Only a Choice

by Mystic

Only a Choice

A pony much cleverer than me once told me that it wasn’t the bullshit life threw at you that matters; it’s what you do afterwards that really counts. I liked that saying. It always made sense to me, I guess. The weak get beaten around, and the strong and capable stand up and keep going, fixing their problems and making the world better because of it.

I always wanted to do good. I like to think that most ponies do too.

So here I was. Fixing my problems.

Doing… good things.

The sun was just beginning to crawl above the far horizon. I exhaled then inhaled slow and steady, holding each breath just for a moment. The ground was cold beneath my body, the dirty snow seeping into my weathered clothes, leaving me with a chill that never left. I could see movement down the sight, the faint cross lingering right over one of their heads like a predator waiting to pounce. After a week of effort, all I had left to do was bite the trigger. Then the gun fires, and a life is gone.

So simple a foal could do it.

Easy. Squeeze the trigger and the world becomes a better place.

Because in the Wasteland, justice took the form of a bullet over three inches long.

I inhaled again, letting the frigid air burn my nostrils, focusing hard on the shot, trying to ignore the cold creeping into my limbs. My barding was poking into my chest, but I ignored that too. I had the battle saddle on so I could fire the gun manually rather than risk giving my position away with my horn’s light.

There was no way I was going to let these fuckers go. I could see them moving. A mare and a stallion, both of them wrapped in tattered rags and bloody barding. They had holed up in the end of a canyon, their backs to the thirty metre rock face. They huddled over a small campfire, their ears perked like a rabbit’s, constantly on alert. Except, they would only hear me after it was far too late. I was a quick shot, and they were far too exposed.

I exhaled a little harder than I should’ve, letting the crosshairs settle.

Count to three.

One.

Two.

Thre––

Bars were filthy. Considering just how popular they were in the Wasteland, perhaps that wasn’t all that surprising. The lighting in here was atrocious; dying light bulbs sent a dull glow seeping through the room that hurt my eyes. The table tops were sticky and, more often than not, covered in flaky bits of dried blood. Half of the furniture lay in scattered pieces around the room.

The dirty and sweaty ponies in the bar glared at their drinks, smashing hard spirits faster than a foal could drink sparkle colas. Heck, faster than I could drink sparkle colas.

It was an old story here in the Wasteland, I guess. Shit happens, and you either go violent, take drugs, or drink. Or all three. My own head felt as if something was tightening around it, my vision pinched and narrow, and my limbs felt heavy, almost like I was forcing them through water. I stared at the alcoholic piss in front of me, trying to let the fog take over all thoughts. Despite how drunk I was, it wasn’t working. Even lifting my head was a challenge and a half.

But so help me, Celestia, I would do it if it meant another mouthful of whiskey.

A pony shambled behind me, visible out of the corner of my eye, carrying a tray of drinks on his back. All I knew was that one second I was summoning the strength to take a drink, and then I was shoved forward, my glass spilling its insides all over the counter.

“Sorry,” the pony muttered with slurred speech, pushing himself back awkwardly into the middle of the walkway.

I threw him a glare over my shoulder. Somehow, despite his accidental clumsiness, his drink tray was still perfectly balanced. “Fuck off,” I growled, well aware that my speech sounded thick and gravelly, like I had been drinking dirt. I was pretty sure it wasn’t dirt, though.

I was vaguely aware of the pony turning to face me, setting the battered tray down with a loud clang. “What did ya say?”

Sighing far louder than was necessary, I spun around on my chair, almost falling off in the process. “I said fuck off and don't touch me.”

Staring at him, I realised he looked kinda familiar. Then it hit me. This guy visited Pinegrove, a town in the mountains I’d lived in until just recently. He was also a slaver, if memory served me correctly. Or at least had ties to slavers. Still made him a slaver in my book.

He snorted. “That sounds a bit longer than the first time you said it.” He stopped, squinting at me for a second. His eyes lit up, recognition breaking through the drug haze. “Fuck! I know you! You’re that sharpshooter from Pinegrove! Celestia shoot me up with psycho. Fight any more wars against raider clans yet, you psychopath?” He chuckled to himself, shaking his head.

I stared at him in reply.

“Hey, where’s that mare of yours? She was a fucking pretty little thing. Shame you kept her on such a tight watch, coz she would have brought up a beautiful profit.”

I could picture myself bringing my hoof down on his smug, greasy little face. Again and again and again till there was nothing but blood and brains. I’m sure somepony somewhere would pay me for it. “Shut the fuck up.”

He grinned at me, showing his yellowing teeth. “I’m just fucking with ya. But seriously, she was a fine piece of work. Shame she’s not here right now.”

I exhaled noisily, letting the air whistle on the way out. “What part of shut the fuck up do you not understand?”

A small frown crossed his face, and he puffed out his chest. “Hey, none of that, now. You betta learn to wise up and take a step back before somepony ends up getting hurt.”

 I forced a nod. Breathe in. Breathe out. “Is that so?”

“Damn right it is.”

I leaned in a bit closer, licking my lips. “But y’know, you didn’t answer my fucking question, so I am going to ask you one last time. Do you understand when I say shut the fuck up, you slaving piece of shit, or do I have to teach you?” I spat down by his hooves. Well, that's the area I was aiming for at least. Fuck it. He was a slaver.

The stallion looked at my saliva, his lips curled in disgust. The air between us suddenly felt electric, like the second before the first gunshot in a standoff. He stepped in a little closer, his eyes trying very, very hard to set me on fire. “Nah, I don't think I do, but I will cave your fucking skull in if you even think about touching me. Do you understand?”

Oh boy. Belligerence, anger, and a cocktail of addictive substances. This wasn't going to end well.

So, naturally, I hit first. I watched the confusion pass through his eyes as my horn lit up, but the comprehension that followed soon after certainly didn’t come fast enough. The broken chair behind him slammed into the back of his head, sending him sprawling down at my hooves in an ungainly, drunk pile. Fuck yeah, magic sneak attacks! He tried to struggle upright, but the chair made short work of that. One of the legs splintered with a very satisfying crack.

He groaned, trying to roll over and get some distance, so fuck it, I hit him again. This time, though, his head got caught between the seat of the chair and the ground. Something cracked below me, and a small splatter of blood sprayed over the ground. Oops, probably too hard.

Apparently the bartender thought so too. One moment I was standing very securely on the ground; the next I was floating upside down inside his magical grasp.

“Fucking hell!” the bartender growled. “What is your problem? Did you have to try and kill him?”

Hooves thudded behind me, and I could hear the popping sound of a healing potion being opened. Lucky bastard. Free healing potions would be amazing. Even then, they didn’t seem to be working. He wasn’t moving too well. Or at all. I dunno. My vision wasn’t all that good at the moment.

“I dunno. He knocked me. And he’s a slaver.”

“Yeah, and you’re a fucking mercenary. You’re both scum. Get the fuck out of my bar before I stomp your skull in to make things even.” He let me drop into an awkward pile on the floor, and I took a moment to untangle myself and stand up again.

Displaying some remarkable foresight, foresight that I sorely missed two minutes ago (and despite the incorrect label he had given me), I let the shot slide, reaching into a shallow pocket on my barding to fish out some caps. Speaking of barding, I mean really, why would the slaver, a shitty pony in no barding, have attacked a pony like me who was in barding? That made as much sense as a pony in barding attacking a guy in power armour.

Idiot deserved to be beaten.

With my drinks paid for, I staggered over to the door, making sure to grab my weapons on the way out. Then, making sure to double check that I still had all the same crap in my possession that I did when I entered, I went to walk outside, already lifting the fur lining around my neck against the anticipated chill.

But on my way out, with one hoof literally out the door, I stopped, suddenly remembering why I had come to this shitty bar in the middle of this shithole of a town in the first place. Pre-drinking and loading up on med-x before going into a bar was not my brightest moment.

“Hey,” I shouted back, fighting to keep my words clear. “Does anypony know where the fuck I can find any of the ponies from Splinter behind those caravan raids on the Pinegrove chem runs?”

Silence. A few looks were thrown around the room, almost checking to make sure they were in decent company. Cowards.

Fortunately for me, though, they all knew exactly where to go.

All of the ponies in the bar (or those still able to form coherent sentences) directed me to a small shack a few kilometres upriver. Apparently the pony who lived there used to work for the same raider group that my targets had bailed from. I wasn’t sure how much information he would be able to give me, but I figured that anything would help.

They told me I needed to talk to a pegasus called Jet. Amongst all of the useless descriptions and whiny ranting about his personality, I managed to gather that he was the colour of shit and the pony most likely to know where my targets fled after they ditched the raider group. I wasn’t sure why he also quit so soon after, but fuck it, I just didn’t care.

So I slept for a couple of hours and visited the local doctor to clear the worst of the shit from my system, crashing on one of his cots. I headed out first thing in the morning, watched closely by the filthy town sentries, well aware that they were just itching to take a shot.

The walk was... fun. The wind was icy, and it bit at any part of me that wasn’t wrapped tightly underneath a thick layer of clothing. Loose swirls of ash mixed with sheets of icy sleet, stirring the air into a cold sludge. Fortunately, I had wrap-around goggles to make sure I could still see.

The river was edged with dirty ice. Pieces of rubbish and other shit were stuck to the bank like a foal’s shitty model. The Wasteland’s trademark dead trees dotted the landscape around me, almost as if the area had once been trying its damn best to be a real forest but never really got the chance before the war ruined everything.

Still, at least it only took me an hour or so to walk there. The small wooden shack slowly came into view amongst the petulant weather, the entire thing leaning dangerously to one side, smoke billowing out the chimney.

Not one to be anything but cautious, I stopped about two hundred metres out and levitated out my scoped assault carbine (my absolute pride and joy), flicking off the sight’s cover and bringing it up for a proper look. I wasn’t too worried about the light coming from my horn. In the murky grey snow, my light-blue magic wouldn’t stand out.

Through the scope, the building was thrown into sharp relief. The windows were half frosted over so everything inside looked kinda blurry, but I could definitely see movement. At least two ponies, possibly three.

I shifted around to another tree to get a different angle. Yeah, unless there was a bed or something I couldn’t see and a pony on it, then I was going to run under the assumption that there were three ponies inside. I dunno what they were doing, but they were moving a whole lot around… something.

I let my eyes wander around the house, scanning for anything interesting. Random crap rested along the walls, stacked up messily on the front porch. A collection of shovels, wire, a shotgun or two, and… that… that was a pile of slaver collars. And that was a fucking bloodstained table, complete with hoofcuffs bolted to it. They even had a pile of knives and axes propped up next to the table, all of them also bloodstained. Apparently these fucks knew nothing about keeping their weapons clean.

My heart started to speed up, and I licked my lips. Calm. Breathe. I couldn’t get all righteous on them now. I didn’t have proof of anything that would cause a reasonable pony to start shooting shit up over. It looked damning, sure, but I had no idea what they were actually doing. The slaver gear could be leftovers, junk to sell later, and the table could be for hunted game. The bears around these parts would go down with a good shot to the face. Provided, of course, you were shooting them from several hundred metres away and upwind so they didn’t find you first.

I didn’t see any animal hides, though.

I crept through the trees, my eyes pressed to the scope. Making a note of all points of possible danger, I could feel myself slip into patterns set through years of practice, my stance lowering to keep the noise down. Just another group of raiders, huh? Of course I knew what to do. I had done this a hundred times before.

Positioning myself directly in front of the front door, I crouched down low, trying very hard to think of how to approach the situation. I needed my information. That’s what I was here for, not on some hit in goodness’ name.

Well, a little voice in my head supplied, if they are slavers and raiders, are they any different from the ponies who kil––

Okay. Fuck. I get it. I fought the urge to spit. I still needed to stay on target. Maybe after I got my information I could shoot their brains out.

I stood up, lowering my rifle back down to my side, and I trotted up to the door. What? I could just knock on the door and say hello. Civilised, right? At least, that’s what an old mare told me once. Knocking on a pony’s door was civilised.

But then, almost as if it knew I was thinking about it, the door shunted forward, slowly swinging open and into the porch. I froze, lifting the sight back up to get a better look.

An earth pony moved into the open. He was a pale green, looking like an abstract painting the way he was all splattered in blood. In his mouth was a hunting knife smeared in red. He grinned when he chucked the blade onto the table, rummaging through the pile for another. I peered past him, trying to peek inside.

And Celestia help me, I really wish I hadn’t.

I could see her as clear as day, beaten and cut to shit, her lower legs curled up to her stomach. She was lying in a pool of blood, her front hooves outstretched, almost as if she was trying to crawl somewhere. A second earth pony stood over her with a smile so wide he looked like an oversized toy.

Looking at them, my head filled with an endless buzzing, a constant whine that swallowed all other thought. My muscles clenched like iron springs until I felt as if I was going to snap in half. And y’know what made it even worse? The fact that my mark was in there too, sitting at a table with his back to the whole deal, inspecting a glass of whiskey without a care in the fucking world, not giving a shit about the torture going on behind him.

The second earth pony, this one yellow, needled a knife into the mare’s neck, and her scream cut through the icy air. The first pony, an axe in his mouth, was already moving back inside.

Fuck civilised. Time for action.

I lined up the shot in less time than it took to blink. This was easy as breathing for me, the movements ingrained from years and years of practice. The anger was there, bubbling like molten steel, but I knew how to control it, to focus it, to make it my anvil and let practice be my hammer. I exhaled, letting the shot settle, feeling that second of peace before all hell breaks loose: the precious calm before the storm.

The rifle went off with a short and sharp crack, and I watched the stallion jerk backwards like a puppet, a red spray splattering the wall behind his head. His limp body crumpled to the ground.

The other stallion hit the deck hard, craning his neck to see where I was. His eyes were fucking huge and filled with the kind of fear that only someone who knows they are fucked can show. Unfortunately for him, even if he couldn’t see me, I could see his head as clear as day. Inhale, exhale. Another second passed, the gun went off, and he also stopped moving.

The pegasus inside was missing from the table, but the fucker hadn’t flown out, so he must still be inside. Either he was waiting for me, or he was shaking inside like a bitch. I ran up quietly, keeping my sights fixed on the door, making sure to watch the two front windows as well. Nothing. The fucker was hiding. That wasn’t good. I could still see the mare, but she wasn’t moving. Fuck. That also wasn’t good.

Twenty or so metres from the front door, I stopped, crouching behind a tree. Waiting. Watching.

“C’mon, you fucker,” I muttered, my breath misting and my eyes still peering down the scope. “Come out.”

I had to stop and remind myself that I needed him alive first and foremost. As soon as he talked then he could die.

Still nothing. I couldn’t tear my eyes of the unmoving mare. Just get up! Or move. Please just move! I gritted my teeth and sent two quick shots through the bottom of the right window. The warped glass cracked and shattered, raining down on both sides of the wall.

Movement! He tucked himself up behind the wall on that same side, between the door and the window. His hoof slipped and moved into view for just a heartbeat, but that’s all I needed.

I got up, sliding sideways, keeping my gun trained where I last saw him. I knew my rifle packed one hell of a punch, but I really didn’t fancy it penetrating wooden planks thicker than my head.

I crept forward, just waiting for him to duck around and open fire. They always did have guns. Except he didn’t. I could see part of the coward’s flank. He was pressing himself as tight against the wall as possible. It was an easy fucking shot, so I took aim and then fired, watching him spasm as the bullet found its mark. Time to move! Go! I threw myself at the door, sprinting to catch him off guard.

I burst into the room, my gun trained on his head, hungry for blood.

“Fucking don’t shoot!” he screamed, looking up at me with pathetic fucking eyes, one hoof pressed to his flank. “Just, fuck! Don’t shoot, okay? I’m not like them! I’m not one of those fuckers!”

I stared at him, shocked out of my rage for just a moment. “So you’d just sit there while they torture ponies and ignore it? What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

“It was nothing! I just worked with those guys. I’d never do that kinda shit! Please, you gotta believe me!”

There was acid in my veins that burned my insides until everything was left blistered and raw. Every part of me wanted nothing more than to crush his skull under my hoof until there was nothing left. Fucking breathe. I had questions. A goal. I needed to focus. “Fuck it. Jet, yeah?”

He nodded. “Y-yeah, that’s me. Why you wanna––”

“Do you know the Psycho clan attack on the chem caravan heading past Splinter a week ago? The one hit over by the glacier. Big fucking stash. C’mon, you fucking get tabs on all the loot going into that gang. You should know.”

The pegasus looked at me like I was high. “The-the one heading from Pine––”

“Yes! That one!”

“Y-yeah… What about it?”

“The ponies who hit them. There was a stallion and a mare leading the hit. Both of them sand-coloured. Both earth ponies. He had a blue mane, hers was purple. You know them?”

“Shit, that’s Dusty and Tumble. Why you wanna––”

“Shut the fuck up. I’m the one asking questions.”

He nodded, his whole body shaking, his face was lit up in a sheen of sweat.

“They split from the Psychos, didn’t they? Just like you.”

He nodded again.

“Where did they go?”

“I––I...”

“Don’t fuck around. Answer the damn question.”

He closed his eyes, whimpering softly. “Only… only if you promise not to kill me.”

“What?”

“I––I said I’ll tell you if you promise not to kill me.”

I looked at him for a moment, letting as much disbelief creep into my expression as I could. Was he fucking serious? “Fine, whatever. Just tell me where they went.”

He took a deep shuddering breath in an attempt to calm himself. “They went east. They went east, out to a little town called Gale. Somewhere in the foot of the Crystals. We actually saw each other briefly a couple days ago, and that’s where they said they were going. That’s all I know. I swear that’s all I know.”

I held my glare for a few seconds longer, letting the silence creep into the air, the tension building with each passing second. His eyes darted to the door. Fucking coward. The house had piles of weapons, and his first thought was to run? He didn’t even try to fight. Just hid up against the wall like a bitch.

“But… but you can’t do shit to them, alright? I know what they must have seemed like, but you can’t kill them! The boss, he jacked them so full of dash and rampage, and he said that if they didn’t he would kill the––”

“Gale? Is that it?” I cut him off, my look slicing through his desperate ramblings.

“No! I’m serious! They just want another… Please… They didn’t mean for…”

He fell silent, my glare saying all that needed to be said.

He tried to take another deep breath, but it didn’t quite work. His eyes were watery now too. Somehow, I think he almost knew what was about to happen. “Yeah, that’s it.”

My horn glowed, and the gun went off with a roar, deafening in the enclosed space. He slumped forward, the back half of his head missing. I spat on his corpse.

I turned around, moving quickly over to the mare lying in her own blood. I kicked myself. I should have checked on her first. Fuck. I wasn’t thinking properly. 

But I had been thinking. I had been thinking very clearly.

She wasn’t breathing. No pulse either. I sat down, staring at her body, trying to get as much air into my lungs as possible. Fuck. She looked so scared too. And when she screamed… she sounded just like her.

Just… fuck. Deep breaths. Deep breaths and wait till the ache goes away.

The fuckers who did this to her were just as dead. That had to count for something.

It… I…

Yeah… I know. Whatever.

I spent the rest of the day hiking to Gale. The fading road led a hard trek across the foothills of the Crystals, but ponies almost never came this far north, so it was also a quiet one. Since the town was on the northern frontier, all of the traffic came from the south. I had visited the town a couple of times before. Neat little place if I remember right. Pretty clean and safe, too far out of the way for any of the world’s bigger factions to give a shit. In fact, the foothills were normally quiet this time of year. Summer was almost over, and that meant that all of the wild beasts who normally would have given me crap were all still in the mountains.

Out here, still a very long way away from anywhere, the ground looked like a cemetery with its thin, blasted forests. All the trees all seemed about ninety percent dead. As in, they all looked dead, but no matter how many times I came up here over the years, the place never changed. Dead trees should fall down, right?

The shitty thing about long walks is that they give your mind the perfect opportunity to run amok. While your legs are doing all the hard work, your brain just goes and ruins your afternoon by thinking about all that shit you try to ignore every other second of the day.

I was stewing over Jet. Brooding like a sulking filly over killing him, also about his attempts to get me to stop going after my targets. Why the fuck would he care? They’re all just raiders. I almost wish I had let him finish talking. Almost.

But then, if I had, it probably would have only given me more shit to brood over.

I reached Gale a few hours after sundown. I allowed a moment to congratulate myself for the effort. Most ponies would consider going from Greywater to Gale to be an overnighter for sure. I did it in eight hours, only stopping once. But dammit, it was freaking cold out, and the wind was starting to pick up again. The high powered torch strapped to my battle saddle cast a weak shaft of gold through the night air, and I could see the swirling snow as each flake took its moment of fame by passing through the light.

The wall surrounding the town was at least five metres high and constructed from a mixture of steel supports and concrete that actually looked professionally constructed. Razor wire and jagged glass shards tipped the top, making me think that it was more to keep out wild animals rather than ponies. I was pretty sure that the tower sentries spotted my light from well over a kilometre away, but they hadn’t shot yet, so that could only be good news.

I met briefly with a guard who seemed far too chatty considering the late hour, how shit the weather was and his job as a sentry in the Wasteland. But after that, I was finally let into the town proper. He even let me keep my weapons, so either he was far too trusting, or just stupid. Heck, is there any real difference? Kind of made me reconsider not asking him any questions about the ponies I was chasing. Not like it would have made him suspicious if he let me keep my weapons.

I wasted little time in cutting through the wide open streets, heading straight for the one building in town that was throwing warmth and light all over the road. The wind nipped at my hooves and face with little scratching fingers, so I tucked my chin close to my chest and picked up the pace.

I rushed through the door, breathing a sigh of relief once I was out of the snow. Now this was a nice bar. The whole place was well lit, lined with clean tables and unbroken chairs. Ponies smiled widely and laughed way too loudly, and a few were actually singing by a fireplace. It was the kind of place that made me feel bad for walking in with my filthy clothes and my mane and tail dripping with melting snow.

To cement this picture-fucking-perfect impression, I could tell food was cooking somewhere because I could smell something that made my mouth water. It reminded me just how eager I was to get a drink and something nice to eat.

But luxuries like that had to wait. After what happened in Greywater, I needed to keep my head.

I quickly organised a room, putting myself up as a merchant guard looking for work. The mare behind the counter was more than happy to direct me to the part of the bar filled with the in-town shopkeepers. She said it would give me a chance to strike up some conversations to get work. That was good for me because it gave me the opportunity to ask some questions of the ponies most likely to have interacted with my targets.

The first few attempts ended with them glaring at me and walking away. Apparently asking questions about customers was taboo. Still, I persisted like the stubborn piece of shit I am.

Eventually, I spotted somepony who looked like he was just the right kind of drunk. Just enough to be super chatty without being completely stupid. He was a portly kind of pony, a little soft around the edges with the kind of wrinkles in his white coat that came from smiling too much.

“Can I buy you a drink?” I asked, walking up to him.

He looked me over before bursting into laughter. “What? You gonna try and chat me up or something, son?”

I tried to laugh back. “Not a chance. I’m new in town, and I wanted to start getting to know some of the locals, if you’d spare some time.”

“Is that so! Well then, lad, the name is Clean Cut. I sell all kinds of medical supplies and other chems over at the local clinic. Heck, if you ever need any kind of fix, you come right to me, ya hear?”

I had to try very hard not to ask if he had any med-x on him right now. Focus. “Chems, huh? Healing potions too?”

“You betcha. Sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”

“Winter Fall,” I lied. I didn’t want my real name getting out if I could help it.

“Well it’s an absolute pleasure to meet ya, Winter Fall. Where you come from?”

“Pinegrove. You ever been there?”

His eyes narrowed slightly. “Yeah. Once or twice. They had some nasty run-ins just recently with those Psycho suckers, didn’t they?”

“Yeah, they did.”

“Bah! Scum, the lot of them! We don’t want the south’s wars and sickness coming up here. Up here it’s cold and harsh, but it’s peaceful and we make do.”

That was an understatement. I’d been as far south as the outskirts of Hoofington, and this place was a positive utopia in comparison. “I’d agree with you, Mr Cut, but I just think the south might come up whether we like it or not.”

He shook his head vehemently, and I was amazed he didn’t spill his drink. “Rubbish. No offence to you, of course. We can keep them out if we just stay true to the north, y’know? None of this killing each other for half a bit business. That’s what turned the world to shit, if you pardon my griffin. Ponies will shoot anypony at the drop of a hat. That’s not how things are up north, and we better remember it or else we’ll wake up tomorrow and be just like them.”

I opened my mouth to respond then stopped. “I guess you have a point, Mr Cut.”

“Of course I do. I wouldn’t have said it otherwise, lad!” He chuckled, taking a great big gulp from a frothing mug.

Enough chit-chat. “Hey, Mr Cut, you haven’t happened to see some friends of mine come through here in the last day or so, have you? Two earth ponies. Both of them the colour of sand. The mare has a purple mane and the stallion blue?”

“A sandy stallion with a blue mane? Hmm. It was spiky, yeah? He was wearing old barding that looked beaten up to all hell?”

I nodded, sitting up a little straighter. “Yeah. That’s the one. There might have been a mare, same coat, just with a purple mane?”

“Nah. Never saw no mare. Just the stallion fella. He came in just yesterday morning, actually. Not long after we opened up shop. He comes in all in a hurry asking for healing potions, and let me tell you, he looked like he needed them too. So I give them to him, and ask where he’s going all in a rush, and y’know what? He completely ignores me! Just shoves some caps in my face and leaves! Then he practically goes and runs outside, dumps the supplies in one of the carts that old Sweet Pea sells, already filled up with food, and then he takes off, running out of town like somepony’s chasing him! Would you believe that?”

I took a deep breath. Information was good, even if it meant I still had a way to go before I finally found them. “Sounds like he wanted to be gone pretty quick.”

“You’re damn right he did! I was curious what he was so damn secretive about, so I went and spoke to Longsight––he was on sentry this morning, you see––and he said that he had no idea either! He just came from the northeast real quiet-like, bought his stuff, and then when he left he headed back out east, just this time with a cart. He said it looked like he was going to the mountains or maybe taking one of the old foothill trails to the coast. But I told him that he was just speculating and making up stuff, and he said––”

“Thank you very much for your time, Mr Cut, but I have to leave.”

He blinked at me, his mouth hanging half open. “Leave already?!”

“I’m sorry, but I think my week of travel just caught up with me. It’s been great to meet you, Mr Cut, and I’m sure we’ll talk again soon.” I tried to smile at him.

He closed his mouth with a frown, but then he exhaled and shook his head. “Ah, just call me CC. All my friends do.”

“Right. Thank you then, CC. I’ll be sure to call in some time.” With that, I turned and left the bar, heading straight to my room.

I needed to sleep and get the fuck out of here as soon as I could. While most of their tracks would be covered over with snow come morning, I was pretty sure I knew where they would be heading. Heck, there wasn’t much around here that wasn’t south, and if they were heading east… Didn’t leave a lot of room for error, that’s for sure.

I hit the bed hard, slamming my eyes shut, willing myself to sleep.

Sleep, however, was a long time coming.

I picked up the chase when the sun peeked above the horizon. The weather had cleared up, with both the snow and the wind fading away completely, leaving the world deathly still. I had to admit, it was more than a little disconcerting. But it did mean that the going would be easier, so I doubled my pace.

I was heading east by northeast, following the looming line of the mountains. In my youth, I’d hunted ice wolves on this narrow trail when I was first learning to shoot. I remembered the way well because it entered into a whole bunch of valleys and canyons that ran all the way to the warmer area near the coast. They were good for me because they were very sheltered, and if tracks were likely to survive anywhere, it would be there. Also, it was the fastest route to the coastal towns (which was where I was assuming they would be heading), making it the smartest option for them to take.

I trotted through the fresh snow, cutting a line that went past as many tree trunks as I could; the snow was always thinnest there. The forest was silent, the ice muffling the entire world in a thick blanket.

Just after midday, my legs aching and my lungs burning, I reached the gorges. I plunged into the first one without pause or break, casting my eyes warily up at the steep sides. The rock reach up high, framed by grey and tumultuous skies, the clouds disappearing as high as I could see. Loose boulders filled the bottom of the canyon, dusted in ice and snow, and I was careful not to make too much noise. You never know when another giant rock would decide that it was sick of sitting up on the ridge.

I had to check my map once or twice at a few branching canyons, but picking out the path to the coast wasn’t hard. It was the only one with broken bits of scrap lining both sides, the bones of adventures-gone-wrong.

I stopped sometime in the afternoon to choke down some food and ease the burning in my legs. I hadn’t really felt it till I stopped, though. My mind was itching to get going again. I knew I was getting close, and Celestia damn it, I just wanted it over with.

Dusk was beginning to fall when I finally found the tracks. I was in one of the taller and steeper canyons, the side walls angled so that they seemed to loom over a pony, threatening to trap them inside and smother all of the light. I stopped in place, staring down at the furrows, unable to believe they were there. But, sure enough, a pair of grooves had been cut into the snow, the unmistakeable evidence of wheels. A set of deep hoofprints ran along on either side of the tracks.

This was it. These were my targets.

I started to run.

Dawn slowly made itself known, the sun peeking up over the horizon and through the clouds. I was tired as hell, and my eyes felt shrunken, almost as if they were being pinched as I tried to keep them open. I had been lying in this position for over an hour now, waiting for the right shot, content to wait for the sun to come up rather than risk letting them know I was here.

It had taken me all night, and I had lost the trail more than once, but I had finally found them camping inside a dead-end canyon. The soft glow of their small campfire gave their position away, but it was still too dark to see where to shoot.

So I scaled the ridge on the edge of the canyon instead. I perched myself up high, in between two misshapen boulders, giving what I hoped was a clear view of the valley. It also gave me a clear line-of-sight down the way I had come, the gulley vanishing into the darkness.

Fortunately, now that the sun was coming up, it was clear I was right. I could see down the entire thing, creating a completely uninterrupted and unobstructed firing range.

It was still dark when they had risen, and I watched them move around through my scope, looking like they were making breakfast. The poor light meant their forms were blurry and almost impossible to make out completely, but that was changing with each passing minute. The stallion and mare ate quickly, leaving out a bowl of something and putting it to one side.

They packed up the tents, hurriedly storing them inside the wagon lying nearby. Thinking they were about to leave, I lined up my first shot in panic, worried they would start walking towards the exit and see me.

I was more than a little confused when they both sat down on small stones by the fire, watching it intently. Why weren’t they moving? What were they waiting for? This wasn’t the kind of place you wanted to set up shop, so I had no idea why they weren’t hitting the road yet.

But then, I decided I just didn’t fucking care. I shouldn’t care. Here I was, the lighting perfect to see and make the shot; the crosshair rested a fraction above the mare’s head, my mouth on the trigger piece.

Squeeze the trigger, the gun fires, and a life is gone.

So simple a foal could do it, huh?

I shifted in place. I could feel my heart thudding in my chest, almost like it was trying to escape. Fucking take the shot! This was it! A life for a life. Yeah, all that shit I told myself in the days after. All that shit I never believed in before.

I exhaled a little harder than I should, letting the crosshairs settle.

Count to three.

One.

Two.

Thre––

Movement. Something was coming out from underneath a small overhang. A third pony––wait…

I…

It was a foal.

The child stumbled through the snow, snuggling herself next to her mother. The mare wrapped a leg around her, holding her close like she was the most precious thing in the world. She kissed the top of the foal’s head and stroked her mane tenderly. The sight left me numb, like I had been left in ice for too long. The stallion came over with the leftover bowl of food, offering it to her with a sickly sweet smile.

This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. There was no fucking way this was happening.

I could hear my own rapid breathing like a pair of bellows, and my heart pounded so loudly it was a miracle they couldn’t hear it. A siren whined in my ears and my head felt as if there were a thousand tiny insects burrowing inside. I wanted to scream to the sky until my throat gave out and then shoot at their campsite until their bodies were barely recognisable as equine.

Ambush. Trapped. Pinned from the ridge. Small arms fire. Wait, no, a rocket launcher too. Defensive circle, use the carts as cover. Not enough. Too many enemies. Too many dead. She never should have come. I told her to stay at home!
 
Look at me, baby, look at me. No, we’ll be fine. I promise.

I promise.

And this was it. This was my promise. This was the way the world wanted me to follow through. There was no good. There was no right. There was only a fucking hopelessness that came with the realisation that there is no such thing. It’s all a fucking lie told by spoiled dead ponies with the luxury of being able to sit there in the comfort of the warmth and the light and judge ponies in situations they couldn’t even begin to imagine.

Just take the shot. Fuck it. Fuck it!

Wait... what was that?

Movement to my left.

A series of shapes were moving like phantoms up the side of the ridge, racing up towards my position. I froze, my blood turning to ice and my stomach falling away into hell. Trying to move without moving at all, I shifted the gun to peer down at the figures. There, pressed up against the rocks, moving in tight single file, were five ponies all armed to the teeth. Their armour and weapons looked brand new and fucking expensive too. All of them had the blood-red syringe logo of the Psychos stamped on their shoulders, their faces carved into grim masks of determination.

What were they doing here? Were they after me? No...

It clicked. They were after my targets. Jet said they had run, and the Psychos wanted their property back. They didn’t take kindly to deserters.

Oh fuck.

They were moving way too quietly, and I had to accept they probably knew the runaways were in the next canyon along. They halted for half a second, checking their weapons one last time with practiced efficiency before moving up again. The small family continued to eat breakfast, completely oblivious to the danger creeping up behind them with lethal efficiency.

They were going to die, and I was going to watch it happen right in front of me.

Bullet to the legs, stop them from getting away. Fuck around a little, make them cry and beg and suffer. And when they were broken, they would toss them aside. I had seen it all before.

I remember one time when I was much younger, barely a foal, I wanted to go out and hunt with my father. He was one of the big ponies, and I wanted to be like him so badly. I guess everypony my age did too, but I was special. I wasn’t content with standing around waiting, twirling my fucking tail in boredom and moaning about wanting to be older. No. One day when the grown-ups all went off hunting, the gate jammed, and it was left stuck open. So what did I do? I made a decision to be grown up.

I snuck out the gate without a second’s hesitation or thought, my air-rifle strapped to my back and my goggles on upside down. Because, fuck rationality, I was grown up.

I shifted around, bringing the scope up to hold the leader in my sights. His head stayed still as he moved, the mark of a well-trained pony and the mark of an easy target.

Why? Fuck rationality. There was no fucking way I was letting raiders kill a filly.

No. Fucking. Way.

My gun went off. Oh fuck me that was a good shot! His head jerked back, a neat little hole blasting between his goggles, the pony behind him sprayed in blood. He fell into a loose pile on the snow, staining it. The ponies froze, and the moment of cold shock gave me all the time to readjust with a surreal calmness. I bit the trigger gently, sending the second pony crumpling, his jaw shattered and neck torn open by the projectile.

Too fucking easy. Two down, three to go!

The other ponies had scattered like flies by this point, throwing themselves behind cover. I was vaguely aware of the family scrambling about in the canyon to my right. Fuck them. I had bigger problems right now.

One of the fuckers inched his head above the rock, probably to see where I was. Only, he went up too far and stayed up just that fraction too long.

Tap, tap, tap. The first couple of shots missed, but the third hit home, the snow behind the rock washed with stars of blood.

Three down.

Oh fuck. Now they would know where I was.

Their assault rifles opened fire, and the air filled with two deafening roars, followed by the furious hissing of bullets tearing through the air. A few frozen chunks of compacted snow exploded around me, way too close for my liking.

I tried to send some shots back, but I was also trying my best to keep as much of me behind the ridge as possible. I struggled to do both.

I saw the little orb way too late. A shot hit barely half a metre away from my face, and I flinched instinctively away from the shit thrown up. I couldn’t have stopped it if I tried. Only, when I looked up, the weapon was almost on top of me, the pin missing and its bulbous surface heading straight for my cover.

Grenade.

I rolled to the side before throwing myself down the slope. My mind was screaming to get the fuck away. I slammed into a boulder so hard the breath was knocked from my lungs, leaving me like a fish out of water, choking, desperate for air. The sky hissed as gunfire ripped it apart.

There was a second, and another, then the grenade exploded.

The concussive wave felt like getting bucked by a pony in power armour, and my head instantly felt as if all the blood in my body was filling it up, my sinuses screaming from the pressure. My chest refused to properly draw air in, too. Little burning sensations stung all over my body like angry insect bites, and I could see that it was where the shrapnel had struck my barding.

Thankfully, the grenade exploded on the other side of the lip, so it saved me from the worst of the explosion.

It didn’t stop my ears from screeching a swan song, though.

I tried to look around my new cover, only to be met by a concentrated blast of fire. A bullet hit the rock next to me, sending a chunk of loose stone blasting in my face and cutting up my cheek.

“Motherfucker.” I tucked my head back behind the rock. The ponies were moving up, fifteen metres apart, their guns trained on my position.

Oh fuck, fuck, fuck. This wasn’t good. I groaned, trying to get my head to stop spinning and my left eye to open properly. I really hope that last shot didn’t do it any permanent damage...

Focus!

What are my options? I couldn’t move around, because I would get shot the fuck up as soon as I did. I could’ve maybe tried to move back up the hill, but that would’ve likely ended up with me bleeding out and my intestines ripped to shreds. I had no grenades, and I was outgunned and outnumbered.

Fuck.

They were so close I could hear them shouting. They moved up the slope quickly and efficiently, barking out instructions to each other. I levitated my gun out and tried to fire blind, but the ground was torn up by a deluge of bullets the second I did. I yanked the gun back before somepony shot it and I lost my only weapon. These guys were quick fucking shots.

Okay. Fuck it. Up the hill it is. I got up, shaking my head to clear it. Okay. Inhale, exhale, run––

Gunfire boomed in the valley, shaking the air and leaving my ears ringing again. Only, this wasn’t the high powered crack of an automatic rifle; this was the thundering roar of something much larger and much heavier. A pony screamed in agony, and one of the raider’s weapons opened fire. Shouts echoed, only they were coming from inside the canyon. The large gun barked out again, drowning out the raider with its earth-shattering fire.

The raider weapon stopped firing. I counted to two, then looked up, bringing my gun to the ready. There, sprinting back the way he had come as fast as he could, was the last surviving raider. He fled from the corpses of his partners, all of them painting the snow in brilliant shades of red.

I could’ve lowered the gun, but I didn’t. He was a raider and some things never change.

I took my time; I didn’t want to miss, after all. There was one last crack, and I watched through the scope as he jerked and collapsed, shifting a few times before staying completely still.

Then there was silence.

Sweet, precious silence.

I took a deep, shuddering breath, collapsing against the boulder. My body hurt. My head hurt. My face was probably fucked up, and my ears were ringing. I could feel my legs shaking underneath me like I was a fucking newborn or something.

Sweet Celestia, I was okay. Deep breaths. Deep breaths. I was okay. That’s the important thing. Fuck me, I was okay.

I stopped mid-breath. The realisation that I wasn’t alone hit me like a kick to the stomach.

My eyes snapped down to the canyon, and sure enough, the family was watching me with uncertain eyes. Both the mare and stallion had guns aimed squarely at my body. They were large sniper rifles, and I knew that if one of those shells hit me, it was game over. I’d seen those same rifles in action before.

Nopony moved. Not me, not them.

I could feel the magic waiting. Up and squeeze the trigger. Maybe I could get a shot...

They said something, too far away for me to hear, and like a miracle that took me a full second to believe, they lowered their guns.

With a quiet sob, I let out a breath I didn’t realise I had been holding. The silence was so thick you could cut it, but just like that, their guns were down, and that changed everything.

I could have spoken. I could have called out, made contact, asked them why they did it and why they ran away. Asked them about where they were going and what they planned for their daughter. I could have demanded they pay, screaming at them the hurt and pain that would never go away for as long as I lived. I could have at least said thanks, and maybe they would’ve returned the sentiment.

But I didn’t. I didn’t say a word, and neither did they. If they recognised me they didn’t show it, but I like to think they did.

No, instead I just nodded once, turned, and limped back down the slope and out of sight.

What more was there left to say?

I don’t remember leaving. I’m glad that I don’t, honestly. What I do remember, though, is walking up to Gale, being let in by the same sentry, and that he was still as chatty as ever. I lingered around town for a while, trying to stay out of everypony’s way. The sky was clear and cold, the dull-blue horizon vague.

Most ponies ignored me, throwing suspicious glances at the clear limp in my step and my poorly-bandaged face. After a few hours, the chill got the best of me, so I went to find some sort of shelter, seeking warmth like a migrating animal.

Except, I didn’t go the bar.

No, I went to the clinic instead.

There was a pony inside who I still owed a drink.