tricks here and there to stay out of trouble, but I was always who had to get dirty. Not that I minded, it's not healthy for a pony to stay too clean.
Judging by the sun, I had an hour or so before nightfall. I figured I had been making good time, even with a broken leg, but shelter was scarce. Getting off the road, I searched until I found a burnt, broken tree that would do. It took the last hour of light, but with effort several scorched branches lay against the trunk in a makeshift lean-to. Careful not to wrench my leg as I crawled inside, I hoped for an uneventful night. Above me, a small patch of stars was showing through the clouds.
The night sky was a rare sight in the Wasteland. Sometimes I found myself wishing I could lay on an open plain somewhere, look up, and see nothing but stars above. A cook fire collapsing into coals, listening to the wind float across long grass in an earthly music, my friends quietly laying next to me. As the clouds slowly knitted back together, I drifted off to sleep, gazing up towards the grey sky.
About half an hour before the sunrise I found myself waking. Looking through my bags, I had a few snack cakes and a box of Cram left, along with some freeze-dried coffee and two bottles of water. I emptied a pouch of coffee into my mouth, downing it with a few swigs of water, followed by a few bites of Cram. The bitter taste woke me up and got me on my way.
At this rate, I could be there by noon. Maybe New Appleloosa was closer than I thought; it had been a while since I'd been down this way. The pain in my rear leg was starting to grow; I definitely needed some Med-X or another healing potion. That first should've taken care of it, but that caravaner warned me some of the potions might be low-quality. Doc could patch up anypony from anything with nothing but booze and ripped clothes, but I can't get an idiot-proof healing potion to work properly. Doc had vanished up north, setting out on his own; not to mention he seemed to be losing it when he left. At least Ditzy Doo always had good stuff for sale, I'd have to ask her when I get to town.
I continued my hobble, always watching for anything suspicious. Just a couple more hours. A soft pop echoed through the air. A gunshot. I picked my revolver from the holster and moved forward. Sounded like it was just up ahead. Crossing the crest of a hill, I saw a caravan cart being attacked by several raiders on the road. The raiders' backs were to me, and the flipped cart was providing cover for some traders.
I managed to move close enough to where I could shoot accurately, the raiders too absorbed in their current fight to notice. "Hey!" I shouted, "Over here, shitbags!" No return shots were coming from the cart, and the raiders shifted their attention to me. They were so dirty I couldn't tell if they were another color aside from brown and red, and they all had similar tattered barding made from scrap metal and strips of leather. Two had shovels, one with a two-by-four, two with double-barreled sawn-offs, and two more with semi-automatic pistols. All shouting and screaming as they tried to rush me.
One by one, Judge, one by one. A shot to a shovel-wielding raider's chest was enough to drop him mid-step. The same went for his two companions with melee weapons. They had closed quickly, their companions moving slower, trying to aim. The two carrying pistols fired wildly at me, their shots going wide. The double-barrel twins were now closing. A spray of buckshot bit into my chest, my barding stopping their penetration. I bit my mouthpiece, dropping one with a bang. The other took a shallow hit, the bullet entering his shoulder and exiting his side, but still collapsed and let his shotgun clatter to the ground. I fired the last round from that revolver into his chest to make sure he stayed down.
Down to the pistol wielding ponies. They were busy attempting to reload. Limping forward, my revolver fell from my mouth as I plucked another from my left foreleg holster. I turned the fully-loaded .357 on the two raiders left standing. They glanced up just as I emptied two rounds into the left one's chest and side. The other slammed his magazine home and promptly tried to empty it in my direction, but failed to fire. Another shot caught him in the throat, his eyes going wide as he tried to breathe through a perforated trachea. One more shot to his chest ended the gurgling as blood continued to gush from his neck. Scooping my two used .357's into my saddlebags, I drew my final loaded gun and made my way through the bodies, checking for anything valuable. The heavy smell of gunsmoke hung in the air, stringy wisps of white rising slowly into the sky. Two were still alive, choking and moaning. I didn't have the bullets to waste on them; they weren't a threat anymore.
These raiders had absolute shit for weapons and ammunition. The brass was dented on unfired rounds, their guns were cracked, caked in carbon, and the last one I'd shot had jammed his magazine upside down so hard it was stuck. Hell, the sights on both pistols had rusted away; no wonder they couldn't hit me. I was simply amazed that any of their firearms actually fired and didn't explode in their face when it did.
The overturned cart was forty yards further down the road. A purple head poked out from over the top, levitating a rusted break-barrel shotgun at me. "H-hold it right there! I know how to use this!" The mare shouted. Her voice was wavering, and I could make out a colt crying. "Don't come any closer!"
I stopped advancing, holstered my weapon, but kept my eyes on her. "It's okay. They're dead. Are you alright?"
She observed the dead raiders and took a minute to think. "I suppose if you wanted to kill us you'd have done it by now. This thing is empty anyways." The shotgun lowered back down behind the cart. "We were trying to make for New Appleloosa before the raiders could catch up to us. My husband is hurt badly, do you have any healing potions?"
"I used my last yesterday. Get him in the cart and go. I'll protect ya best I can." Limping around, her husband was lying behind the wagon and had taken multiple buckshot wounds to his orange hide, both to his chest and side. Blood slowly trickled out onto the ground and matted his fur. It looked nasty enough, but hopefully we had a short while before he'd expire. His little red colt was next to him, using strips of his own filthy clothing as makeshift bandages, tears streaming down his face. Their goods were no more than junk scattered over the ground. As the mare pushed the cart back on its wheels, I addressed the child. "Ya did good, kid. Your daddy's gonna be okay. I promise." He remained attentive to his father, not even acknowledging me.
The mare floated the stallion into the cart. He had lost consciousness, either from shock or blood loss. Either way, he needed help soon. The purple unicorn buckled herself into the cart, and the colt hopped in the back with his dad. "Can you keep up with that leg?" the mare asked. On her face was a look of exhaustion I knew too well.
"Don't you worry about me. Just get going, and don't stop."
The pain in my broken leg was growing with every step. The bone was grating against itself at the break. To my left, the mare wasn't faring much better; while uninjured, she was pushing herself too hard. Too much of it and she'd collapse, and I'd have a hard time pulling the wagon with all three of them in it. Truth was I didn't know if we were being followed, but that's the reason we had to keep moving. If we stopped, just hoping nobody was tailing us wouldn't stop them if they were.
The brown and grey landscape passed by agonizingly slowly, and in the very distance I could just make out the rusted walls of the town, stacked high with boxcars; they'd improved the walls since I'd been there last. Almost directly behind us on the horizon, the faint outline of a giant mountain stood, rising up into the clouds, with a pink blotch on the side. A dense fog was rolling in from the west, obscuring the gentle hills and road that led to Ponyville. We gad to keep going. We were almost there.
The purple unicorn staggered, trying not to trip over her own feet as she regained her balance. Her husband was slipping into unconsciousness for the third time, and that colt didn't have the strength to pull the cart if she fell; I doubt I had it anymore. "Miss, you got to slow down," I huffed, "If you go down, I don't think I can pick ya up."
"Have. To keep. Going," she panted. She was definitely hurting, her voice cracked with pain. She was scared; maybe from her husband's wounds, maybe because she was thinking the same thing I was and figured more Raiders heard the gunshots and were closing in. Her eyes stayed fixed on New Appleloosa.
"Mom, slow down," The red colt said quietly from the cart. "Dad's gonna be okay. And the stallion can protect us if we're attacked." At his words, the mare slowed to a quick trot. She had the same look in her eyes, but at least she wasn't going to collapse between here and the town. Although, with only ten bullets left and a splinted leg, I'm not sure how much protecting I could do if things went south.
After a few minutes at the slower pace she was a little more surefooted. We sped back up, but I was still concerned about the mare. If she fell, I couldn't haul them both in the cart, and the colt wouldn't have the stamina to. My last ten bullets were loaded in two revolvers; if we were ambushed I doubted my ability to keep any of us safe. Had to keep moving. Almost there. Our hooves scraped on the ground, both too tired to pick them up properly, while the wagon wheels squeaked with every turn. Her husband groaned in the back on every bump, and the colt was trying to suppress his sobbing. The air was turning muggy with the incoming fog, as if right before a rain. The walls steadily grew larger, and even though we were probably safe we didn't dare slow down.
After a few more minutes, we reached the rusted gates. They slid open at our approach, screeching and grinding loudly. As we crossed the threshold, the mare hit the ground hard, momentum of the cart pushing her through the dirt a few feet and leaving her scraped. The colt cried out and jumped to his mother's side when she didn't get up. Suppressing the urge to vomit from exhaustion, I turned to one of the guards. "Where's the doc?"
"I'm not sure at--"
"Then fucking find him!" I had to swallow a mouthful of bile to shout again. "DOC!" A few heads poked out, but no one answered. "DOC!" Dammit, which one of these was the clinic? "DITZY!" A familiar fleshy head poked out from a string of three boxcars, looking around; when she saw me she started waving. "Got any healing potions!?" The head bobbed up and down excessively and vanished back inside. A moment later she flew out with several flasks cradled in her hooves, stopping next to me. Her eyes widened when she saw my splint, and rushed to uncork a vial. "The stallion in the cart. Him first. Then the mare." She dropped one next to me, and took the rest over to the cart where the colt was laying next to his mother. The small pony yelped and tried to hide behind the tired mare at the ghoul-pony's approach.
"Get away from my family!" The unicorn staggered to her hooves, horn sputtering blue light. Ditzy stopped and glanced back at me, worried.
"Goddammit miss, she's trying to help!" We were starting to draw a crowd. The town doctor was still nowhere in sight, lazy bastard. "I suggest you let her. She's a friend of mine, and I ain't about to let anythin' happen to her, or you."
"A herd of them overran our town two weeks ago." The colt still quivered behind his mother, who was looking a little ashamed at her own outburst. "We're all that's left."
"Ditzy's no feral, I promise. Now, will you let her give your husband the potion?" When the mare nodded I thought Ditzy was going to catch fire from beaming. She tilted the stallion's head up and let most of the potion run down his throat, pouring the rest on his wounds. He remained unconscious as his wounds healed, slowly but surely. Ditzy quickly scribbled 'Needs real doctor' on her blackboard. "Go find the Doc, Ditzy. I'll take one for my leg." She bobbed her head and jumped into the air. I never understood how she could fly without feathers. Or patches of fur and skin. Magic is weird sometimes.
I pried the cork out of a vial and downed the contents. My leg felt incredibly stiff in the splint as the potion went to work; it wouldn't outright fix the leg, but it'd at least help the bone knit together. Ditzy returned shortly, pushing a bleary-looking green unicorn with a yellow mane and syringe cutie mark towards the cart.
"Gah, alright Miss Ditzy, alright! That's quite enough." She poked him in the side with a hoof. Hard. "Ow! Fine, fine! I'm on it. No need to be pushy." She jabbed him again. "Ow!" He finally moved to the unconscious stallion, pressing an ear to his chest and prodding various places. "He appears to be stable. May have fainted from shock or blood loss, but then again you can't put a tourniquet on a torso. Should be okay after a few days of rest, I'll bring him to my office in a minute." Turning to me while the mare tended to her husband, he asked, "Now, how'd you manage to break that leg?"
"Jumping off a third story deck."
Doc frowned. "Don't you travel with healing potions? Or common sense?"
"I had a batch from the Hoof." Ditzy matched the Doc's disapproving expression. "Can I just get a room for the night?"
The ghoul pegasus wasted no time in scrawling 'Follow' on her board. Ditzy led me into Absolutely Everything, her store. A colorful sign read 'Yes I do deliveries!' and 'No hooves? Nasty stinger? No service' hung on the wall. A large assortment of goods was spread over the counters and shelves, with more locked away in various cupboards and safes. Once inside, she slid the boxcar door shut and put up a closed sign.
There we stood, looking at each other for a moment, before embracing in a hug. I guess somepony else would think her smell as foul or rancid; for me, it was oddly comforting. It was as close to a smell of home as I'd ever known, and she did her best to minimize it. "It's good to see you again, Ditzy."
Backing away, she scrawled 'Good to see you' on her chalkboard, followed up by 'What happened?'
"Punchline." I sat back on my haunches as best I could, tired from the morning's events. "He's been leaving booby-trapped toys on the sides of roads, thinking it's funny. Tracked him to a Ministry of Peace building two days north of here. Tracks led inside. He had little games set up for me. Thought I had him trapped on the third floor..." I stomped my forehoof angrily. "Bastard had been outside the whole time. Tricked me into thinking he was about to blow the whole place, so I jumped. He ran off towards Ponyville and left me in the street."
'You were friends last time you were here.'
"We were. How many years ago was that? Two? Three?" Ditzy nodded. "We started splitting up shortly after. Punch was the first to go, cracked and ran off. Then Snowflake, Wire, Doc, and..." I swallowed. "And Basket. We had a fight, she stormed off, and I haven't seen her since."
'What will you do?'
"I'm going to find them. And I'm going to kill them." Ditzy recoiled as if I had struck her. "Punch went insane, Snow's a slaver, Wire's a bandit, and Doc mentioned experimenting when he went!"
She was shocked, and took a minute to write down her reply. 'Can't you give them a chance?'
"They had their chance. You weren't there when they left, saw what they were doing. It's the only way, Ditzy. They're just making more misery out there, and I'm the only one who will stop them." In truth, I'm probably the only one that cared to.
'Why you? Why them?' Her eyes were pleading with me.
"Because I'm old, Ditzy." She raised what was left of her eyebrow. "Compared to most of the kids out there? I'm old. My former friends are too. They'll see some young gun headin' for them, and waste him 'fore he could blink. I'm making for Ponyville tomorrow morning, and I need supplies."
Ditzy sat down, looking at random places around her shop as she thought, refusing to make eye contact. After a few moments of silence, she wrote, 'What do you need?'
".357 magnum rounds, as many as you have. Healing potions, Med-X, Radaway, new barding or replacement parts, dynamite, Wonderglue, mines, rope, water, food, and lots of coffee. I have caps to pay for it all." She nodded and searched around her shop, occasionally glancing back at me. "I'm going to stretch my leg."
"Ain't you had enough, Judge?" The brown unicorn eyed me suspiciously.
"Naw. Another." The sun had set outside under the cover of an overcast sky. The bar was beginning to fill with ponies weary from a day of work, talking and joking until the noise blended into one loud unintelligible gibberish. The metal counter was rusted and dirty, the shotglasses were smeared with Celestia-knows-what, but I didn't care. All I wanted was more. Something to muffle the thoughts in my head. The reddish liquor filled my glass, and down it went. The bartender was fiddling with his drinks again. "Another."
"I should cut you off right now." He swapped my glass out for something a little larger, and filled it with more whiskey.
"Fuck off." Down that whiskey went. Something was wrong... It didn't taste right. "What the hell was in that?" My words were slurring together.
"That was my Suckerpunch," he said smugly, glancing at his watch.
"Whas a fuckin' Suckerpunch?" I didn't like that name.
"Give it a minute. Go take a piss, I'll get you some more when you get back." He turned around and started dealing with other customers, ignoring my shouts for another shot. What the hell, I'd go piss somewhere.
It took a minute of stumbling through the crowd to find the bathroom. Just a piece of cloth covering a closet with a bucket and cleaning supplies inside. Found you! I wasted no time in relieving myself; it felt pretty damn good after all.
"What the-- Well, I did tell you to piss. Would've preferred if it hadn't been in my mop bucket."
I looked around; a mop was standing next to the bucket. "Oooh, whoops!"
He checked his watch. "Remember that Suckerpunch?"
"Yeah, gimme some fuckin' whiskey this time. None o' that watered down bullshit."
"3... 2... 1..." The world went black.
I woke up on my back feeling cold and wet. The ceiling rotated above me, and bile filled my mouth. Swallowing, I tried to sit up. Bad idea. The vomit stopped mid-swallow and reversed, spewing into a tin bucket that had appeared in front of me. No chance to take a breath before more came up. And more. It stopped just long enough for me to take a short inhale before rocketing out again, spraying the grey bucket with green liquid.
"Dammit... Who's there?" I was still slumped forward, leaning on my forehooves. Then the grey forelegs holding the bucket gave me my answer. "Sorry Ditzy. I can't read anything right now." The bucket dropped between my hooves.
"It's breaking you," a soft voice murmured.
"Who the fuck said that?"
"Don't let it break you," the voice said again. It was familiar... I took a chance and looked up from the bucket. The little red colt was sitting in front of a concerned Ditzy, reading what she wrote. Another wave of nausea hit and I returned to staring at my sloshing container, adding another mouthful. "It broke them. Don't let it break you."
"I'm sorry Ditzy. I never meant... Just a shot. Then another. And another." I groaned again. "I have to do this, Ditzy. I'm sorry." I couldn't bring myself to tell her the Wasteland broke me years ago when Basket vanished, ending the last of my friendships.
"Don't be," he read slowly, "Your saddlebags are packed. Don't tell me what happens."
It was the last hill I could still see New Appleloosa from. The walled town stood alone, a few railroad tracks meandering their way to it, looking dull and lifeless under the grey sky. A few more steps, and it'd disappear. Maybe I'd see it again someday. Maybe not.
I had strayed from the road and was walking a route parallel to it. I'd be outside of any ambushes set up, giving me the edge. Punch was probably somewhere in the town. Knowing him, he probably decorated his choice of residence with an absurd display. Sneaking might be my best bet to get in, but that was one thing I was never good at. Had to try at least; walking in guns blazing would be an easy way to die if the raiders were home.
The sparse trees and hills produced the normal eerie silence. Shadows were faint if they appeared at all; the clouds, as always, obscuring the sky. As daylight faded, I figured I'd keep pushing into the night. Punch might decide to run someplace else, and if he did I'd be hard-pressed to catch up with him again. I've gotten too lucky, too many times tracking him and I wasn't about to push my good fortune.
First came the hoof-stubbing. Then the poking of invisible sticks. After only an hour of drudging around in the dark, I gave up and made camp. Without moon or starlight, it was near pitch-black and running into broken tree limbs and invisible rocks was getting old, not to mention keeping direction was becoming a problem. In this darkness I had the navigational skills of a cupcake.
A simple dry depression in the ground served just fine, it was deep enough for me to stay out of sight of anyone scanning the area. I ate a few bites of Cram, drank half a water bottle, then laid my head inches from my foreleg's holster as I drifted off to sleep.
The dark grey sky was there to meet my eyes when they slid open. Attempting to clear my throat, a croak escaped as if I had been gargling gravel. Only one cure for feeling like shit when you wake up; large amounts of coffee. I ripped open a pouch of the freeze-dried stuff and emptied it into the half-empty water bottle from the night before, and downed a swallow. The expected bitterness sent a shiver through my body that got my eyes open.
After a quick look-around of my camp and finding no undesirable neighbors, I got out my portable radio and flicked it on. It was making some funny noises, nothing a good thump or two couldn't fix. Some hardtack washed down with cold coffee provided my breakfast as I listened to the morning broadcast.
"Hello everypony, it's DJP0N3 here. Got some news for ya.
As always, don't go snooping around things left on the side of the road. It's probably a trap. Don't travel if you don't have to, and if you have to, do it while well-armed, or walk with a guarded caravan. Stay safe.
Time for the good stuff. We got a report of a grey stallion helping a family by New Appleloosa. Our source said he came from nowhere, gunned down no less than seven raiders on open ground, and escorted the family to safety, all on a broken leg. Nice shootin' Grey, hope I'll hear about you again.
An excavation on the outskirts of Manehatten turned deadly last night when their mine caved in. Two brothers held up a loose support beam long enough for the rest of the workers to make it to safety, sacrificing themselves in the process. There are still good ponies out there folks, never forget that.
Several large figures have been seen moving around south of Ponyville, and an exterminated raider pit was discovered several miles north of Old Appleloosa. Coincidence? I don't think so. Something's out there kiddies, it's big, it's bad, and it can tear a dozen raiders to shreds. Maybe a wandering group of Hellhounds, maybe some bored Steel Rangers, maybe a few alicorns. Steer clear and stick to established caravan routes if you have to travel.
That concludes the morning show, here's Sweetie Belle, singin' about--"
Didn't care for Sweetie Belle. Nice enough voice, but I stopped listening to it long ago. I packed up camp and resumed my journey west. I should be at Ponyville by mid-afternoon, depending if anything was waiting for me between here and there.
As it turned out, the only things between me and Ponyville were memories and the ground ahead.
"Hey, Wire!"
"Kinda busy right now Punch!" the blue-coated unicorn shouted back. The second floor room we were in was nothing more than a large empty square space with a circular staircase in the far corner, plugged with broken furniture.
"Why did the raider pony have trouble talking?" Punch asked, grinning as he held himself on the floor under his window.
"Dammit, why!?" Wire whipped her head up and let out two bursts from her chopped-down assault rifle.
"He was a little horse!"
The mare ducked behind cover as a stream of bullets sprayed through her window. "Celestia dammit Punch, that was fucking terrible! Save your puns for later, I'm tryin' to shoot ponies! Judge, you get that dynamite-launcher working yet?"
"Fuckin' thing won't cock!"
"Lemme see it." An orange glow enveloped the crossbow-like weapon, and the draw string finally clicked back and locked. "Just needed a little more pull."
"Thanks." I placed a dynamite stick in the holder, and quickly peeked outside.
Six or seven raiders were firing from positions in two demolished houses opposite us, making used of destroyed furniture for cover. Another three were in the street, and three more were directly under me trying to break through the front door. I let a dynamite stick fly into the ones standing like idiots in street. I ducked before it detonated, only hearing the explosion. There was a wet splatter of pony guts combined with the high-pitched shrieking of a dying mare.
I hit the floor as the raiders opened up on me, bullets tearing through the walls and showering me with splinters. A few rounds hit my leather barding but failed to penetrate, passing through the wall but stopped by the ballistic plates. "Nice shot Judge!" Punch called from my right, priming a grenade. With a toss it sailed through the air and landed in one of the collapsed buildings, the explosion sending the entrenched raiders scrambling. "Ha! How do ya like them apples!"
Wire let out another burst from her levitating assault rifle. "Where are the others?"
As she ducked down, I popped up, revolver in mouth, and fired a pair of shots. "Hell if I know, maybe they're stuck like us."
"Hope not," Punch replied, firing his automatic through his window as I dropped back to cover. "Basket and Doc ain't much for fighting, Snow's alright but he can't hit shit."
"True, but they can get out of anything," Wire replied, shaking her orange mane free of debris. "Doc's got that knock-out needle gun of his, and Basket has that flash-spell." A thoughtful expression came over her face as I shot twice more. "Wonder if this'll work." She levitated a mine out of her saddle-bags and floated it outside of her window. Priming it, she let the round device drop.
A quickening beeping filled with air alongside gunshots before a gut-wrenching explosion came from below. An increase of bullets tore through the walls, sending slivers and shrapnel flying around us. "I don't recall raiders ever being this well-armed," Punch thought aloud.
"Must've taken 'em from a caravan," Wire offered in return. "I don't want to know what'll happen if the whole settlement gets armed like these mooks." Her assault rifle spit more rounds downrange, clattering with the music of an automatic weapon.
Punch went back to firing as I tried to load a speed clip into my .357. "GET AWAY FROM THE WALL!!" I felt a force yank me towards the center of the room when a bang blew the outer wall inwards on us.
"What the fuck--" I tried to get up and collapsed on my side when a pain exploded in my chest. "I'm hit!" My companions resumed firing out of the jagged hole behind me as I lay facing the blocked stairwell. And that detonated with flash of brown and grey right in my face, leaving me deafened and half blind. With some effort I managed to draw my spare .357 from a foreleg holster and waited for a raider to pop his ugly head up through the hole.
A black stallion did just that and I blew his brains across the wall. After a few more shots from my friends, the world finally quieted, the off-white smoke of gunpowder drifting through the air and stinging my nostrils. The throbbing pain in my side was still growing, and when I turned to look I noticed a piece of wood roughly the size of a wagon axle impaling me through my chest and back.
"Uh, Judge? I think you got a splinter," Punch tried to joke while sifting through our saddle bags.
"Yeah," I gasped. Breathing was becoming difficult, like a Hellhound was sitting on me. "Stings a little bit." The pain hadn't hit me full force yet; there was no way getting impaled hurt this little.
"He's losing a lot of blood. That's gonna have to come out before we can give him a healing potion, or else the flesh might heal into the wood," Wire said.
"This is, gonna hurt, isn't it?" The blue unicorn nodded. "Med-X?"
She shook her head. "Punch, get me a hacksaw, then keep watch in case they come back." Punch tossed her one and covered the downstairs entrance from the stairwell. With the saw in her telekinetic grip, Wire made quick work of one protruding side, carefully holding the wood steady so it wouldn't vibrate too much. She offered me a leather strap from her saddlebag to bite on; I accepted gladly. "Doc should really be doing this... Okay, in five, four--" She yanked. I screamed through the strap, jaw clenching. Warm blood started flowing over my hide and pooled beneath me. All I could see was white and black spots, my chest going through spasms as I coughed and choked. She wrenched my mouth open with magic and poured a healing potion down my throat, and part of another flask into the hole. A sick gurgling came from the wound when I tried to breathe, but I could feel the flesh slowly knitting itself back together and the pressure in my chest leaving.
The pain was rapidly retreating, but I couldn't do much other than lay there and wait for the potions to heal. "Thanks Wire." She smiled in return, observing the healing.
"What I tell ya Judge? Just a splinter."
"Punch?" I asked.
He trotted over in front of me. "Yeah?"
Laughing, I looked him square in the eye. "Fuck you."
The outskirts of Ponyville were drawing near; dilapidated houses and stores stood a silent vigil over the empty streets. There was no foliage for me to move up unnoticed, but I couldn't spot any raiders standing watch. Moving slowly, deliberately, I crossed the open distance to the nearest house. Nopony shot at me, but they were here. I couldn't see them, but I could feel their eyes on me. .357's sat in holsters on both my forelegs, each loaded with six bullets. The raiders still didn't attack; the sight of a lone pony just walking into their home might've unnerved them. Or they were waiting in an ambush.
When I turned down an alley to get further into town, two mares and a stallion staggered out in front of me. The red stallion held a sledgehammer in his mouth, and each mare had a pool cue. Extremely filthy linen clothed them, random metal scrap sewn on around the shoulders. Their eyes were dilated and they had a bad case of the shakes. The stallion stumbled forward, pathetically trying to lift the sledgehammer high enough to swing. Drawing my right revolver, one shot into the slow-moving pony's chest dropped him on the spot. He wasn't dead, but I doubted he'd get up again.
The other two were glancing at each other and backpedaling. Snapping my head to her, the left one dropped similar to her colt-friend. The last dropped the pool cue, trying to turn and run. She tripped and fell, still scraping along the ground in an attempt to get away from me. I walked up beside her, and she turned to look at me.
Her eyes, while a light-blue, were severely bloodshot and were watering up. Her jaw quivered as she stared up at me. "P-please..."
A little pressure in the right spot is all it takes to block a major artery. Her thrashing was weak; I held my hoof on her neck until she stopped convulsing.
My gaze moved from one side of the street to the other, scanning for more raiders. The feeling of being watched went away, and the buildings were silent once more. A smashed marble fountain sat in the wrecked town center. I stopped before it, still scanning the open plaza. Easily the largest structure in sight, the circular town hall towered over the area. The top levels had fallen in, but the lower parts stood strong. Large windows were boarded over, the glass being blown out over two centuries before. Around the circular structure, dozens upon dozens of ragged teddy bears hung on barbed wire like tinsel. It was stretched from arch to arch, nailed in above windowframes and the main doorway. Where raiders would adorn their home with body parts, Punch decorated with children's toys.
The doors were shut, rotting and soft but still standing. I pushed them open, and spotted a blue-maned yellow pony sitting facing a wall, his back to me, in a small pile of crushed syringes. "Hello, Judge."
"Hello, Punch. We have business."
"I know we do," he sighed, still looking at the blank grey wall. "Why can't you understand what I'm doing?" he asked slowly. I stared at the back of his head, refusing to respond. "I'm making ponies happy, Judge. They smile and they laugh."
"And they die."
"But they die happy. They die looking at something that makes them feel good. Probably the only happiness they'll ever know in the Wasteland. We all have to die sometime, Judge." His voice was full resignation, of somepony who has given up completely. "Might as well do it smiling. It's better than what most get."
"What happened to the Punch that would go out of his way to make fillies and colts smile? The pony that always made sure Wire felt good about herself? That made Doc feel better when a surgery didn't turn out well? The pony that was always there to make us laugh no matter what?"
"He's dead. I tried and I tried, but the laughter always stopped after I left, and the misery of their lives continued. This way, they die happy. They'll be smiling forever." Punch turned to face me, his orange eyes wide and tired, and his movements unsteady and weak. His mouth was plastered in an unnerving sick grin. He looked at me with those same sad eyes, the smile slowly vanishing. "We were friends once, Judge. All of us. You, me, Wire, Taffy, Snowflake, and Basket. Can you kill me? Can you end our friendship? I would like to see them again, though."
I drew my revolver, aiming steadily.
"I see. I suppose I've had too many chances already. Goodbye, Judge. I just wanted everypony to be happy. But... Can you tell them I loved them?"
I nodded once, and the sad look on his face melted away, replaced by a tired smile. Not the grin from earlier, but an earnest smile.
"I... I'm ready. Goodbye, friend."
For the first time in two years I found my resolve shaking. My eyes were starting to water, and I knew I had to get it over with quickly; there's no forgiving him for what he'd done. Goodbye, friend.
I stared at the motionless form of Punch, blood and brains dripping from a messy hold in an eye socket. Fading memories started playing in my head. When we first met him, him giving out toys to fillies and colts. Him always trying to make us smile and laugh.
"You were a good pony, Punch." Then came the memories of him going into a rage and storming off. Learning through traders and the radio that he set mines under toys left on the side of the road. The filly in the warehouse just a couple days ago with her throat slit so he could write with her blood. "I just wished you would've stayed that way."
Getting out of Ponyville was just as easy as going in, but the empty buildings were starting to make my fur stand on end. This wasn't like being watched by living ponies. As if the ghosts of those who had died here were still around, waiting for visitors. Waiting for their loved ones to come home from the war. I could feel their eyes in every window and doorway, staring through me, following me as I left town.
A cold shiver ran up my spine. Ever since I was a colt, something never sat right with the empty settlements. Even Basket couldn't get me to stay more than a day in Manehatten. It was an unknown fear and terrified me. Now, it was a nasty feeling in my gut that refused to go away until I had put some distance between me and the cause.
That was one of the reasons I was worked as a caravan guard up north; open spaces and visits to inhabited buildings. The other reason was information. When we met another group, we usually decided to spend some time trading and swapping news. One bit I picked up a few months back was about the new boss of Old Appleloosa, a milky-eyed white unicorn with a dyed red mane. Sounded a lot like Snowflake, so I made note to look into it later. This was as close to Old Appleloosa as I'd been in a year, so after I caught a train from New Appleloosa, that was my next stop.
The journey back to New Appleloosa was relatively uneventful. Just long hours of walking, and nopony except DJ-P0N3 to keep me company. There was a certain joy in travel, I'll admit. Going somewhere just to go somewhere. In my younger years with Basket we'd wander around, looking for something we knew we'd never find. I knew what happiness was back then. I still found ways to enjoy myself from time to time, but I hadn't been happy since Basket left.
When I made camp for the night, I indulged in some overly-tough jerky and switched on my radio.
What's up, Wastelanders? Your favorite loud-mouthed pony here with the nightly broadcast.
I've been looking into this 'Grey' fella, y'know, try and get a backstory, do a feature on him or something to take up airtime. Nada. Nothin'. Not a single scrap of detail on this guy! I don't even know his name. I've just been calling him by the color of his coat. He shows up, saves a family, and splits for Ponyville. That's all I got. If you know anything, send word with a caravan to Tenpony Tower or drop by yourself. I'm pretty much stuck leanin' out the window with a giant pair of binoculars if not for you guys.
Now for some real news. Slavers have been expanding their operation lately, so watch your necks. Raider activity around New Appleloosa has gone down. A small group of colts and fillies has been seen making their way to Manehatten, give 'em a hand if you can, they sure could use it. And here in Manehatten, the screaming at night continues and yet another report of the ghost. Only this time it was flying. I know things can be weird out there, but try and keep your heads on straight. This is DJ-P0N3, signing off for the night.
"We're getting a new morning show on the air tomorrow, Basque and Oats! One stallion's your everyday Tenpony Tower father, and the other's a crotchety security guard. I've hired them to fill the morning slot so I can stay up late with ya and sleep in. I might have a face for radio but that doesn't mean I don't need my beauty sleep."
I lay in a little hole in the ground, looking up at the dark sky. The memories I had of Punch were starting to fade away. I didn't know how it would feel to finally kill him. Over the years I'd killed so many... I thought it'd be different, killing someone I knew so well. But... No. After the gun went off... I didn't feel much of anything. No more than when I killed the three raiders on my way into Ponyville. Or the seven raiders attacking that family. I did what needed to be done and was on my way.
The first time I killed somepony I was horrified. She was a raider who was going to do all sorts of horrible things to me and Basket. Basket blinded her, and I jabbed a knife into the raider's unprotected neck. I tasted her blood as it spurted out over me. The death wasn't clean; she kicked and thrashed, screamed and choked, until finally the life left her. Basket had to drag me out of there to avoid any more raiders. Since then, all the ones I've killed have blended together into one face, until they all look the same.
The next morning was unusually cold. Extra coffee was my answer, but then again it was my answer to most things. The bitterness woke my brain up and got me on my way.
New Appleloosa's gates opened for me, creaking and groaning from the movement. Walking by Absolutely Everything, I could feel Ditzy's gaze as I passed. She was one of two ponies left in this world that I still gave a damn about, the only one of which I knew was still alive, but I kept going. She knew if I was back, I had done what I set out to. Ditzy asked me not to tell her anything, so I wouldn't.
As I moved through the town, ponies seemed to give me more space than usual. They'd duck down an alley, or cross to the other side of the path. Their eyes followed me after I had gone on by, their hushed whispers barely reaching my ears. I hurried my pace and reached the trainmaster's office, a red boxcar with no more than a desk and a few metal crates on the inside, and a window cut out on each wall.
A grey earth pony sat at the aluminum desk, sifting through paperwork and muttering to himself. He didn't notice me until I tapped on his papers, and even then just grunted to show he was listening.
"You headin' to Old Appleloosa?" I asked.
Without looking up, he replied, "Ah am. Need a ride?"
"Yep."
"Jest get in the caboose with the reserve team and shoot any raiders ya see. Ah got enough shit to go through here than to put in more paperwork for another passenger. We ain't responsible for ya dyin', gettin' shot, stabbed, blown up, yadda yadda the damn thing leaves in five minutes so get your ass on it."
I liked him.
The reserve team, all massive stallions, kept watch out of the windows and small tower on the caboose. A red unicorn called Grave was busy restringing his banjo, and a blue earth pony with a fiery orange mane was sleeping soundly beside me. He was dressed in a white shirt and a black overcoat. Tenpony Tower attire if I had to guess, seeing as it was as clean as something could get in the wasteland. He looked comically out-of-place contrasted to my own dirty leather barding and Grave's muddy duster.
The carriage lurched forward as the pulling team started the journey.
With a few last twangs, Grave finished his tuning. His magic began to pluck the strings, setting a slow and mournful rhythm. The music stirred something in me as I recognized the song. Basket, Snowflake, and I had heard this tune coming from an abandoned church in Hoofington. We went to see who was making the music, and found Doc sitting in the first row of pews, gently singing it to himself. Sometimes when we made camp, he'd use his horn to create the melody, and quietly sing while he worked. Despite hearing them for years, I'd long forgotten the words, but those melancholy notes still brought back memories.
The sleeping pony stirred about halfway through the song, yawning. Looking around, his eyes popped open when he saw me, and continued to stare up until the final strum.
"You're him, aren't you?" He asked, still staring. Grave rolled his eyes, muttering.
"I'm who?" I asked, eyebrow raised.
"Y'know, Grey! That pony DJ's been talkin' about. He wants an interview if he can get one, could I ask you a few questions?"
I had a feeling this pony was sNot like I had anything better to do. "Ask away."
"Let me just grab my recording module..."
After almost an hour of questions, Box, the blue pony, had seemingly run out of things to ask. Turns out he earned his keep in Tenpony Tower finding stories for DJP0N3. I wasn't sure all my answers were going to broadcast, though.
As the cloud cover started turning a sickly red, the train neared on Old Appleloosa. It pulled into the decrepit station, and the teams started offloading crates. Ramshackle wooden buildings lined the few streets, each with cages crammed between them. Grave and Box headed for the saloon, while I made for the sheriff's office just next door.
Armed slavers populated the town, walking the streets and keeping watch on the rooftops. The cages held the slaves, all wearing bomb collars. The air around the prisons reeked of filth, the ponies within almost identical to one another in their malnourished, mud-covered state. The only way to I could tell some were still alive was when their eyes followed me as I walked by. This kind of shit still pissed me off, but not as much as it used to. The Equestrian Wasteland has a habit of numbing you to the cruel and unfair. Still, if I found Snowflake here, I'd do more than just kill him.
Eyeing the guard posts, I guessed around two dozen slavers, most armed with rusty rifles on battle saddles or small pistols. They were all wearing thin leather armor, with what appeared to be metal plates sewn on with cloth flaps.
As I moved to the office, I thought about my options. In each of my revolvers I had a different ammunition type loaded. The two on my legs had full metal jacket and hollow-points, the pistol in my bag had lead nose. I'd have to switch them all to full metal jackets when I could, hollow-points might not make it through the slaver's makeshift armor. I needed to know who and what I shot would go down and stay there.
The brown deck boards of the office creaked when I walked onto them. The green unicorn at the door moved to block it. "Who are you?"
"An old friend of the boss."
"Mhmm." He used magic to adjust his battle-saddle straps. "Hey Boss, this guy says he knows you!"
A coldly familiar voice responded. "That so? What's he look like?"
He turned to yell through a slot in the door. "Grey with a brown mane. Looks like he got a stick so far up his ass his tongue got splinters. Got two revolvers strapped to his forelegs." He glanced at me again. "Startin' to creep me out the way he's starin'."
"What's his name?"
The guard turned his full attention back to me. "What's your name?"
"Judge."
The pony turned back around. "He says his name's Judge!"
"Let him in!"
"You can go in." The guard opened the door, and closed it behind me. Inside, Snowflake was sitting behind an old wooden desk, busying himself pulling food and alcohol from a drawer.
"Don't worry, it's for me. I know how you are with booze. How have you been? Haven't seen you in years. Have a seat, you're making me nervous. Grab a snack or something. I'd offer you a drink, but all I got is wine."
I took my seat on the opposite side of the desk. "I can't believe you're the boss of this place."
"Somehow I knew that'd be the first thing you'd mention," he sighed. "How many of these turds did we kill over the years?"
"I lost track."
"Exactly. No matter how many we killed, they kept coming back. I thought it would be better to try and control them, to make life easier for the slaves."
"You call what's going on out there easier?" I asked venomously.
"No. I tried and I failed. I haven't made life easier for a single pony, aside from myself. This 'Boss' shit is an act. And if I tried to leave, these fucks would probably slap a bomb collar on me. Slavers who quit before their work is done usually end up as slaves. You know I'm no good in a fight. So I lock myself in here and try to drink myself to death." The pony downed half a bottle of wine in one long chug. "Usually just vomit and pass out like the idiot I am."
He made his mistake and was paying for it. Doubt started creeping in on my mind, and the urge to put several bullets into his chest was starting to vanish. "You know I came here to kill you."
"Yeah," he chuckled, "Figured you'd finally snap and try something when you learned about this. I'll put this real simple. Get me, the guards will get you. They may not be smart, but they can shoot straight enough."
"That a threat?"
"It's a warning. If I had the guts I would've pulled the trigger on myself a year ago. I'd rather it be you than this Red-Eye punk. If I 'stop being useful in a management position', his goons put it, I'll 'be useful in a working position'. Slaver or slave once you work for Red-Eye. That's how it works. Either you're screwing or being screwed." He took another long swallow of wine. "All those slaves outside are for him. My guess is they'll all be dead within the year."
"Welcome to the Wasteland," I said bluntly.
"Yep. You know what, Judge? I think it's time I did something stupid. Hang on." He turned and regurgitated the alcohol he had drank into a drawer of his desk. I looked on in indifference, seeing as I had done the same more times than I want to share. "I want to be sober for this." He opened another drawer and took out a semi-automatic pistol.
"What are you thinkin'?"
"You leave. They'll try to slap a collar on you when you're just beyond the walls. Before they can, I'll shoot the guard outside my door, and whoever else I see. They'll turn to me, and you get away free. It'll be the only good thing I've done for somepony in a year."
"Why?"
"I want to die with a bit of dignity. Not as some drunkard found in a puddle of his own filth when they wonder where he's been for the past week. Just... Let me help one last pony before I die." He looked at me, and I could see in his pale eyes he was pouring his heart out.
"You're goin' to kill yourself anyways, aren't you?"
"No!" Tears were starting to tumble down his cheeks. "Dammit Judge, I'm a coward. You were right. I left our friends and I changed. I'll never be that pony again." The tears continued to streak down his face, but he kept his eyes deadlocked with mine. "I can't shoot myself. I've tried and I just can't. This is the only way I'll be able to end it on my terms. Please. Let me help you."
Old feelings were started to come back to me. I had come here to kill him outright, but seeing Snow like this made me pity him. As he pointed out, if I shot him, the guards would get me. And I still had to Wire and Doc to take care of, and Basket to find. "If that's really what you want... Okay."
