//------------------------------//
// Epilogue 
// Story: Fallout Equestria: Guise of Chaos 
// by Fallingsnow 
//------------------------------//

“Ash is back?!” The blue pony entered the room so quickly she slid when she stopped. Bright eyes of blue and violet quickly scanned across the faces in the room. Rail Spikes, Traffic, Raw Deal, and Vigil stood looking at her, but her attention was firmly fixed on the griffin standing amongst them.

Her face fell as he shook his head. “Sorry Shade... nothing.”

Her eager stance fell into a dejected slump, and she turned. “Oh...” Turning, she left the way she had so eagerly entered. 

Ash excused himself. “Miss Traffic.” A nod to the others, and then he followed the mare outside.

The streets had been cleaned up in the last year and a half. The ponies from Blank, escaped slaves from Neighwhere, and pockets of survivors scattered about Hornsmith had rallied. The area directly above Underhoof had been cleared out, shored up, and occupied. Jokingly, Ash had called it ‘Hoof’, and despite all the complaints and jokes, it had stuck.

Shade was leaning on a wall near the door, out of the rain. As Ash got closer, he could see that she was crying. He put a claw to her shoulder, trying to soothe her. “Shade... I’m sorry. I looked... but it's crazy up north. The ‘Clavers, Red Eye’s scattered mob, its just not safe. It’s crazy... finding one pony in all that is not easy.”

“I know... I know I shouldn’t get my hopes up, but I just so want him back. I want him to meet her... to be there for her.” Her eyes were sad. He had rarely seen them any other way since he’d come back down the mountain, half dead and without Ripple.

“Where is she?” He knew that the one thing that could take Shade’s mind off of Ripple was her daughter. That foal was her everything now that Ripple was absent, which was the word Shade insisted everyone use instead of ‘dead’. Dead was final. Absent left that little chance that she clung to. 

“She’s with Fluster. I’m... I know she’ll be happy to see you.” She turned away, hiding her tears from him. She never liked crying in front of anyone, never liked showing how hurt she was. Ash understood this, and gave her a light pat on the back. Her foal always reminded her of Ripple, so that even when she was happily spending time with the little filly, she had tears in her eyes. 

“There’s always next time, and any news we get from traders. A guy like Ripple will stick out, we’ll hear something eventually.” Ash had really been doubting his own words. Every time he reassured Shade, part of him stopped believing just a little more. He went out with caravans, or as part of the greeting party for any travellers. A few questions here and there, all aimed at finding his lost friend.

He hadn’t found a single shred of evidence that Ripple was still alive. Not in a year of searching. 

Shade nodded sadly, and Ash left her behind. From the look of the saddles at her side brimming with tools and scrap, she was working hard today. Her talent for repair had proven very useful in building this town, and her constant maintenance was required. Technically skilled ponies were hard to come by in the wasteland, especially now that so many had headed north to find the pony that had defeated Red Eye and killed off the Goddess. They saw it as a new life, a fresh start away from the memories of Hornsmith.

Ash had talked to ponies in the north. It wasn’t the wonderful utopia that was spoken about in taverns and around campfires. It might be. Some day. But it had a long way to go before then. 

Walking down the street, he sighed and tilted his head back, letting the water run through his feathers. He’d just gotten back from a raider hunt up along the tracks running north, and was looking forward to a little down time. But first, he’d stop by and say hello to the only part of his friend he had left.

Pushing the door open, he heard a soft voice call out from inside. “Shade? That you?”

He grinned at the voice. She always sounded so happy when she was around kids. He was glad. Fluster had been a complete wreck after the mountain. She’d been suicidal, and it was only thanks to Xiera and her foal that another part of their little group hadn’t died. 

Xiera’s foal had brought Fluster back from the brink. The pegasus had an affinity for the young, and had spent much of her time around them. Even if she would never have any of her own body, she flourished and grew stable taking care of Xiera’s and the town’s children. When the little zony needed looking after, she made a natural caretaker. Shade’s delivery had brought another filly into her fold. The children had been her greatest trust and saving grace.

“It’s me. I’m back.” He turned the corner into the main room, a converted office. The building that Shade and Fluster lived in had once been a travel agency, as far as they could tell, and had a spacious main room. Faded posters of far off lands lined the walls.

Fluster looked up at him, her scars shining in the soft light. She hadn’t worn her robe in half a year, and was healed from her adventures. Her coat had a healthy shine to it, and her eye sparkled. Those fillies had saved her life. Her face darkened slightly as she looked past him into the hall, and she nodded. She’d been losing hope of ever seeing Ripple again, and was less and less sad when Ash returned empty clawed.

On a desk in the corner lay a minigun. Fluster had gone back into the tunnels one night, a few months after the event. She’d buried her closest friend alone, and come back with the hefty weapon strapped across her back. Ever since, it had sat in this room, a bulky, lethal memorial to Ivory’s sacrifice.

A light bark from one corner drew his attention to Fern, who was now a full grown timber wolf. Despite being a natural predator of ponies, he sat vigil in the corner, watching his master play with the two children. He’d grown too big for the pouches Fluster didn’t wear anymore, but he still followed her everywhere. He’d even killed in her defense once or twice. In the community, the fierce animal bought a lot of respect for his timid, scarred master.

“How are the kids?” Ash crouched down, his prosthetic leg creaking a little as he did so. The little white foal was playing on the ground, and she squealed with delight when she saw Ash. Making her way clumsily to the griffin, she hugged his outstretched talons, which he was careful to keep from stabbing her.

“Hey there, kid. How’s my little gal doing?” The coo she gave was worth the week long trip he’d just taken to a warzone. He smiled at her, and then at the second foal that trundled over. The little zony scowled up at him, and he chuckled. “And my little ass kicker too.”

“Ash, you know Xiera doesn’t like you swearing around the little ones.” Fluster scooped the little zony up under her wing, where she began kicking her legs in an attempt to get back on the ground. “Especially not around Ziel. She’s already picking up enough bad language as it is.”

From the feathery prison a small voice called out “Ass kicker!” and Fluster used her other wing to rub the bridge of her nose. “See? Now I have to explain that to her mother.”

Ash shrugged. “Sorry. Just tell Xiera to yell at me.” Then, tickling the little filly latched onto his hand, Ash looked evenly at Fluster. “How are you doing?”

Shrugging, she placed the kicking filly back on the ground and use her scarred wing to play with her. “I’m doing good. I really am.” She smiled. “I don’t think you need to worry about me anymore.”

He chuckled. “Well, I’ll never stop worrying. That’s sort of my job.” Ash shrugged, feeling the weight of Sight for the Blind on his shoulder. He gave the little filly a last tickle, his wicked talons gentle with the young zony. Standing, he tipped the edge of his hood like a hat. His tone formal, he bid them farewell.  “Ladies.”

Back in the streets, the rain was beginning to let up, and ponies were coming out of their homes. There was always something to be done. Repairs to be made, dangers to be faced. Above and below. The wasteland was still a dangerous place, for everyone. Ash nodded at the Whitecoats scattered amongst the various refugees.

The griffin was a member in every way except officially. He’d never donned the white, as they called it. He’d just fought alongside them so frequently that they had come to see him as one of their own. He was friends with their head trainer, and had helped their leader Vigil pull them out of the ruin they had been in after the Battle of Blank. They had a home now, a place to fight for. Some of them had started families. The wandering army they once were was gone, and they’d slid easily into the role of regional guardians.

Mostly. Some of the Whitecoats had been infuriated at the ‘defection’ from their nomadic ways. In the first days, about half of their number had left. There had been no word from them in over a year, and most folks had forgotten about them. Ash knew that Shade still worried. The leader of that splinter faction had threatened her, threatened Ripple, in the past. 

“Hey, Ash! Look alive!” The griffin snapped out of it, and realized that a pony had been walking next to him. Looking down, he saw the shriveled flesh and melted gasmask of Viola. The mare was looking expectantly, like she was waiting for an answer.

“Sorry, what?”

She sighed, and repeated herself. “Did you hear about the latest attack?”

He stopped and turned to face her, putting his claws on the revolver at his side. “Attack? Where?”

Waving a fetlock, she motioned down his gun. He always got jumpy at the mention of attack. The smile in her eyes told him she’d worded it so that she could get a rise out of him. “Oh, it was three days ago.”

The look in her eyes was then no longer one of laughter. It was grim, and it was serious. “Those things are getting more bold. Gnashers we can handle... but those things? They’re just not right... not right at all.”

“Dwellers? How many did we lose?” After Maremack, the monsters had come down the mountain. Without Epiphany, they had scattered, and made their ways into the deep, dark areas of Hornsmith. 

“Just one. Cannon. Got pulled into an air duct while he was guarding a repair team.” She sighed, but they both knew what that meant. A stallion got taken. That meant he was eaten, and not... used. They’d both seen what happened if a mare got taken. Eaten was preferable. 

Griffin and ghoul shuddered in unison, and then kept walking.

“Torque came up with a plan though.” Viola was smiling again. While she had settled down, that mare still jumped emotions too fast to follow. “We send another salvage team up into Maremack. Take a few wagons, and focus on stripping every turret we can find. Wire them up, provide ammunition, and we could really put a dent in their attacks.” She stamped a hoof for emphasis. “Let them go off and eat somepony else for a change.”

“Neighwhere?” 

“Here’s hoping. Let them burn and eat each other to their hearts’ content.” Viola shrugged, clearly hoping that her job would get a little easier. Rail Spikes had given up the security life, instead helping to manage the merging of the Underhoofers and the ponies from aboveground. Viola had been in charge of security since, and the job took up most of the mercurial mare’s time. Ash pitched in where he could, but he was a busy griffin. He knew that Viola hadn’t just brought this up to get him up to speed.

“Okay Viola, I’m in on the scavenger hunt. Keep me informed.” She nodded happily that he had accepted her unasked request, and thanked him. The ghoul disappeared into a side street, headed towards one of the ways underground. 

“Just so long as I don’t have to go into the tunnels...” He muttered under his breath. Walking the streets, he greeted ponies he recognized, and eyed warily the ones he didn’t. 

He came to a large building, one of the few that was still serving the same purpose it had before the war. It was a storehouse. Weapons, food, supplies of all sorts. Almost everything the town was kept here, and it was easily the most defended building in the entire settlement. Two Whitecoats in heavy barding stood near the main door, support weapons slung on their sides. They wore gas masks, to add to the intimidation as faceless sentinels. It worked; there hadn’t been a single attempt to steal since the guards had been implemented.

Ash nodded at them, and they let him through. The space inside was cavernous, but cluttered. Piles of supplies scavenged or traded were stacked to the roof in some places. Rows of weapons were in neat stacks along one wall. Most of their armory was what they could salvage out of the ruins of Neighwhere before the surviving raiders pushed them out.

A rustling to his side made Ash jump, and an unamused Gristle walked past him. “More stuff for me to catalog? I’m busy. Torque has me looking for a samophlange. I’m pretty sure he made that word up... but I gotta look anyways. Just dump the bag over there and go.”

Ash took the bag of supplies off his shoulder and dropped it on the table, watching the little blue buck rifle through a cabinet filled with mechanical parts. Ash knew what Torque would be working on before he even looked towards the back of the warehouse.

The severed head of one of those giant robots the Rangers had used, its optics crudely removed at some point in the past. It had been about a half a year after Maremack that Ash had run across the robot, trapped in a gully. It had run out of power some time before he’d found it, and had sat there inactive. He’d only spotted it because he’d been flying. The robot itself was far too cumbersome to get out, but they had removed its head to try and make use of the heavy weaponry set into it. 

Ever since, the head and its weapons had lurked at the rear of the warehouse. Torque had made it his pet project, trying to understand how it all worked, just in case the Rangers ever decided to turn the other two of its kind on the town. 

The Rangers had taken what they could and retreated back to Orchard. They’d mostly taken the bodies and armor of their fallen comrades, but they’d torn quite a bit of hardware out of the facility before Ash had led the first salvage team back up the mountain. Since then, the Rangers had been practically a non-entity in Hornsmith. If anypony was dumb enough to go near Orchard, they’d be killed on sight, but other than that there had been no activity.

Torque was half inside the head through a maintenance hatch, and his humming could be heard reverberating through the machine. Ash didn’t like interrupting him when he was working though, so turned to leave. He’d done what he had come to do. Gristle had disappeared into another pile of equipment, so Ash just made his leave without saying anything to either stallion.

Outside, past the guards, he looked up at the cloudy sky. It was getting late, and he felt that he’d earned some rest. Mind set, he turned and walked down the street towards the main gate. 

Ash stopped under an awning, watching each face as they passed by him. Coming through the front gate was a caravan from the east, if he had to guess at their origin. As he watched, he ran a talon along his hand, where his friend’s daughter had clung earlier. He sighed, opening the door he’d been leaning against and heading up the stairs. The top floor was where he called home. The room held a few mementoes and prizes the griffin had accumulated over the years, but the most important thing was what he had hidden away. Wiping moisture from Sight for the blind, he hung the large rifle on its stand. 

In the fading light he lit a candle, preferring the flickering firelight to the hum of the lamp he had propped in one corner. He dropped his bag on the ground, intending to deal with it later, and took off his travelling cloak. Slicking the feathers on his head back with one claw, he scanned the room. He didn’t lock the door while he was gone, in case the girls had any reason to come in. Everything was in its place, as usual. 

He flopped onto the nestlike assortment of mattresses and blankets he’d accumulated, letting the last few weeks of stress slip away. Reaching into a hidden place under the table next to him, he pulled out a beaten book, bound in fading leather. The quill and ink on the table sat ready for him, and he was writing in seconds.

Hey, Kick.

Your daughter looks ridiculous. Just like you. She reminds us of you... she has one of your eyes. Wish you could meet her, but let’s face it... you’re dead. This will be the last time I do this. I have to move on... I have to face facts. It will never be the same without you, but I have to admit that you’re not coming back. Ponies rely on me now. This used to be your job, and I really hope that I can make you proud here. 

You did good. The wasteland is a better place now. 

Goodbye Ripple. 

He stared at the letter for a few minutes, letting it sink in. He had to come to terms. He had to stop writing to a dead friend. 

Tearing the page out of the book, he held the message before him, reading it one more time. With a single motion, he dipped the page into the flame, letting it catch fire. The old paper went up quick, but he held on even as the flame danced around his talons. The burnt paper crumbled and drifted softly to the floor.

Closing the journal, he briefly considered burning the rest of it. Deciding against destroying history, he tucked the book back in its secret spot and blew out the candle. Night was setting in outside, and he let the darkness wash into the room.

Staring at the ceiling, he smiled sadly to himself. The sound of rain on the roof was all he could hear. Rain was one of the few constants in his life.