//------------------------------//
// Chapter 1: Welcome To Burning Country 
// Story: Fallout Equestria: We Love Burning Country! 
// by Str8aura 
//------------------------------//


Chapter One: Welcome To Burning Country



"Falling out of Aeroplanes and hiding out in holes

Waiting for the sunset to come, people going home

Jump out from behind them and shoot them in the head

Now everybody's dancing the dance of the dead"






We had learned to tame the Tatzlwurms, but not the Equestrian heat.

At it's worst, it was unquenchably overbearing; the thick cloud cover that blotted out the planet's sun also trapped the heat it radiated, reflecting it back full force to the ground below with enough power to scorch all plant life off the southern half of the continent, as it had for centuries now. When the bombs dropped, a special brand had been thrown without testing in the heat and panic of the moment- the Balefire Egg Dropping bomb, meant to salt the earth with as much explosion as could fit in one package. Only desert and the lucky few houses, buildings, and structures had survived.

In the south, brahmin and livestock were a valuable commodity, kept under secure watch and lock by any who dared to carry them down there. Keepers and farmers who raised them were worshipped like pre-war celebrities for the good they did bringing milk to the masses. Water was worse; what wasn't boiled was irradiated, and in the desert, only imports from up north could keep the inhabitants cool.

In the south, Ponies lying on their stomachs in the middle of the road with tongues hanging out and mutant fish waddling on recently evolved legs were no less common a sight than your average raider invasion. And above all else, whether it was a gunfight or an orgy, you were expected to do it politely and cordially. In the eyes of a resident, we're all in the same boat; if you're suffering, they're suffering. If you must make it worst, at the very least don't kick them in the shins as you do.

The south was Burning Country. And smack dab in the center, just above Tartarus and just below the thickest and most luxurious Pegasus city, was Stuff n Things.

Beher let go of the wagon of crates he had been rolling to slide his keys into the door's lock, turning and jiggling the handle. Then turning again. Then shoving his whole force into it. Eventually, he just broke the pane with his shoulder, climbing through the frame and unlocking it from the other side.

Load the new goods. Restock the lukewarm bottled water from his crates. Mark in shift hours. And of course, his favorite part; Turn on the miniature nuclear reactor to power the AC. For a second, he forgot his job and just stood under the weak wafts of cool air, taking advantage of his solitude.

The open sign was flipped. Stuff n Things, the best stocked convenience store and closest supply of fresh bottled water for miles in any direction, was ready to start the day. 





The stallion in the Power Ranger armor procured a minigun from out of nowhere, dropping it on the table dramatically. "How much would this go for?"

Beher stifled a whistle. Damn fine condition, lovingly oiled, nary a bloodstain or unidentifiable green goo splotch in sight. A prod at the barrel turned it like the wheel of a bike, momentum soundlessly rotating it.

"70 Bits." Beher came up with off the top of his head, maintaining the poker face.

"70 bits? This is worth 700 at least. Do you know how much I'm putting myself in danger by giving this up?" The stallion growled.

Time to bullshit. "It's unloaded, and takes a bullet we don't offer as currency. Until you can cough up some of those shots, it's a very fancy Megatron accessory." All of which was true. None of which the average customer he SOLD this to would realize, making the points moot.

The stallion snorted. "Fine. 70 bits. Get out of my face."

Beher didn't even bother to comment on that, instead reveling in the small victory of not moving a muscle as the stallion paid up and barged out the door, nearly bowling over an elderly looking mare on his way out.

As the mare reached the front counter, Beher put on his best grin. "How would you like a Minigun with your water, miss? Going rate is 700 bits."





"I mean it, man. They're made of water. Live up in Zebrica."

Beher deliberately took his time sifting through water bottles. He had to hear this one. "Oh yeah? How'd they survive, you know, everything? As bad as we have it, Zebrica must be hell."

"Same way Humans made it. Froze emselves. Actually, much easier for them, being water and all." The stallion in the cowboy hat nodded surely.

"Oh, of course. And, ah, Humans froze themselves because...?"

"Same way robits made it to the modern day. They were put into storage pre-war by scientists who didn't realize their future was running out. They were pulled out of their dimension just days before the war."

"Naturally. Robits being?"

"Celestia fuck me, try to keep up, man! Robits, replicas of crystal ponies made before the war to try and keep healthy hearts in unhealthy bodies alive."

"Right, I'm sorry, I'm a pest. Here's your non-living water."

"You can't fool me." The customer glowered.





The cherry red changeling across the table lifted a sack onto the counter, stuffed to the brim with firm round objects making imprints against the fabric. "How much for a single changeling egg?"

Beher swallowed. "Miss, isn't your species extinct?"

"50 bits?"

"Where did these come from?"

"30 bits?" The changeling didn’t miss a beat to bargain, shifting restlessly on the other side of the counter.

"Did you make these?"

"10 bits?"

"How... recently?"

"5 bits?"

"Deal.

The changeling beamed. "Alright. Get out a calculator. And I'll buy a water with it, too."





"Grab me a water, and I need a telegraph." The griffon muttered, pulling out a bag of bits to rifle through it.

"You could say please." Beher grumbled, nonetheless doing his duty chucking the bottle across the counter and lifting the machine from under him.

"Alright, start transcribing." The customer cleared her throat. "'Appleloosa North, Kitty Pelt. Dear Kitty Stop, I hope this message finds you with a barrel in your mouth and not another cock you homewrecking-'"

"Okay, wait." Beher shook his head. "You're paying me by the word. You know that, right?"

She jingled the bag in his face in annoyance.

Beher rolled his eyes. "Alright. I'm typing."

"'-homewrecking cunt bag of bitches sucking each other off stop, if I ever see you back within a thousand miles of me and I will definitely see you I'm eating you alive and enjoying every second of it stop enjoy the rest of your day you cuckolding jackass stop.'" The griffon took a breath. "You got all that?"

"Yep. 32 bits, please."

"Really? That doesn't seem like very much. You count that right?"

Beher recounted in his head.

Dear Kitty stop that is pretty hot stop please come see me and we'll see if the three of us can have some fun together stop eight equal sign equal sign equal sign right arrow stop

"32 bits." He confirmed. Sometimes a net loss was worth it.





A blessing of Alicorns entered, imposingly making their way to the counter.

"One water, please." The first demanded.

"One half of a water, please." The second demanded.

"One qua-"

"No you don't, I've been here before." Beher snapped, sliding over two bottles.





The veil was ripped off the object that had been dragged in, revealing an intricately detailed stone mold of Celestia's head.

"This was stolen from the original in Canterlot, by a thief who risked life and limb to carry it to his death ray as a figurehead. A simple job tracking him down unveiled his grandiose plan to destroy the continent, which he believed was a holy mission sent to him by the solar goddess herself. In the nick of time, we fought in his lair, hundreds of miles above the ground in a satellite, and barely managed to shut it down before it obliterated half of the planet, then rode it down to the surface, leaving him stranded in space. I now present to you the very same head that began it all."

"20 bits."

The wannabe Stable Dweller turned up her nose. "Really?"

"Do you know how many people come in with that story? Just tell me what happened, man."

She sighed, shrinking into herself sheepishly. "Fine, I stole it from a park. Just take it."

"Alright." Beher passed over the bits with a nod of approval. "Thank you for telling me the truth."





Beher craned his neck over the counter to smile at the kid trotting up with a wagging tail. "Aren't you cute? Whatcha want, girlie?"

Beaming, the little girl reached into her bags and procured a pistol, training it expertly between his eyes without a quiver. "This is a stick up!"

Beher's smile wavered. "Err… you want… a lolly, or…"

"Whole register!" She chirped.

"Okay…" Beher kept his eyes trained on the amateurishly held gun, reaching for the cash register. Just take out a bit…

"No fast ones, please!"

Beher sighed, removing the entire tray and emptying it into the girl's Nightmare Night basket. With another tail wag, she started to lower her gun, accidentally stumbling and firing a hole into the wall behind Beher before apologizing cheerfully and trotting out.

Beher slowly rose up from behind the counter, gripping the edge and turning to the wall of posters and ads behind him, riddled with bullet hole after bullet holes of varying size and age.





"Uh... sir? I don't mean to bother you on the clock, but... I can't leave. There's a big, furry mass of... something blocking the door. And it seems to be breathing."

Beher clucked his tongue. "Damn it. Cerberus left the gates again. Fuckin dog can never stay in place for more than an hour. Get comfy here. And no, you ain't getting another water for your troubles." He paused. "Or, alternatively, you could take one for the team. Go punch him really hard, see if he wakes up."

The customer gulped. "Is he... carnivorous?"

"Dogs eat people all the time. Don't hold it against him."





Morning happy hour, when all the customers were crawling to the store to get a drink, was dwindling. While a part of him realized how alien it was to say, Beher had to admit the customers tended to be the best part of the job; there was always someone interesting coming from somewhere, be it the exoticness of a northerner still adjusting, or just the natural irregularity someone who lived down in Burning Country had to have.

Beher's 30 minute lunch was just beginning after the day's usual grind behind the counter when the bell over the door rang. He didn't bother looking up from his sandwich, fixated on a particularly dark patch on the back wall and playing his favorite game of 'when and how did that mess get there?'

"I'm about to start my lunch break, man. Make it quick." He called, waving a hoof dismissively behind him.

"When I come to the club, step aside."

Quick as a whip, Beher shot to attention with the biggest grin of the day. "Oh, shit!"

"Part the seas, don't be havin' me in line!" Claws rapped on the table behind him in beat.

"Oh shit!"

"VIP, coz you know I gotta shine!"

"Oh shit!" Beher turned around, beaming at the customer towering a head over him.

"It's your girl, she gon love you long time!" The customer poked a stubby claw at his muzzle, drawing Beher's eyes up to take her in from the long shadow she cast.

The customer in question was a shaggy Diamond Dog, built like a semi, 40% muscles and 60% pudge, pounds rounder than the skinny mutts more commonly seen fusing themselves to metal like idiots. Her thick arms rested on the counter as she leaned over to Beher with a dopey grin, fangs jutting out of her bottom lip uncontrollably from a slightly twisted lower jaw, one of a few strikingly noticeable features across her form, a close second to the faded band shirt caked in mud she wore modestly.

"APRIL!" Beher eagerly pulled himself over the table, not bothering with the intended exit. "If anyone asks, I'm restocking, aye?" He pointed his hoof accusingly as high as he could reach, coming up just below her chin.

"Zipped shut!" April concealed her snaggletooth smile with a lip sealing motion.

A sharp contrast to the dogs up north, April considered it her duty to stand as a role model for a species teetering on the edge of extinction, and highly known for their deadly prowess. Everything from her weight to her dialect seemed specially manufactured to separate herself from the lean and raspy-tongued hunters that constituted the majority of Diamond Dogs, and while Beher couldn't be sure she had overeaten herself a potbelly on purpose, he knew for a fact she was the only one in Burning Country who talked with the homely twang she did. April was a lover by heart, and wore it on her sleeve. Even to the local raiders, she was mutually off-limits (although the intimidating fangs her unnaturally twisted jaw showed off may have also been part of that), a fact that greatly benefited Beher on the store hours she stood by. April was well known nearly the country over, mostly for what her moneymaking entailed. 

"Youuuu... Left early yesterday!" Beher playfully complained, turning to the shelves to shuffle items meaninglessly as she tagged along eagerly. They had known each other for well over a decade, although to what degree she was 'his girl' was often greatly exaggerated by her for the sake of a joke. Physically affectionate as she was, Beher much more highly regarded their friendship.

"IIIIIIIIII... got called away for work. Right in the store, impressively." She echoed, poking him on the top of the head.

"Ah, no, not an excuse, not an excuse! What do you think I would do, if I suddenly got called out of a loving moment of friendship with you to work my job?" Beher jabbed a spatula threateningly in her direction.

April leaned on a knee to bring her head to Beher level. "I wouldn't know, now would I? I've never even seen your house."

"April, for all intents and purposes, this is my house." Beher set the spatula back. "Going anywhere else is a dinner, breakfast, or sleep break, and it's back on the 24 hour cycle."

"Speak for yourself, my job is a sleep break.”

"There, it makes you look more endearing. I try it, and some raider with shutter shades in a Biker Gang Union empties the register."

"Clearly, you need to wear more clothes then." April tugged at the hem of her dirty shirt, the logo on the front nearly worn to non existence by centuries of tear.

"Ha ha, shut it up." Beher over emphasized his laughs. "Speaking of emptying the register, I got… shit, I nearly forgot I was mugged by a little girl earlier. I might need to sacrifice some pay into the money machine so it looks like I made something." Without turning around, he interrupted her as she began to reach into her shirt and withdraw a wad of money from somewhere in her chest. "Ah, take your hand off it, I'll be fine."

April grimaced. "That could be your dinner on the line..."

"I'm not a picky eater, April, if I need food there's plenty of Radigators running around. Hell, I work a convenience store! How am I gonna run out of food?" Beher pulled off a can of soup, quickly alleviating its lack of a price tag.

"Thinking of shoplifting, are we?" April teased.

"I protect it, Celestia damn it, I decide what happens to it at the end of the day!" Beher stamped his hoof.

"Mmhmm." April hummed, unimpressed. "And when the boss drags himself and his ass down here to tell you what he thinks?"

"Burn that bridge when we get to it, April, the same way I make all my decisions!"

"It shows! It's anchored you here, hasn't it?"

Beher laughed hautily as he rifled through energy bars. "April, dear, not for much longer. I'll get out eventually, mark my damn words."

"Marked for the last decade, hun." April solemnly shook her head. "Now, aside from money, what's the score?"

"80 bags of noodles, 769 changeling eggs, a working minigun, and this."Approaching a collapsible table covered in cloth in a corner of the store, Beher whipped the cover off to show the bust of the Princess's head underneath.

April scratched her chin. "Err... what is it?"

"It's... well, it's a head!"

"I gathered that. Who's it of?"

Beher glanced at her, flabbergasted. "The Princess of Old Equestria?"

"Really? Huh. Hard to tell with the stone."

"Haircut didn't give it away?"

"Lot of alicorns have those these days."

Beher scoffed. "Only because Celestia trendset. Trendsat."

April shrugged, picking it up and tossing it between paws, looking it over. "What's it do?"

Beher grimaced. "It's... well, it's a head! Why does it need value? Is it not enough to sit on my counter and strike the fear of Celestia into the hearts of customers?"

"Didn't work." April pointed out.

"That's coz you've got dog gods and stuff. You don't count." Beher griped.

The bell rang as they continued to talk, and a customer headed for the front counter.

"I'm sorry, Beher, I just don't see much a purpose in having some old dead gal taking up space on your table."

"Celestia, we gotta have a reason for everything we do, don't we? Well, look, as long as it ain't killing me, it's worth keeping."

The customer suddenly spoke up, clearing his throat. 

"Scuse me, have any of you seen a Celestia Head?"

Beher looked down at the bust stiffly, a wave of nausea slowly passing over him he quickly swallowed down and leaned over to peer around the counters.

"Ah... pardon?"

A unicorn stallion leaned on the desk, looking over at them with mild bemusement. Shaggy pelted in cerulean blue with wavy lavender hair, teetering on pink, he stuck out like a sore thumb on the deserts and sands of Burning Country, where most residents came in browns and yellows. A northern foreigner wasn't unheard of down here, but certainly a northern foreigner stopping was. A similar minty green dusty suit was draped over his shoulders, white cuffs just above his fetlocks indicating some sort of money earned, be it old or new. Despite his looks, he was already fitting in with the residents; bloodcurdling statements spoken casually as the weather and chance of dust bowls were practically a contest in Burning Country.

"Celestia head, head of Celestia. Oh, I apologize, I should be more clear; it's a statue." He smiled, placing a hoof to his chest, and Beher's eyes instinctively flickered to his flank, which happened to be a silver flask. "Shackleset. Pleasure to meet you." He introduced himself coolly.

Beher quickly retook his place at the counter, followed shortly by April once she had thrown the cover back over the concealed shelf. "Erm.... Pleasure. I'm Beher, I'm the store clerk, this is April. She's a customer."

Shackleset raised an eyebrow. "I'm... not sure why you introduced me to her, but pleasure." He nodded curiously at her. "I don't often see Diamond Dogs. Much less often clothed ones."

Beher coughed to catch his attention. "What were you saying about a head?"

Shackle cleared his throat, adopting a professional demeanor and standing up straight. "Mister Beher, I work a place a little near this town the locals like to call the Carnival. You ever hear of it?"

Beher turned to the wall of posters and ads behind him, still riddled with bullet holes. "Anarchy Abduction's Carnival of Kid Punching and Knife Alligators, right?"

Nestled between pre-war cigarette ads and gun for hire sign up sheets, a pink sheet of torn paper with black font printed top and bottom. The Carnival advertised operated just outside Burning Country (loosely, seeing as the country's 'borders' were defined by old men in wicker chairs guesstimating), near where the water met the turf. It had once been an old Ministry of Morale amusement park acquired (read: emptied of murderous hobos) ages ago by the titular stage name for reasons unknown, and uncared about by most. For as long as anyone had remembered, it had been occupied, but kept tight; nobody went in, nobody went out. Then, in recent years, like an activated jack of the box, it began swarming. Advertisements came out after the fact; how it opened business as a pre-war-esque carnival run mostly by hamster wheel tech and instantly had a following was unknown to anybody. Beher certainly had never met anyone who had gone, yet, undeniably, it was now one of the few 'landmarks' Burning County had, and if anything was gonna put the deep south on the map, it was the Carnival, and the slew of lesser-known shoestring budget tourist traps it had inspired in the surrounding dunes.

"The very same." Shackle proudly admitted, and a gust of cold air rustled April and Beher's pelts, most likely from the malfunctioning AC.

Beher tapped his hoof on the counter, a tic he had developed over long years with frustrating customers. "Right, Swear to Cele- I mean, Tartarus, I hear they really revitalized and revolutionized the art of punching kids."

"I appreciate the compliment!" Shackle smiled. "And see, our cherry on the top is the statue of Celestia, taken straight from Canterlot and given a good washing. It's the crowning jewel, I really can't emphasize it enough. We turned it into a fountain and made it the figurehead of our brand."

Beher's lips pursed. "Where does the water come out?"

"It's got a massive cock." Shackle spread his forelegs to demonstrate. "Pretty accurate to the real thing, I've been told."

"I... wouldn't know."

"I trust the sculptor, whatever planet he may be on after the bombs blew him sky high." Shackle snorted. "Rather recently, it happened to be snatched out from under us; you know the type, hero that crawls out of some bumfuck town and decides vandalism puts em on par with Stable Dweller. And, well, we have reason to believe they came this way. The vandal, not Stable Dweller. She's not the best at losing a trail. I know, hell of an odd place to check first, but may as well, while I'm here, right? Any tips you've heard around lately?"

"Oh, ah, p-plenty." Beher scrubbed the desk with his bare hoof anxiously, pretending to recall. "Cult that worships Daring Do started a town over, they come to buy guns and preach occasionally, Giant Scorpions were bred as pets by a resident and got loose a few weeks ago so they're still multiplying somewhere, Pegasi started dropping their garbage in a pit nearby, there's a guy dressed up as a superhero running around... No head I can think of, but it wouldn't surprise me none. You want your water, sir?" He extended the obligatory bottled water.

"Don't we all?" He accepted. "And rest assured, I'll be out of your hair eventually, I doubt it would stop in a hick town like this. There's gotta be a better place to sell it, right?"

"I mean... we do have the best prices of all our competitors, but... yeah." Beher sheepishly mumbled.

"Shackleset, sir." April interrupted. "Not to pry into affairs that aren't my own, but any idea what's gonna happen to the thief when you catch them?"

"Well, the Carnival's set a bit of a standard on that front, hasn't it?" Shackleset chuckled nonchalantly, and the clerk's gaze drifted to the text at the bottom of the poster behind him again.

Live assassinations! Children admission free

Shackle thumped the counter again, startling Beher back to attention. "I'm sure there's not much reason for me to stay any longer." Shackle sighed. "I've rented a motel nearby, but I keep hearing this scuttling noise in the walls when I'm sleeping, and it is really driving me up em. One more night, and I assure you I'll see myself out."

Beher put on the customer service smile he knew too well. "Of course. Here's your change sir. Welcome to Burning Country."

Shackle accepted it and headed for the door, and just when Beher was ready to release his breath, leaned back in through the frame. "Take care. Don't do anything stupid out here, alright?" And rang the bell on his way out.

April and Beher watched him walk off the property and out into the sand, and once they were sure he was out of earshot through the paper thin walls, April crossed her arms smugly.

Beher bit his lip. "Okay, I fucked up a bit. It's alright, alright? No harm, no foul."

April humphed. "Mm-hmm. And, what are you going to do with this thing?"

"It's got... value, of some kind." He protested, sliding over the counter again as April exited through the flipping panel, both headed for the concealed bust. "I can hang it over the door. Make an actual statue out of it. Build the base out of wood, Finally do something with all those toppled houses."

They approached it thoughtfully, taking their places adjacent to it. "Yeah? Yeah, that's very nice. And when someone sees the statue with a pilfered head, days after a prolific crime boss lost one?" April reminded as she removed the cover.

"I get it, I can do something else, something private." Beher groaned. "Is it hollow? Can I spitoonify it?"

"No, Beher, it's a carving from solid stone. Look, there's only one hole in the bottom." She lifted the head and showed him the underneath, where a small, beetle sized hole had been drilled, running deep and ought of sight. "Come on hun, you know I'm right."

"Alright, what do you propose then, April?" Beher punched her lightly in her potbelly.

April rubbed the sore spot with a grimace. "Honestly? Give it back. 'Hey, this was sold to us, sorry for forgetting, enjoy your head.'"

"Who forgets being sold a head? He'll be on to us like that. You see this guy? He literally works at a kid punching place."

"Then find some other way to give it back, because the longer it stays with us, the harder the fall at the end." April snapped.

The clerk turned away, thinking carefully. "I can respect the idea of just giving it back, getting this head off our shoulders, but if we're really gonna do it, we do it sneakily. Now, think, April, how can we just slide it into his bags without him realizing?"

They thought it over, both adopting poses to cradle their heads, and April opened her mouth first, tasting and testing the words as they came out slowly.

"We... get... him... wasted!"

Beher raised an eyebrow. "Come again?"

"His mark, it's a flask." April pointed in the air at nothing excitedly. "Not a set of shackles, not a key, not a child being punched, a flask. Not even a wine bottle! It's not a metaphor, he just likes drinking. I take him to the bar. It's my job to get people places, and bars are where I do half of my business! Offer him the Casillero de Pesadilla. Keep him talking, one more shot, one more shot."

"You're not exactly a master manipulator, April." Beher reminded.

"I don't need to be. He needs to be just. Drunk. Enough. Set our bags on the floor beneath the bar, and subtly move it from mine to his. Who doesn't enchant their bags with pocket dimensions nowadays? Bing bang boom, he doesn't even notice, and we send him off on his way with a nice present in the morning."

"What, lean down beneath the table without him noticing?" Beher scoffed.

April lifted her leg to flex her hindpaw in his face demonstratingly. "I don't have opposable thumbs, Beher. If I can manage to grab with my front paws, I can grab with my back paws."

Beher's nose wrinkled and he leaned away. "Alright, fine. It seems like the easiest idea, but again. Kid. Punching. Don't get soft for this guy. And if you get caught, you dig your own grave, not mine."

April extended her forepaw with a confident smile. "Deal."

They took each other's limbs, before Beher suddenly pulled away, grimacing like he was burnt. "Agh, no, I couldn't live with that guilt. Blame me."

April rolled her eyes with a smile. "Knew it. I'll paint us both in a good light, alright?"

Beher braced himself, shoulders rising and falling in a deep, closed mouth sigh. "Don't get killed, April."

"That's almost a 'good luck'. I'll be alright." April clapped her paws together. "Now, you got seven hours left on your shift before dinner and sleep break. Gimme a water."





Late night was a blessing in Burning Country. Temperatures dropped (unless you placed your cheek to the ground), animals slept (except for the dreaded Nocturnal Liver-Turn-Inside-Outers), and distant gunfire got less frequent (unless the gun was currently aimed at you). April in particular did a lot of work at night, appreciating the night life for how little life it had. It wasn't much trouble for her to find her way to the blown out, flea ridden NoLoit motel, a few shakes of a lamb's tail north of the Stuff n Things. The motel happily advertised its free space, which was mostly in part because all the rooms had once been storage units.

Summoning her courage, everpresently aware of the head in her bag, April slicked down the tuft of fur on her head that never stayed put and knocked on the door of one of the rooms with a resounding echoing clang.

Shackle greeted without his suit, eyes widening in surprise when he came face to face with April's belly. 

"Oh! Hello! Did you, er, get dressed up?" He squinted to look up at her.

"I put on pants, yeah." April admitted. "Listen, I know you're probably keen to get out of here, but it's not often we get a new face around here. Would you mind if I..." She gestured to the empty desert. "Show you around a bit before you leave?"

Shackle unsurely looked at the vast nothingness. "I'm not sure I haven't seen it all! I stayed away from the screaming glowing hole in the ground, but other than that, the town all seemed quite quaint, if sparsely spread! Really, my only goal now is to-"

"Did you see the bar?" April interrupted.

His eyes subtly shone. "I... don't believe I did."

April leaned towards him slowly. "Well... I could..." She twiddled her paws casually. "show it to you. You know, if you're interested. Just a drink among civilized neighbors?"

Shackle blinked and began to shut the garage door politely. "Th-that's quite alright, dear, I should see myself off in the morning. Would hate to wake up somewhere unpleasant should I not be able to hold my bee-"

"We've got our own special brand of wine." April grabbed the underside of the door, feigning a lean against the side.

Shackle ceased all resistance. "Oh?"

"Casillero de Pesadilla." April dramatically pronounced. "Forged pre-war by a legendary drunkard. She promptly forgot the recipe, and so the secret never left Burning Country. But I have a hunch you're a bit of a connoisseur." She looked askance. "For me? Just a bit?"

Shackle's mouth hung open as he thought of it, slowly closing as she watched the battle in his eyes. Finally, he relented with a grin.

"...Tartarus, I'm down. You've got the head, I'll tail behind."





Laughs echoed through the bar as the two inhabitants seated closest together at the table mingled. Their interaction was an outlier; what few customers were seated were isolated to themselves, taking their sips and mulling over their own thoughts in privacy. The inside had clearly been repainted several times over, to worsening condition each time, and the result was a hardly more polished up job than the bombs had given it. Cracks still ran all along the walls, dust still hung in the air, but the residents barely seemed to mind, let alone the Diamond Dog and unicorn stallion conversing cheerily over several already empty glasses.

"I don't understand! Why don't they just chain the dog?" Shackleset giggled, leaning onto the bar for support.

April swallowed down her own teetering giddiness, cheeks red as she waved a paw for emphasis. "No, no, I don't think I can understate how big this dog is. I mean, I'm a big dog, but Cerberus is on a whole other level."

"And it just keeps leaving its post? Guarding a jail full of demons?" Shackle mouthed the last word in amazement.

"Hey, cut it some slack. Cerberus kept doing his job through the Apocalypse. The only other place that outlasted the bombs was my friend's convenience store."

"I was just in there. It's that old?"

"The owner is actually a ghoul." April recalled with a grin. "Half the man he once was, but I'll be damned if he hasn't kept Stuff n Things running for 300 years in a month. Alright, so what about you? What's your life like, on the other end of Burning Country? I'm guessing a big fancy carnival has it's own share of horror stories, just as sure as it's protected from most of ours. More of a sapient element to your hell, huh?"

Shackle sighed, shaking the drink in his fresh glass gently. "Actually, it ain't that bad. People pay well to see their sports. It's a good living, these days. And just like you said, it's guaranteed protection from all the beasties outside."

"Do you like what you do?"

"It could always be better."

"At least you get a carnival out of it, right?"

His face screwed up in confusion, before he coughed out a laugh again. "I get- ah. Ah ha, I see what happened. I come out of the desert looking for something stolen... You think I'm the owner?" He shook his head vigorously. "Of course not, the damn thing is named after the owner. Anarchy Abduction, bless her soul. We call her Annie. It's better on morale."

The head. Memory and blood rushed to April's head, and she flinched nervously. How long had they been here? This was definitely drunk enough. "Annie. Wait, then you're not-"

If he noticed her awkward grabbing of the table while a hindpaw fumbled with her saddlebag, he didn't show it. "Of course I'm not not. I'm in debt to her. Does my mark look like a set of shackles?" He glanced back at his flank as April bit her lip, lifting the head's horn between two toes and clenching the table a little tighter as it slipped precariously. "Compared to Annie, I'm a bug. All I do is bounce. I was hired from outside years ago, but… I cant quit. Paid too well, I suppose. And right now it's my job to get that head back. It's not just a fancy piece, you know."

April desperately tried to keep her head clear as she reached her leg across to him. His bag was just next to hers; drop it in, conceal the thud, job done. "Oh?"

"It's the... Celestia, I'm getting red, I should stop drinking..."

April stared at him intently, feeling her paw brush knapsack. "Keep going, it's alright."

Shackle took a final sip, emptying the glass.

"It's actually a water talisman."

April loudly coughed, leaning forward as she dropped the parcel in, and immediately withdrew her leg back to her side, leaning casually on the bar. Head in, job done. "O-oh?"

He nodded. "Embedded in the head. Runs water down the hole at the base, and out the fountain. An infinite supply of water, run from one source to the entire carnival. Celestia, if... If I can't get that back, I'm probably gonna get demoted." He grimaced. "Rapidly. To an unmarked grave."

April calmed herself. The hard part was over. Cruise until he left. "Work's that bad?" She murmured, succumbing again to tipsiness.

"Oh no, the job's great. I've learned so much from the ol gal. It's just better when I..." He paused, taking a sip of his drink. As he did, a change washed over him. His features tensed, his hoof shook violently for a second before stabilizing, and even the air around him seemed to fall still. Then, just quickly enough to make April wonder if she had imagined it, he relaxed. "...Better when I don't fuck up."

April tried to shake the change, but it settled at the back of her brain, tugging her as she tried to resume conversation. "If... it makes you feel any better, I think you'll get it back. Soon. You just need that patience, hun. Another glass?"

He rested his foreleg on the table, waving her off. "I shouldn't, I'm talking too much." He replied dully.

April smiled. "Nonsense. I'll bet it feels nice to talk right now."





Establishments in Burning Country were spread wide, due to the way they had been constructed when there was significantly less sand; a long sprawling highway, now buried almost completely in sand. Wherever the stronger buildings hadn't fallen, that's where people settled and did business. As a result, the path between the motel and the bar was well trodden with paw and hoof prints, but otherwise completely empty, save the natural dunes and pits the two drinking buddies trudged past, leaning on each other and making small talk.

"What do you do?" Shackle pursued.

"Me? Don't laugh."

"No laughs here."

April rolled her eyes. It was far from being an awkward question anymore, but that was mostly because people around here tended to already know. "Escort. Don't worry, don't worry. I'm not on the job."

"You? That's..." He raised an eyebrow, but quickly caught himself. "I can see it."

April smiled. "You're too kind. It's probably one of the more profitable jobs around here. You met my buddy earlier; he runs the only convenience store for miles, but it barely turns up anything. People are always finding ways to rob him, incredibly easily at that- More often than not, he just lets them. Easier than dying for a store he doesn't give a monday cow's tuesday shit about."

"No kidding." Shackleset picked up his stride to overtake her, keeping a pace ahead of her.

"Does it look like this place has law enforcement, hun? Well, the superhero guy... But I'm just counting down the days until someone shanks him."

Shackleset seemed to mull it over. "I'm surprised you don't have it worse."

"I'm saved by Burning Country's one virtue. A polite customer doesn't shoot the girl whose time they just bought."

"You're liked well enough? Not just another face in the crowd, like... You know, a prostitute?" He slowly asked

April brushed that off. "As much of a face in the crowd around here as anyone else. Not much point learning each other when we're all gonna drop dead to something sooner rather than later."

"We've all got problems in Equestria, don't we?" He grumbled.

April waved her arms theatrically. "Glory, glory. At least I'm not in the crosshairs of a crime boss. I've done well at minding my own business."

"That's far from the worst jam I've been in. At least I can take my few solaces."

"Yeah? Alright, I'm listening. Count out your blessings, hun."

"Don't make a man vulnerable." His reprimand almost seemed cross, until he playfully followed it up with a cough. "Only... if you go first."

April thought. It didn't take her long to stumble across a thread, and when she picked it up, the rest of the worlds trailed along with it. "I guess... despite everything, I'm glad we have some decency in the folk down here. We're all dying slowly, but we can pretend we're not if it's around each other. It gives Burning Country a spirit other communities in the wasteland just can't have. I'm glad for my friends. Isn't everyone? I'm glad I can always come and make my buddy's day better in the middle of his Celestia-damned job. I'm glad I'm respected, that if someone's gonna insult me, it's because I chase thrown tennis balls, and not because Dogs of my ilk were forced to build The Hoof pre-war, or because they got really into cybernetics post-war, or my weight or what I do for a living. I think this is the best place in Equestria to live. No matter what crawls out of the Hellmouth next, no matter what the Pegasus garbage collectors above us decide to drop on our heads, no matter how many weapons are pointed at me, I love Burning Country. I think, when we're forced to choose, we all do. We can't have pride in much these days. We should at least have pride in our hometown."

Shackleset was silent for a long moment before replying quietly. "That's a lot. I've never thought about... any community like that."

April shook her head with a brrrrr. "Yeah, yeah, I opened up. Now sacrifice your masculinity. Tell me what's eating you, hun."

"Is it that obvious?" He fell silent, and his stance softened from the sharpened shoulders, stiff steps he had been adopting without her notice.

"April, why did you steal our water chip?"

April was tipsy, she'd be the first to admit it. Pulling off her switcharoo had rejuvenated her energy like nothing else, and she had heartily kept the drinks coming a tad longer than she probably should have. One sentence felt like it gut-checked the alcohol entirely out of her system, and April felt washed in chills.

"I don't know what you're talking about!" April barked out reflexively, and all too fast. "I mean, I don't... I didn't..."

"April, I noticed what you pulled in the bar. I asked you where it was to your face. You'll open up your heart and soul after a drink, but you lied to my face when sober. What was that again about politeness down here?" He sourly asked, remained facing away from her.

April was a lot of things, but a liar was not one of them. Within two sentences she had broken completely, and found it within her to fess up completely. Clearly wasn't much point in getting him angrier anyway. She rose her muzzle to the sky and took a breath, scrunching her eyes shut.

"Beher and I found it. I tried to slip it, because I wanted it off my back. I'm sorry, hun."

"We talked under false pretenses."

"We did."

"I... don't really do that. Talk to other people when I'm on a job. Politeness, friendship, yeah, great, but never get to actually know someone. Because..." He laughed. "What do you know it, I usually end up killing them."

The implication didn't quite sink in. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry."

"Yeah. Me too."

His bags dropped to the ground, and he withdrew something that gleamed in the moonlight. It didn't take the unarmed Dog long to realize what it was.

"Shackle!" April exhaled in shock.

Shackle turned around, rubbing his nose with a free hoof. "I bet against the odds. It would've been easy to kill the thief and not think about it, but you had to go and get friendly. That hurt, April."

"That's what hurts here?" April exasperatedly panted as she backed away, looking around at the surrounding sand dunes in search of anyplace to run she might escape to. She doubted the unicorn could catch up to her running at full speed, but if his levitation was any good he wouldn't have to. One good shot would lodge the knife in the back of her skull.

"You buddied up to the lion." He grumbled. "You can fantasize about fixing the villain and making a new friend and everything working out in the end, but I'm not another local. I was sent here to kill, and no matter who you pinned me for in the bar, I don't feel bad enough to hinder my job." He smiled. "Sadly, there's your downside to Burning Country's politeness. It's misleading."

April took a step back. Shackle took a step forward.

"No, I didn't steal the chip. I didn't even know what was in it." April pleaded. "Shackle, we can leave. You don't have to see me again. Just head back, and we'll be alright. Shackle- Shackle!"

Groaning loudly and shutting his eyes, Shackleset swung the knife forward with visible pain. The self-inflicted blindness made it ever so slightly easier to step out of the warpath, and April instinctively reacted by butting her shoulder forward, ramming her hip into his muzzle and folding it against him as he collapsed backward and lost his grip on the knife. 

Shackle stumbled to his hooves, slipping on the sand, and looking up at her from his point of vulnerability. Here, standing above him, she could see now the weapon he had attempted to pull on her, some sort of blade now dug into the sand with the hilt still sticking out. His eyes flickered to it, and biting his lip he made a swipe. She reached it before him, kicking out to embed the handle in the sand and conceal it entirely.

"Why did you do that, April?" He growled, landing chin first on the sand again. "Do you have any idea how rare it is for me to come across someone who won't backstab me? Here you come along, and I finally think I can just have a conversation, and you thought I wouldn't notice you fumbling under the table?"

April held her head in her paws, unsure of what action to take as he regained his footing. "I- I thought-"

"I withheld my judgement, but as soon as I lifted my bag, I knew it." He reached for the overturned sack, shaking the limp end to roll out the final parcel on top of his other belongings. His horn kicked back to life, and he swung the head clumsily in a shallow arc at April, the sharp stone cleaving a cut through the air as April stepped back.

"I don't care what you think of me, or what I do, April." Shackleset muttered. "But I'm sick of people sneaking under me. You said it yourself; acting like someone's friend doesn't make the people here any damn different than the rest of Equestria." Another swing forward.

"Shackle, you're drunk!" April wasn't faring much better, stumbling on her feet. Given she was dealing with an assassin, that and her upper hand in strongarming were probably keeping her alive. Shackle's swings were made wide and wild, and each one carried him forward despite being carried telekinetically as the stress on his addled mind pushed him to and fro.

"Clearly not enough."

April caught his next blow, effortlessly swinging the head and knocking him back into the sand again. Shackleset spat out sand and glared up at her.

Whatever he might have growled out next was lost to April as Shackle wrapped himself around her leg, tripping her up flat on her face. Face buried in sand, she felt her leg pulled to a painful angle until she punched behind her and stood up. She hadn't been in a fight in her life- not a fistfight, at least. Unconsciously, her hands went to her head again, and she whimpered pathetically.

The blow didn't come. But light did.

April opened her eyes and looked to Shackleset. It was almost holy; his head was craned to the sky, mouth agape, moonlight falling on him in a concentrated spotlight, like the tractor beam of some UFO. April looked up to the familiar cloud cover, to the hole that had been opened. From the sand, she couldn't see what lay beyond it, but clearly Shackleset could.

"Th... The sk..." Lost in wonder, he barely noticed as a shadow formed above him, barely a pinprick first, then growing larger and larger. Only when it eclipsed his view of the night sky did he blink and close his mouth.

He turned to April.

"I just did my job." He pleaded.

A metal bin collided with his head from 60,000 feet up. Skull and brain matter showered from the impact point, and his body below the neck crumpled onto its knees, spilling the contents of the bin into the pit April was lying in.

The offending weapon rolled to her feet, and she read the logo on the side.

Pegasus Enclave Garbage Services





Before his shift had even began, the bust of Celestia's head found itself on Beher's counter. It was looking to be another beautiful day in Burning Country.

He rubbed his temples anxiously. "April, my closest friend. One of the only people I can hold amiable relations with in this town. Heart of Burning Country." He gestured exasperatedly to the counter. "Why the hell is this still here?"

Without breaking gaze, April slammed her paw onto the table next to the head, hard enough to break a crack in the wood. Where she removed her paw lay a tiny blue chip, barely the size of a beetle, yet still unharmed without a scratch on it.

Beher's eyes shone. "No fucking way."

"This changes everything, Beher. People have died for these things."

"People have killed for these. How the hell...?"

"It was in the head. They use it for the fountain, remember?"

"I thought they just..."

"It generates through the rest. Enough water to fill the pipes of an entire Carnival." April intercepted his questions perfectly with the casualty of someone who had known Beher for a long time.

Beher finally calmed himself, taking deep breaths. "But the head still hasn't been returned. If we just started using the chip... It would put us back on the map. That kind of attention, someone's gonna realize something's up."

April lifted her paws defensively. "I know, I know, hun, but we can't just pass this opportunity up. I've been thinking up a plan all night."

"All ni-" Recollection dawned on Beher. "Hold on, how did last night go? Did the guy leave without this? April, why didn't you just remove the chip and then let him leave with the shell?"

April looked askance, and her hand fell to her stomach feebly, as if a sickness was rising.

"April?" Beher tilted his head suspiciously. "Where's Shackleset?"

April licked her lips guiltily. "I... ate him."

Beher blinked. "Come again?"

"The Pegasus city overhead, we got into a fight, and then they started dumping their stuff... Celestia, Beher, I was standing in the middle of the road in front of a dead body! What happened to not being a picky eater?" She groaned.

"Deaths like that happen all the time!"

April put a hand to her breast. "Not from me! Not from the resident fluffy puppy who likes hugs! Murders generally sully that kind of reputation!" She laced her arms around herself, heaving shallowly.

"Hey, hey, it's okay, we didn't murder anyone." Beher slid across the table, patting her back comfortingly. "You're alright, we're all alright." Once April's breath had calmed, he pushed hair out of his eyes unsurely. "I- I know I'm probably focusing on the wrong thing here, but are you feeling okay? I didn't think you could chew through bone."

April released herself from her grasp, still glancing around like a pre-war police officer was going to burst in on her any moment. "I think I was in too much shock to care. The horn kinda hurt, though. "

Beher let go of her, considering her sufficiently comforted. "Well, they're down an assassin. I don't know how far he was planning on searching, but they were tracking that girl. Which means if he vanishes going after her..."

April nodded slowly. "They'll have a good idea of where she's gone. Maybe they'll assume it's her failure."

"Look, assuming they're not batshit loopy, which, you gotta be a little smart to run an entire damn carnival, means more guys." Beher slowly considered. "This is one of the single most valuable pieces of tech the Wasteland over. No wonder it's so goddamn popular; it's the cleanest source of water for countries in any direction."

"So what the hell do we do?"

"Isn't it obvious? We give the head back. Take it over to the Carnival, discretely drop it off. Suddenly, 'oh shit, it was never lost at all!' Their assassin is presumed dead, their precious is returned, and we've got the chip."

April shook her head. "No, no, they'll assume the chip was stolen, and the hunt is back on."

"But the time they've lost once they realize their man is a no-show! A thousand things out here could've killed him. Are they gonna risk sending another guy out, when that chip could be miles away in any direction? Then we use it. Lay low for a bit, keep it safe, keep it secret. Slooowly but surely, our water supply is going up. People aren't as thirsty anymore. We've singlehandedly saved Burning Country, and we're under the radar. Hell, without their chip, it might not even matter if the Carnival suspects us. They'll have enough on their hooves already when the tanks run out."

They mulled that over. April shot him a look of pride, sniffling.

"Beher? You're a genius."

Beher grinned, lifting a hoof. "Up top?"

For April, it was more of a down low, but she slapped her paw on his anyway.

"Hug?"

They embraced cheesily.

"Kissy-kiss?"

"Don't call it that."

"Point taken."

April leaned down to smooch the end of his nose anyway.

Beher grinned bashfully, before his face suddenly fell. "Celestia. That's not it, is it? There's one more ordeal."

"And that would be?"

Beher gulped.

"I've...I've gotta ask my boss for time off."





"Sir?"

"Sit down, sit down. If it isn't Beher. My favorite employee."

The Boss's grin could melt steel beams. So could the rest of him.

Beher sat down on the sand, his hazmat suit crumpling under his tush uncomfortably. In front of him was the ruins of what had once been a house; hundreds of pounds of wooden beams, bricks, and stone foundation crumpled into a heap. And at the front, leaning against a bent mailbox, was The Boss. His entire upper half was glowing pea soup green, flickering like the lights that lit up the store he owned. Beher couldn't be sure what color his lower half was; as far as he knew, it was still trapped in the 200 year old collapsed house.

Despite dying in his home centuries ago and being promptly bisected, he had held up surprisingly well for himself. In a neat line on the sand in front of him was a row of World's Best Boss mugs and blurry photographs of him at point blank range. Beher had given him all of them.

"And no formalities." The Boss waved his hoof. "Mister is just fine with me."

"Of course, Mister Sir." Beher echoed.

"Now, my favorite employee."

Only employee, Beher knew better than to say out loud.

"How may I help you today? Profits alright?"

Beher thought of his armed robbery. "Just peachy."

"That's what I like to hear, dear boy." The Boss thumped the ground with a foreleg happily. "Then what else can I offer? Unsatisfied with your job?"

Beher tried to scratch an itch, growing irritated when he remembered the full bodied hazmat suit. "I... Everything's alright, Mister Sir. But I think I need some vacation time."

The Boss laughed, wiggling on the ground like a dying slug. "Another long day?"

"Something like that."

"Beher, do you know how long this company has run?"

"300 years in a month." Beher echoed from heart, having been told it for the past year.

"Day in, day out, 7 days a week, 22 hours a day, since I was still a mortal man. Do you know how we got there, dear boy?"

"I believe you're about to tell me."

"Hard work, dedication, a little derring do!" The Boss stretched himself to reach to the stars in a sweeping gesture. "The marks of a good man, dear boy. Do you think I built my empire by sitting on my ass all those years?"

"Yes, Mister Sir."

"Damn skippy I did! I haven't worked a day in my life, because I wanted my employees to learn for themselves. And you've done just wonderfully. Why, I've never met a better pony in my life- and don't tell my wife I said that!" He chortled.

Beher elected not to tell him his wife was dead. "Of course, sir."

"And besides, what about the water? Are we going to leave them without it, and me without that profit?"

"Of course not sir." He braced himself. "But… I have taken initiative- uh, and duty to the company- and trained a brief replacement during my leave."

The Boss quirked an eyebrow. "Oh? They must be very skilled. Who might they be?"

Beher coughed. "He never told me his name, as a matter of fact. But he can count to ninety, place things in places, and highball haggle. Assuming he shuts up about Kelpies, crystal pony robots, and humans every once in a while, I think he'll be perfect."





Footnote: Level Up! (89)

New Perk Added: Mountain Will Not Bow - New dialogue options added in bargain to resolve conflict. Losing your cool costs the boss money. Become the rock.