Chapter One: A New Start
When I awoke, I was lying prone on my back in a familiar situation. Beneath me was a firm surface with just enough give to be more comfortable than a floor. The smell of antiseptics and gauze permeated my nostrils. It appeared that I was in a clinic of some sort. Why did this keep happening to me? It occurred to me that perhaps I was still in Stable 85 and the last seven years had all been a dream. When I opened my eyes, the fluorescent bar lights above me were not the same style as in a Stable; also, the ceiling was not utilitarian steel, but cracked and stained plaster. So, not Stable 85 then. Still, my first impression was correct; I could see other hospital beds like the one I was stretched out on, as well as medicine and surgical equipment.
I attempted to roll over but was held back by my left foreleg. It was heavier than I remembered it being, and it also didn’t want to move. I realized with a shock that I couldn’t feel anything in it at all and slowly rolled back over to look. My foreleg ended in bandages about a hoofspan from my shoulder. From there on, the limb was mechanical and ended in a four-taloned claw balled into a fist. What was this, and who had done this to me? The second question was answered as a ghoul wearing a faded shirt that had once depicted vibrant flowers trotted into the room.
“Ah, yer awake,” he drawled as he trotted over to my bedside. “Didn’t think that’d knocked y’ out forever, though ah can’t be sure it didn’t scramble y’ up a little. Can y’ understand what I’m sayin’ t’ y’?”
“W-what happened?” I asked, unable to fully tear my eyes away from my missing foreleg.
“Bad luck, ah’m afraid,” the ghoul replied as he changed the bandages around what was left of my foreleg. “Y’ were shot in the PipBuck, and the magic messed y’ right up. Ah couldn’t save yer foreleg, but ah did the best I could t’ make sure y’ll still have full mobility.”
“But … my foreleg … what is this?” I asked as I continued to stare.
“Don’t worry, some shock is normal when losin’ a limb. I’ve seen it plenty b’fore. Y’ll adjust t’ it in time. Just be glad y’ weren’t conscious before or durin’ when it was bein’ amputated,” the ghoul said as he finished unwrapping the bandages, exposing where my leg was fused to the prosthetic. “All ah had on hoof in the way o’ prosthetics was a griffin one, but it should do for y’. It’ll take some getting’ used t’, but y’ll get the hang o’ it eventually.”
“So … you found and saved me? Where am I? Who are you?” I asked, starting to get ahold of myself.
“Yer in the Hope Drive Clinic, Pleasure Coast,” the ghoul replied. “Ah’m the resident sawbones, pharmacist, an’ all-around fixer fer the sick an’ broken. Name’s Summer Sunrise. A scavenger found y’ in the wastes outside town an’ brought y’ in. Musta taken y’ fer an associate o’ mine, given th’ coat y’ were wearing.”
I automatically ran my remaining forehoof over my body--which was, of course, naked, given that I’d been stripped for surgery. The absence of my clothing wouldn’t have bothered me so much had it not reminded me of my recent incarceration in the Tower.
“Don’t worry, I managed t’ save most o’ it, as well as yer jumpsuit. They’re both missin’ a sleeve, but y’ can always replace it if y’ want. Now, down t’ business,” Summer Sunrise said as he finished rewrapping my leg, and he pulled over a stool and sat down. “I dunno if it was th’ scavenger who brought y’ in, or whoever shot y’ who robbed y’, but y’ didn’t have anythin’ o’ value on y’ when y’ got here. I take it yer not from around here, either, so there ain’t no stash o’ caps or gold fer y’ t’ dip into an’ pay me for yer treatment an’ prosthetic.”
“Uh, no,” I replied.
“That’s what ah thought,” Summer said with disappointment. “Well, can y’ at least practice medicine, or was that coat just scavenged?”
“I can do some,” I told him. “Nothing too complex, but I know the basics.”
“Perfect,” Summer said as he rose. “Y’ can work here fer me until y’ve paid off yer debt. Fer th’ moment, focus on recoverin’ an’ gettin’ used t’ that leg—or arm, however y’ want t’ think about it—so y’ can be o’ use. Ah’ll have plenty o’ work fer y’ soon.”
“Thank you,” I told him as I laid back down, trying to adjust to my new situation.
***
Though I recovered fairly quickly from my injuries, it took me longer to get used to my prosthetic griffin foreleg. For some time, I had to move it with my magic whenever I needed to get out of bed and trot around. Eventually, however, it began to respond to my impulses and behave as if it were the leg I’d been born with. I even began to experiment with moving the talons at its end, something that was incredibly bizarre. Just as I was able to communicate with the leg and move it, I was able to receive feeling back from it, albeit in a muffled way. The mechanical talons were much more sensitive than the rest of the leg, and I was able to feel the extremely alien sensation of holding objects in a claw rather than in my mouth or with my magic.
Once I was well enough to be out of my bed, Summer Sunrise put me to work around the clinic. At first it was just cleaning the badly decayed medical center and organizing his stock of medicines and bandages, but once I had my prosthetic leg in working order enough to get around without tripping into patients, he put me to work healing as well. It turned out that I’d received a broader education than Summer had, but he had much more experience. During the War, he’d been a combat medic in the Equestrian Army and had only received the training needed to treat battlefield wounds (something more common now than it would have been back then). The unicorn had been on leave in the Pleasure Coast on the Last Day, when the megaspells fell. No megaspells had hit the city, but one had struck in the sea nearby and turned most of the city’s population into ghouls. For a long time, he’d been the closest thing to a doctor the Pleasure Coast had, and he’d learned how to deal with injuries and ailments beyond his army training. That included treatment of ghouls, something I was unprepared for and needed his help to learn.
In Vanhoover, non-feral ghouls had mostly all resided in Tartarus and were in the minority everywhere else. Here, things were reversed. There were a few non-ghouls, but the majority of the Pleasure Coast’s population were of the ghoulish variety. The Griffin Commonwealth had been neutral during the War, but they had done business with both Equestria and the Zebra Empire. While they hadn’t expected to be attacked by megaspells, they also hadn’t discounted the possibility completely. Stable-Tec was exclusive to Equestria, so a local company had built a prototype Lockbox in the city to house residents and vacationers in case of a megaspell strike. The constructions had been cheap, unlike the Stables, and the city’s Lockbox had offered little to no protection to those who’d made it there before the megaspell struck offcoast; its occupants were turned into ghouls, just like the rest of the city. The only ones spared were the griffin business owners who’d had private bunkers built beneath the city, where they’d retreated until the radiation on the surface died down. The griffins were now the ruling class in most of the city, but they were in the minority of its population. In total, eight-tenths of the Pleasure Coast’s population were pony ghouls, one-tenth griffins, and the other tenth split between non-ghoul ponies and griffin ghouls.
A couple weeks into my labor, Summer Sunrise called me up from where I’d been working with the alchemistry kit in the clinic’s back. Alchemistry was the bizarre fusion of alchemy and chemistry used to create potions and medicines. In Equestria, the Ministry of Peace and the pharmaceutical companies under its banner had tightly held the secrets to drug and potion production, but that hadn’t been the case in the Griffin Commonwealth. Here, anyone could concoct whatever they needed, provided they had the proper equipment and raw materials. Summer Sunrise had a small library of books (banned in Equestria by the Ministry of Image) on the subject he’d used to teach himself, and I quickly devoured them. In Equestria, you’d have to scavenge in a hospital if you needed healing potions, buildings that were often filled with all kinds of nasty things; but here, you could brew your own. It was fascinating to me, and Summer Sunrise was happy to hand over yet another of his responsibilities once I knew what I was doing. I made sure to turn the burners down before leaving the equipment and joined Summer in the front of the clinic. There was a griffin waiting there who eyed me skeptically.
“Y’ can set bones, right?” Summer asked me.
“I’ve set my own plenty of times,” I answered.
“Good,” Summer said with a nod. “Ah’ll send ‘im over within the hour. Jus’ keep Mottle comf’table, an’ don’t give ‘im any healing potions.”
“If you say so, doc,” the griffin said, and he tipped his hat to me before leaving the shop.
“What was that all about?” I asked Summer as he got up and trotted past me.
“Oh, one o’ his griffins broke their wing. Ah don’t feel like leavin’, so ah’m sendin’ y’ t’ fix it.”
“Outside the clinic?” I asked. Until my debt was paid, Summer Sunrise hadn’t wanted me to leave the clinic, probably out of worry that I’d run away.
“Yeah, so ah’m gonna give y’ summin’ t’ keep track of y’,” Summer said as he scrounged through bins of equipment. “Ah, here it is, a genuine PipBeak 300.”
The device he produced was incredibly similar to a PipBuck, yet just different enough to avoid being mistaken for it. All the components were there—screen, radiation meter, radio, and tape deck—but in a different configuration than I was used to. The cuff was also too narrow to fit on a pony’s foreleg, though it would do just fine on a griffin’s leg or my prosthetic. Summer Sunrise set the PipBeak on a workbench and pulled out a box filled with what remained of my PipBuck. There wasn’t much left, and though I’d fiddled with the scraps some, I hadn’t been able to coax any life out of it even if its memory was intact. Summer managed to jury-rig a connection between the PipBeak, the PipBuck, and a terminal, and the intact screens sprung to life.
“Ah’m gonna transfer over anythin’ ah can, so hopefully the PipBeak’ll recognize y’ immediately an’ Mottle won’t have t’ wait around fer y’ t’ set it up,” Summer announced as he tapped on the terminal’s keyboard before strapping the PipBeak to my prosthetic leg.
>>boot pipBeak --cleardata --import st3k
\\Erasing data ...
\\All userdata deleted
\\Import device recognized: Stable-Tec(c) PipBuck 3000
\\Import format: RoBronco(R) PIP-M(R) v7.1.0.8.91
\\Importing userdata ...
\\Import done
\\Imported userdata:
\\ Level: 50
\\ Attributes:
\\ STRENGTH:5
\\ PERCEPTION:5
\\ ENDURANCE:6
\\ CHARISMA:9
\\ INTELLIGENCE:8
\\ AGILITY:7
\\ LUCK:5
\\ Skills:
\\ Barter:93
\\ Big Guns:85
\\ Energy Weapons:100
\\ Explosives:100
\\ *Lockpick:100
\\ Medicine:100
\\ Melee Weapons:100
\\ Repair:100
\\ *Science:100
\\ Small Guns:100
\\ Sneak:100
\\ Speech:100
\\ Unarmed:81
\\ Perks (58):
\\ Infomaniac,Thick Skin,Egghead,Battlefield Medic
\\ Next Time Can I Carry the Balloons?,White Death,Healthy as a Horse
\\ Speak Softly and Carry a Big Stick,Second Chances,Pyromaniac,Sharp Eyes
\\ Paranoid,Wasteland Couture,Nuclear Winterized,Sapper,Quiet as a Mouse
\\ Straight from the Horse's Mouth,Power Armor Training (1),Paralyzing Buck
\\ Pod Pony,Flight over Fight,Pumping (Scrap) Iron,Back in Black,Dead or Alive
\\ You Touch It, You Buy It!,Exterminator,Quick Draw,Flame-Resistant
\\ Aftereffect (1),Pack Rat,Improvised Locksmith,Strong Swatter
\\ Light on Your Hooves,Aftereffect (2),The Tinkerer,Energizer,Fortunate Pony
\\ Ears Like a Bat,Aftereffect (3),Like They're Wearing Nothin' At All
\\ 'Tis But a Scratch,When All Else Fails,Get the Hay Out of Dodge
\\ Burn, Baby, Burn,I'll Sleep When I'm Dead,The Replicant
\\ How Do You Like Them Apples?,The Fast and the Furious,Shining Armor
\\ Who Dares, Wins,The High Ground,The Old Soldier,Steady Hoof,Charge!
\\ Size Matters,Check Out These Guns,Power Armor Training (2),The Operative
\\Converting imported userdata ...
\\Userdata converted
\\Maximum level increased to 70
\\Maximum skill increased to 150
\\Evaluating skills with no data (5) ...
\\Evaluation done
\\New Skills:
\\ Alchemistry:31
\\ Athletics:17
\\ Electronics:31
\\ Pilot:19
\\ Survival:17
\\Due to race [UNI] additional skills available
\\Evaluating additional skills (4) ...
\\Evaluation done
\\Additional Skills:
\\ Alteration Magic:16
\\ Enchanting:16
\\ Illusion Magic:16
\\ Manipulation Magic:16
\\Boot done. Launching GroverCorp(c) gOS(R) V3.19.1.9 for GroverCorp(c) PipBeak 300Y
“That should do it for y’,” Summer said as he disconnected the cable from the PipBeak. “Let me just add Franz’s shop t’ yer map, an’ y’ can be on yer way. Now, don’t try runnin’ off on me or ah’ll know. Not that ah don’t trust y’, but I know what ah’d do in yer situation.”
“Not like I have any idea where I’d go anyway,” I said with a shrug as Summer added Franz’s Fish & Salvage to the PipBeak’s map.
I didn’t have any time to check if the PipBeak had some equivalent to the PipBuck’s Stable-Dweller’s Survival Guide that would tell me how to operate it before Summer Sunrise shooed me out the door. There was a patient waiting for me, and waiting any longer than it had taken for him to fire up the PipBeak and grab me a doctor’s saddlebags was apparently unacceptable.
Stepping out of the Hope Drive Clinic’s doors, I trotted out into a place I’d only gotten glimpses of through the few intact and incredibly grimy windows of the clinic. The clinic was built on the Pleasure Coast’s grand plaza, a semicircular open area surrounded by shops that looked out upon the harbor to the west. Streets branched out from the edge of the plaza like spokes on a wheel. On the map of the city, this formed the core of the Pleasure Coast; other districts had been built onto it, spreading up and down the coast and following a more conventional grid.
The Pleasure Coast’s skyline was like a toybox of embellishment with no sense of restraint. Buildings of every shape and size reached toward the heavens, covered in unlit neon lights and illustrations meant to draw attention (some rather scandalous, despite being faded by centuries). The Pleasure Coast had been built as a resort and escape for Equestrians, catering to all the vices that had been banned or restricted in Equestria. A large billboard looming over the northern edge of the plaza featured ponies gambling, taking narcotics, and engaging in bawdy acts. Upon it was the city’s motto, though it had been altered by the ghouls after the megaspells had fallen.
Eat, Drink, and Engage in All Forms of Pleasure,
for Tomorrow We Die We’re Already Dead
Following the marker Summer Sunrise had placed on the PipBeak, I trotted across the plaza, getting a few looks from the ghouls lounging around it who looked bored out of their minds. In the middle of the plaza was a defunct fountain. Speakers placed around it projected music out into the gathering place, playing the live broadcast of Radio PC. It was the only radio station Summer ever listened to at the clinic, and as far as I knew, the only radio station available in the Pleasure Coast. The music cut out as I passed the fountain and was replaced by the suave voice of the Commonwealth Crooner, the station’s griffin host.
“Hello, Pleasure Coast. Thank you for tunin’ your dials to Radio … PC, the Commonwealth’s premier entertainment broadcast. Where would I be without all of you lovely folks listening?” the Commonwealth Crooner said. As he spoke, a hologram of a griffin standing in front of a microphone sprung up atop the fountain, projecting his image as he made his report. “It’s going to be a warm, p-leasant afternoon, gliding s-moothly into a cool, clear evening. And now, News from the Wastes. I have a report here from beyond the walls of Pleasure Coast. Unless you’re well-armed and well-armored, steer clear of Castoway. The city’s warlords are havin’ a bit of a tiff at the moment, so give ‘em some distance. If you’re of the … non-flying type, forego any plans to visit the Iron Valley until things have … cooled down. In politics, Grand Marshal Gide-on is in a standoff with the residents of Lockbox 17, who have holed themselves up in their shelter after refusing the grand marshal’s demand that they recognize him as the rightful leader of the Griffin Commonwealth and the authority of the Hookbeak government, set up in their absence. Knowing Gide-on’s proclivities, this can only end badly for the griffins of Lockbox 17. Closer to home, Mayor Gastón Delgado has issued a bounty of one hun-dred caps for any raider brought in alive. Both Family Head Gerald and the Council of Immortals have protested this act, arguing that Delgado has no au-thority to use the mayoral war chest to buy participants for his gladiatorial games. That’s all the news for now, but stay tuned for more music and more of y-ours t-ruly. This is the Commonwealth Crooner, reminding you to stay classy, Pleasure Coast.”
The hologram flickered out as the Commonwealth Crooner finished his monologue, but by then I was already across the plaza. Franz’s Fish & Salvage was located along the coast in the north of the city, and I followed the boardwalk that swung out from the coast in a perfect arc to reach it without having to follow the streets. The shop was a large warehouse with several boats moored at docks, a large electronic sign over the entrance proclaiming its name. I trotted in, and the griffin who’d just been at the clinic was waiting for me.
“Right this way,” he said, crooking a claw towards the back and gesturing for me to follow.
There were several more griffins in the back, standing around a tarp-covered pile of pallets upon which another griffin was laid. The griffin lying on his side had one wing tucked close to him and another splayed out crookedly, blood matting the mottled gray and white feathers. I unfastened my saddlebags as I trotted over to Mottle to examine his injury.
“Did you give him any painkillers?” I asked before I administered any to the wounded griffin.
“We had to to shut him up. He’s so high on tranqs right now, I doubt he even knows what’s going on anymore,” one of the other griffins said.
I lifted Mottle’s injured wing with magic and he flinched, but only involuntarily, nothing like the reaction I’d expect had he been able to feel the pain more than distantly.
“What happened to him?” I asked as I examined the injury.
“We found him on the loading dock,” another of the griffins said as she pointed. “Screamin’ that he’d fallen off the crates and landed wrong. He always was a clumsy one.”
“Can you give me some space?” I asked as I drew potions, bandages, and splints from my saddlebags.
All the griffins other than my patient left the room, heading back toward the front of the shop, and I got to work. I cleaned away all the blood I could before cradling the broken bones in my magic. Griffin wing bones were hollow, so I had to be careful how I reset them. Once they were in place, I splinted and bandaged them before force-feeding Mottle a healing potion. It was a very mild one and his bones slowly became whole again, flesh forming over them to repair the wound.
While the potion was doing its work, I trotted back into the loading dock. The explanation for what had broken Mottle’s wing didn’t sit well with me, even if the griffin who’d told me the story had seemed to believe it. The break in Mottle’s bones didn’t look like it had been caused by a fall, but rather by a pony’s buck. I investigated the loading dock’s stacks of crates filled with fish and salvage until I found where Mottle had presumably been found. There were bloodstains on the ground, but looking around, I found a crate that had had blood wiped from it haphazardly. I followed similar signs past that crate until I came to a stack of crates that looked like they had been recently disturbed by someone crawling over them. I crawled over the top, revealing a hatch in the floor on the other side with blood on the edge.
I grasped the wheel sealing it with my griffin claw and unsealed the hatch. A ladder led down into darkness, and when I reached the bottom, I fumbled with the PipBeak until I found a flashlight on it. Swinging the beam around, I found a bloody light switch and flipped it, illuminating the space beneath the shop. All throughout the damp basement were clusters of makeshift beds, upon which were laid pony ghouls with helmets and visors upon their heads. Cables ran from the helmets to the ceiling and then in bundles across it to a maneframe in the center of the room, attached to which were several memory orbs. I’d seen something similar to this, but on a much larger scale at Strategic Arcane Solutions in Vanhoover. All these ghouls were in a simulation of some kind—willingly or not, I didn’t know. Unlike at SAS, the ghouls had no feeding tubes, because they didn’t need them, and they weren’t strapped down in place. It was clear how Mottle had been injured as some of the ghouls moved their legs in response to artificial stimulus.
“You shouldn’t be down here,” a voice said from behind me, and I turned to face Mottle.
He still looked slightly bleary, but the healing potion, in addition to repairing his wing, had also lessened the effect of the tranquilizers. The griffin looked a little unsure of what his goal was, but it was clear he didn’t intend to let me leave with the real reason he’d been hurt. Making up his mind, Mottle charged toward me, wings outstretched. I ducked under his wing and bucked toward his side. He staggered a bit but came back at me with his talons. I used my magic to wrench a pipe from the frame holding up one of the ghouls and held it in front of me, catching Mottle’s claws. I tried to batter away his attacks, and eventually he got the hint and retreated. He drew a pistol from the holster at his side, deciding he was done playing around with me. He fired several times as I dove behind a cooler with a ghoul on top. Peeking out, I saw Mottle advancing and threw my pipe at him, knocking the gun from his claw.
I lunged forward, punching with my prosthetic balled into a fist, and struck Mottle in the face, knocking him back. I swung again, with my hoof this time, at his wing. Mindful of how recently it’d been injured, he backed away, right into where I shot out my griffin arm, grabbing him around the neck. Mottle tried to claw at me as I lifted him up, but I held up his claws with my magic.
“What’s going on!” the griffin who’d come to the clinic demanded, and I saw that he and the others had found their way down here, drawn by the commotion Mottle and I had been causing.
“Franz … I can … explain,” Mottle choked out.
“I don’t think so,” Franz replied, “I can see clear enough what’s going on. You thought you could run a side business using my space and my electricity without cutting me in? That was a bad idea, Mottle. Much as I’d love to see the life choked out of you, we have some business to take care of, so I’d appreciate it if your caregiver would set you down.”
I took the hint and let Mottle drop to the floor. Either he was unable to do anything more than gasp his breath back or he’d also seen the futility of fighting back, because he stopped trying to claw at me.
“Here’s Summer’s fee for services rendered, and … a little something extra for you for exposing this,” Franz said as he tossed me two pouches of bottle caps. “Now, Mottle, I need to know exactly how long this has been going on. And don’t lie to me, because I can wake some of these fine folk up and ask. Same for how much you been charging them. You’re going to repay me for all the money you made, as well as the electricity you costed me. Let’s get started on the figures …”
Level Up
New Perk: Crash Course – Any Skill Books read for a skill whose level is below 50 will convey double benefits.
New Quest: What’s Up, Doc? – Return to Summer Sunrise to finish paying off your debt.
Alchemistry +6 (37)
Athletics +1 (18)
Manipulation Magic +1 (17)
Medicine +8 (108)
Melee Weapons +1 (101)
Sneak +1 (101)
Unarmed +2 (83)