//------------------------------// // Chapter Five - The Nature of Revenge // Story: Fallout Equestria: Natural Selection // by Zedrei //------------------------------// Chapter Five The Nature of Revenge Her dead body on the stone. But now she was ugly, foul, degenerate, lying in the dark room with a slit throat. Wait, that wasn’t her, just some raider bitch. She was dead long ago. Murdered. I was going to kill them. I was going to slit them and hack them until they cried for mercy; I wanted to see their hope drown. They would bleed. But they were dead. They killed each other long ago when the spells fell. They were all dead. There was no revenge, no just retribution, no price to pay for what they took away. I shook and cried as the pain returned. My skull, my mind was laid open as burning tears seared across my skin. They were gone. She was gone… Calibration complete. Thank you for choosing Stable-Tec… And there were no traces left except in my own fucked up head. Green lights appeared in my vision, blurred by sorrow. I sobbed with pain and anguish as they resolved into readouts, targeting data, health status and offensive capability. Green letters spidered and snapped, describing the correct way to assemble a CS909 Automatic Rifle, how to hide in plain sight, how to puncture a pony’s heart with nothing but a toothpick. These conflicted with the flood of bright memories pouring silently into my mind, gentle streams of childhood, rivers of parties, ponies, friends, and heaving, turbulent seas of darkness that bit and tore. I remembered! I remembered, and they just, wouldn't, stop! Connection established. Radiation-counter engaged. S.A.T.S. online. E.F.S. online. Parasite online. Please use this product responsibly… There was a sensation of movement. I moaned in horror as my guts twisted. Nausea rose, and I vomited emptily, tasting blood. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t breathe. I could just curl up and shiver as my organs tried to turn themselves inside out. “Hey! You ok in there? You do some bad Lick or what?” Hooves came close, and somepony prodded my shoulder. Through a rising red mist I stared wide eyed at the raider pony leering down at me in cruel amusement. Then he noticed the body in the corner. “What th’ fuck…?” S.A.T.S. engaged… Crosshairs. Vectors. Target Acquired. I lunged, my hoof cracking into his skull. We pitched to the floor, my forelegs around his neck in a windpipe crushing grip. He fought, gurgling and kicking, but I had him pinned, helpless. The bloodlust had submerged the pain, and there was nothing except the beat of my heart and the panicked pulse of the prey. I found myself laughing into his dying face. “Aw leave it ye’ dirty fuckers we gotta piss in there!” snickered a voice from the other room, drawing lewd drunken howls from the other raiders. I laughed all the louder. This just kept getting better and better! “Call me sometime…” I breathed gleefully as his eyes rolled back and the struggles stopped. I let his head sink back to the cold floor, and concentrated on breathing. Memories rang around my skull, terrifying in their intensity. My fear and despair were held back by the desire to kill again, and my blood sang for more. A small part of me was worried though. Was that all I had? My only purpose? The ponies of the past had taken everything of value, my mark, my loves, my life. And they had given me this. A hilt protruded from the barding of my victim. My horn smoldered with jagged red light as I withdrew a gleaming blade. It was four hooves long, scarred with age and wear. A hooked length of pure, silvery steel shining in the bloody light, a cleaver edge made for hacking through jungle and bone with equal impunity. It had satisfying weight as I swung it through the air, uncertainties trailing away in the face of its edge. A military machete. A device for killing. I suppose nothing much mattered now anyway. I took the sheath and slung it round my shoulders, feeling both it and my resolution settle into place. Time to make my mark. I walked out into the corridor, closed my eyes, and listened. Not just with my ears, but will all the senses at my disposal, including some I had no words for. Ah...there they were. The sound of debauchery, the smell of narcotics, booze, ponies and filth. With an almost tangible ping, a series of little red arrows winked into existence in my peripheral vision, pulsing gently. Various options presented themselves. I could try to sneak past, avoiding confrontation, steal everything of value, and leave again. That's what I would have done in the past, and by the sounds of things they would be too hopped up to notice. Or... I was strong. Powerful. They had made me so...so much stronger. I needed to vent. I needed to kill something. Why shouldn't I take the most pleasurable route? Why shouldn't I face these vile, disgusting creatures and take what I wanted? My body thrilled in response, and I couldn't stop myself from smiling as a heady, alcoholic sensation ran through me, stoking the furnace. Every part of me saying yes, yes, YES! I crept slowly, noiselessly along the corridor, flank against the wall, struggling to hold back. Just a few more seconds, just a little more... The yellow glow of lamplight glowed around the corner, projecting tangled shadows on the wall opposite. My heavy breathing filled the mask, strained, anxious. The shadows danced enticingly across a faded poster. I looked, the darkness withering away before my gaze. Night vision as well eh? Nice touch you ghastly fellows, well done. The poster showed a grinning hot pink mare, and bore the legend 'Pinkie Pie Is Watching You.' Beneath it read 'Forever!' I remembered her, marshmallow mane and all, and it made my lips curl in hatred. I remembered the ministries, the guards, the authority. All harmonious, all friendly, all part of the government, part of the hated oligarchy that had controlled and persecuted every little detail of my life. Oh they said the six were in control, but everypony knew that the suits were instead. The invisible rich that grew fatter as their money spread its soporific influence. And Pinkie, she was the face of fear. Wherever resistance gathered, her grey guards would be moments away. Wherever subversive thoughts guiltily surfaced, her smile would be the last thing you ever saw. Watching you...forever. I turned into the next room. The raiders were gathered around a table in the lamplight, swaying, drunken, eyes glazed. The table was strewn with a mixture of bottles, inhalers and vomit. One of them reeled around and studied me with brow furrowed and jaw hanging slack. “Dude…” she slurred “wha…what’s up with…what’s up with your face?” She tried to focus. “Oh…mask…cool…” she fell, snoring gently. I stepped over her unconscious form and approached the table. “Ah fuck her she’s just a pussy,” said one of the other raiders “Come have some ‘a this Lick, it’s the real fuckin’ deal.” An inhaler was proffered. “Actually I was thinking of taking it all.” I said conversationally, levitating the machete and the knife behind my back. Harder than I’d thought, but if I concentrated it was manageable. They blinked stupidly. “And those fine guns you’re carrying, I’ll have those too. Military spec aren't they? Excellent, they’ll fetch a good price, along with your heads.” They gawped. “Wh…what the fuck?” one of them stuttered. “In Luna’s name you ponies are stupid!” I snapped in annoyance. The twin blades rose and swept left and right, across the throats of the nearest raiders. They toppled, gushing blood into a spreading pool on the floor. Finally they emerged from their respective stupors, cursing and scrabbling for weapons. But they were drunk and drugged, their movements slow and clumsy, actually falling over each other in their haste. I sighed and waited impatiently. Eventually one of them recovered enough to take a swing, clutching a pool cue in his mouth. I almost sneered with derision. I brought my machete round in a sweeping arc, neatly severing the cue in half. “Blade beats stick, you cretin!” I jeered at his shocked expression, before driving it through his chest. The red icons in my eyes blinked a warning. I ripped the weapon free in a shower of blood just in time to parry an onrushing sledgehammer. The earth pony swung wildly, foaming at the mouth, both ruining any power advantages he might have had and denying his comrades a chance to help in the confined space. However I noticed a pair of them at the back of the room frantically trying to prime the assault rifles they’d had casually slung over their shoulders. They appeared to have little idea how to work them, and one had even become tangled in the straps, but they had the capability to become a problem. I and the sledgehammer pony exchanged blows, and I dropped the knife in order to concentrate. Then I activated S.A.T.S. again, and marvelled as the green runes showed me exactly where to send my fore-hoof smashing into the raider’s head, opening him up for a finishing cut. I leapt over his falling body and hacked at the ponies behind him, the machete flicking streamers of blood into the air as they withered beneath its hungry edge. Pony flesh gave way before my blade, skin falling away, every wound a victory and a sensuous delight. Bullets whined past me, tearing my skin. I turned, snarling with rage, and through the bloodthirst I saw they had finally got their guns working. Muzzle-flash, bullet sting, and the hunger for death. Oh, the joy of it! I ran, and leapt. Shots whipped past, ricocheted from barding, and pierced my flesh. I collided into one of the raiders, forelegs extended, crushing his windpipe against the floor. A hoof crunched into the side of my head, tearing off the mask and I staggered, ears ringing and a deep gash searing on my forehead, serving only to heighten my anger. The second raider slammed into me, knocking both of us to the floor. We grappled, each trying to gain a hold. “Imma eat you alive, freak!” he bellowed, spraying saliva. Then I was above him. His neck was exposed. The bloodlust took control. Parasite engaged… I bit, feeling my fangs sink through soft flesh. A little voice screamed in my head, no, no this was wrong! The taste of blood, sharp and heavy. He screamed and thrashed, but it was no use. I drew the life from him, and felt my strength return, my wounds crawling closed. I felt the familiar song in my veins, the adrenaline thrill of violence. I crouched over the prey and drank my fill. No doubt I would worry about it later, but for now there was only the thirst, the sweet, healing ichor that filled my stomach and soothed aching limbs. Hooves approached, and the door opposite crashed open. The pair of raiders gawked as I looked up from the pale form of my kill, blood dripping from my mouth. A rifle lay beside me (an Ironshod CM22 my brain told me) and I quickly levitated it, spraying the doorway with long, shuddering burst of automatic fire. They danced and jerked with the impacts, and crumpled to the floor just as the gun clicked empty. Throwing the weapon aside I recovered my machete from the sad remains. I also took some saddlebags from a corpse and swept up whatever loot I could find, including guns, a medical syringe and the drugs littering the table. There was also a ring of rusted keys. Scavenging complete I stepped over the bodies and through the doorway. The corridor continued straight on for several yards, to a door lavishly decorated with painted pornography and flayed skin. On either side were lines of cages, their contents… I walked between them, looking upon the wretched occupants with a measure of pity growing amongst my rage. Sad, pathetically thin ponies mixed with decaying corpses, filthy, trembling and cowering, begging for mercy in a stench of decay. They all wore heavy metallic collars adorned with a single, blinking red light. It was obvious what they were for. I prepared to kick the disgusting door down and wreak havoc. “Hey...hey it’s you! The tube pony! Hey! Little help?” I turned. The reedy, foalish voice appeared to come from a pile of dirty rags in the cage next to the door, which spoke, revealing itself to be a pony disguised as a small compost heap. “Pardon?” I said, confused. “Have we met?” “Hell yeah we’ve met!” Enthused the tiny stallion, leaning forward and displaying teeth as brown as the rest of him, “I’m Rusty. Wuz me an’ Zapper an’ Cog that popped ye’ outa you’re tube!” The ponies beyond the glass. I remembered that at least. But seeing, and smelling, the pony before me I was somewhat sceptical. I raised an eyebrow doubtfully. “Really…?” I said slowly “Yeah!” he whinnied smugly “Mostly me o’ course, them ain’t as…in-tell-i-gent…as I am right?” His ingratiating expression became as oily as the rest of him. “So…you gonna let me out now?” The memories gleamed. They were so bright, so powerful I could feel them, resolving into vibrant colour every time I closed my eyes. I remembered the time I had broken a neighbours window, and instead of being punished Father had winked and said he never liked the neighbours anyway. I remembered when my best friend at school had been beaten by a bully, and we had gathered some others and given him a bloody good seeing to in return. I remembered the city…the ponies I had known. But I shied away from those ones. The anger kept sorrow at bay, but the memories were raw. Suffice it to say I remembered various…illegal dealings with some very unpleasant ponies indeed. In particular, I remembered how to identify a lying sneaky little bastard when I saw one. I scanned him now, suspicious. “Where are the others?” I said, keeping my voice level, keeping the bubbling rage pinned down. He jabbed a hoof dismissively at the cages opposite, expression turning to miserable pleading. “Should just leave em’, they ain’t goin’ anywhere fast” he whined. I ignored him, and walked to the other cages. I approached the bars, and gazed down upon my rescuers. They were wounded. Beaten. Flogged. The huge, powerful stallion lay on his side, breath straining past broken ribs, whorls of clotted blood staining his white coat, open wounds gleaming wetly. The unicorn was motionless, torn from head to hoof. I turned to Rusty, and he flinched. “What happened to them…?” I asked pleasantly. The machete twitched in its field of magic. “Or more accurately, what hasn’t happened to you?” I leaned close, and looked him up and down. He drew back, Adam’s apple bobbing and eyes flickering back and forth for some kind of escape. It was quite a small cage. He made the mistake of trying to grin disarmingly. “I’m good at not getting hit.” He said with a shrug. He cowered as I lashed out, punching the bars. “I should leave you here to rot you little shit! Why aren’t you in pieces like the others?” I hissed with rage. I seriously wanted to leave him here. Then I realised something, and grinned wickedly. “Or perhaps I should take you with me” I purred “and we can see what that delightful collar of yours actually does...” “Alright alright for fucks sake I’m sorry ok?” he backtracked furiously “Just…help! The mad bitch who runs this shit knows how the collars work, so get in there!” “Not yet…” I turned back to Zapper and Cog. I only had one healing syringe, and I looked between them anxiously. Eventually I chose the big guy, partly because he looked the most hurt, partly because he could probably headbutt us an escape route later. I reached through the bars, and gently applied the needle. He moved slightly, mumbling something about cooking as the potion did its work. Gashes closed themselves, ribs creaked back into position, and he woke with a start. Casting to and fro in confusion his gaze lighted on me. “Oh, it’s you…”he said, eyes narrowing. Not the response I was expecting. “Excuse me?” I said, taken aback. He scowled with open hostility. “Ye’ heard me right din’cha?” I was speechless. Literally. I knew what incredulous meant of course, but right then I genuinely felt like no words were strong enough to express my astonishment. Eventually I found my voice. “What…the actual fuck?” I managed. He shrugged mulishly, and looked away. My blood boiled. From the depths of my mind an ancient oath emerged. “Ungrateful wretch!” I spat, lunging forward and glaring at him “I make my way through a bunch of putrescent, slack-jawed yokels, repeatedly getting shot at and bled on, and this is what I get? Care to tell me why rescue is so scorned at the moment?” He stared at the wall. “Answer me!” I screamed, kicking the bars again. He turned back, with a contemptuous smirk on his face that stopped me cold. He leaned in, until we looked directly into each other’s eyes. They were brown, and gleamed in the half-light. “Mutant…” he whispered, deep, bronzed accent heavy with disdain. Ah…there it was. This moment would have come to pass soon enough. But still…why did it have to be now? The reflection in the pool. The reflection in my memories. They sat side by side in my mind. Repulsion for what I had become had faded, for the moment. I was here now, the past behind, the objective in front. Don’t think! Just do. The anger helped. “You really hate me that much…” I said, staring at the floor. It was grimy, cracked tiling, ingrained with filth. I looked up, and smiled sweetly. “A miserable death is preferable to a rescue from little old me. Well that just says a world of things about you” The word were coming out wild and untameable. I was soaring on wings of anger and pain. I remembered how to be cruel. “So what’s it gonna be big guy?” I said mockingly, letting my expression slide into a sneer “Got a problem with muties huh? Well, here’s the thing. I’m guessing somepony dear to you got all chopped up by some rad-junkie” He snarled, teeth bared, all his muscular bulk shaking with rage. “Somepony very dear to you…” I continued softly, the joy of hurting making it impossible to stop even if I wanted to. The cage shook as he hurled himself against the bars, rusty metal bowing alarmingly, growling muzzle inches from my own. I maintained my triumphant grin, and waggled a hoof reproachfully. “If you want to kill me you’ll have to let me rescue you first!” I laughed. “When I get outa’ here I’m gonna put that mouth so far up your ass you’ll be eatin’ last week’s horseshit” he growled through clenched teeth. “That’s fine, my last week was a long, long time ago." I retorted. “Hey! You ain’t one o’ them are ye’?” called a voice. I looked at the miserable ponies in the cages. They had come forward now, silently crowding against the bars with eyes filled with a tentative hope. The voice had been old, and I soon picked out an aged unicorn mare amongst the throng, wearing the tattered remnants of a white overcoat. Her skin was the colour and texture of bark, and her emerald eyes possessed the disinterested courage of those already near death. “No, I’m not one of them” I said, trotting closer “and I’m going to let you all out as soon as I find out how to get those collars off.” “Ah don’t think yer’ lil’ friend over there’l last much longer without attenshun” she croaked, squinting at Zapper’s immobile form. “Might’n be all broke up inside. Ah c’n do somethin’ about it though, fix ‘m up good” She stared meaningfully. I thought about it. Perhaps this could work. I turned slightly. “Hear that big guy? Your chum might be seriously inclined to die. If I let the good lady out will you promise to save the arse violence till later?” I sniggered crudely. “No promises mind you, we’ve only just met” There was a dangerous pause. “I’m sorry? Speak up there!” There was a faint intelligible muttering. That would have to do. I sighed in exasperation, and took out the keys. “Fine, just please don’t go anywhere. I don’t want you wandering off somewhere and exploding” I flicked through the keys until I found one that fitted. The cage slowly opened with an ear-splitting squeal of rusty metal, and the old mare carefully stepped out with the utmost dignity. As we walked over to Zapper’s cage and opened it I resisted offering her a hoof to steady herself. I hurriedly freed Cog as she knelt beside the unconscious unicorn, gently pressing here and there and clicking her tongue at the filthy lacerations. There was a moment as I unlocked the cage door that I thought Cog would strike me down anyway. He stood at the threshold, glaring at me, tendons visibly straining. We remained as the seconds ticked by. I was slightly taller than he was, but his size extended outwards in rolling mountains of muscle. But I did not feel fear. Only…anticipation. I looked into his eyes, saw my own yellow orbs staring back, and felt a tingling, a singing inside at the thought of violence. My mouth turned up at the corners in genuine delight, and without breaking eye contact, I slowly licked my lips in preparation. Cog blinked, and strode past, giving me a wide berth. I smiled at the wall, relishing the delightful realisation. He was afraid of me. “Whut’s the plan?” Cog said, rolling his shoulders in preparation, looking away. I passed him my revolver. “We go in, kill those who resist, and persuade the top bitch to gossip about the collars. Then…who knows?” He looked unhappy about the ambiguity of my last statement, but took the pistol in his teeth determinedly. Just because I knew how the rifles worked didn’t mean I was any good with them, so I readied the machete. It wasn’t pretty or neat, but it did have a tremendous ability to cut things up. And I liked the feeling of the metal, the impact, the slide of steel through skin, muscle and bone… I frowned, and shook my head. Then, as we took position beside the door, the thrill of impending combat pushed the doubts away. Turning, I bucked with all my augmented strength, rear hooves slamming into the rotten door and tearing it off its hinges with a squeal of tortured wood. “Oh! Nearly ready darlings just one more minute! I’m not quite dressed to receive visitors!” A long hall, pillared and buttressed, once a gathering chamber of some kind, now repurposed as a dark throne room and temple to the arts of vice and butchery. Guns, blood and scenes of death lined the walls. Flayed bodies swung from the ceiling like sickening chandeliers. A long, tattered red carpet led to a podium strewn with weapons and viscera of every description. And there she was, puckering her cracked lips for a broken mirror behind her tarnished throne. The raider mare with the mangy black coat and broken teeth. Her mane was piled regally atop her head, visibly seething with lice. She applied a last touch of lipstick, and turned, her sweeping gown hissing across the floor. A gown fit for a queen. It was sewn from pony skins of every hue and shade, and its network of stitches framed row upon row of faded cutie marks. She smiled horribly, making the hideous pretence of a curtsey. “Welcome to my home, noble travellers! I, am Princess Trepanna! Sovereign of the wastes and monarch of all I survey! Won’t you hang up your coats and join me for the next dance?” Her voice was the sawing cadence of madness. I stepped forward, smiled pleasantly, and bowed sarcastically. “I’m sorry you’re highness, but methinks we shall keep our coats on. Tis rather cold without them, and…” I gestured to the skinless cadavers “…I think one might catch a chill…” “I insist…” she hissed, expression hardening “In fact I command it. I would not have my guests…uncomfortable” My lip curled in disgust, and I took another step. “You are in no position to issue commands your highness” I said, letting the rising contempt show in my voice “you rule over dust, your kingdom is ashes and your crown is false. You are no more royal than the dirt beneath you. You’re only divine right is to die quickly once I’m done, so please, surrender now, although I doubt such reason is familiar to you” Although I felt good saying it, I knew it wasn’t necessarily a smart move to bait an equicidal maniac. Trepanna’s bloodshot eyes bulged in their sockets. “I shan’t ask again” She breathed, spittle oozing at the corners of her mouth. “Do as I command!” I took another step. The crazed raider mare hissed with delight, and stomped a hoof on a patch of floor. There was a series of complicated clicks as the weapon racks layering the walls behind the podium swung outward, a forest of gun barrels pointed directly towards me. There was a muffled curse a way behind me, and I heard Cog swing into cover behind the doorframe. “I said,” Trepanna cackled. “You. Will. DANCE!” Time seemed to slow. There was the quarry, howling triumphantly far beyond my reach, rotten teeth bared in exultant insanity. There were the instruments of my damnation, hundreds of guns in ordered ranks all poised to deliver leaden death to fragile flesh. I felt my muscles flex, the strength of the fibres as they strained and carried me to one side as muzzle-flash blossomed… I slid behind a pillar, leaning on the cold stone as a screaming hail of gunfire tore past in a blaze of light. And the noise! Like a thousand manticores wailing in symphonic agony. It beat against my eardrums in a heart-pounding rhythm that sent shivers down my spine, and I vowed there and then to learn more about handling firearms. The tirade of death continued. I slipped out from the other side of the pillar and walked up the aisle, my gaze fixed on the podium that was half concealed in the storm of fire. The guns were arranged on either side, neglecting the space between the pillars and the walls, allowing me to walk right up to the end of the room beside Trepanna’s throne. I stood and watched her. She sat beyond the gunfire, staring at me in hatred and not a little fear. A blazing wall of bullets flashed between us, illuminating us in a ghoulish yellow strobe, but I could see the waterfall of casings pooling on the floor, the white glow of the muzzles, and so could she. We both knew it was only a matter of time. One by one the guns fell silent, their fury spent, the clanging silence broken by the clink of cooling metal. I ascended the podium and strode towards her, angry to the core. She scrambled back, panic breaking through, and reached for something concealed beneath the throne. Emerging with a pistol in her mouth she tried to aim, but I struck, a vicious backhoof that knocked her sprawling, her painted face bloodied. Pinning her forelegs, I leant down beside her ear. “What exactly gives you the right...?” I murmured “what gives you the right to do what you do? How much talent have you ripped from their hides? How many have cried helpless beneath your knives? But that doesn’t matter anymore. Because you’re going to help me” She growled and thrashed. “Fuck you asshole! I’m the Princess! You can’t do this to me!” “Please tell me how to remove the collars” My patience was wearing thin. “I’ll eat your skin motherfucker! LET ME GO!” The bodies of her victims lay around the throne, and I noticed that there were also several slave collars lying opened in the pools of gore. I laughed quietly as a plan unfolded. “Well your highness, let’s see how you feel when I present you with your royal regalia…” There was a pause as she worked out the implications. She screamed wordlessly as the collar clicked shut around her neck, no matter how she struggled, and the little light blinked in ominous threat. As I stood, watching her writhe in a futile attempt to remove the deadly steel band, the memories rose again… Bright white light… Injection…incision…extraction…contusion… Pass the Imp, this one needs to grow faster… Just one moment Doctor Pry…yes…I think we can risk a little more…its taking hold nicely… Are you sure Sir? It appears to be in a great deal of pain…could damage the sensory nodes… Well tranquilise it then, what’s wrong with you...? It’s too much Sir; our painkillers just aren’t strong enough. And also the parasite is rejecting them… Ugh, fine… Just put another cortex block in there until you’re done… although the rate at which this thing gets through them I wouldn’t be surprised if the Ministry goes bankrupt… Rage, hatred and a deep, terrible bitterness welled inside me, setting my nerves alight. They had taken my cutie mark. With their potions and pain they had removed the one indelible and irreducible thing that made me who I was. And this thing, screaming and squirming on the blood-stained floor, was doing the same. Innocence defiled with cruel blades and wretchedness, at the whim of insanity. “You feel like helping me now Princess? Huh?” My heart hammered fit to burst, my teeth clenched of their own accord. “I said…” My hooves flashed, striking into her prone form… “…You! Feel! Like! Helping! Now?!” Each word punctuated by a kick. I struck for the ponies she had tortured. I struck for those who had to live surrounded by this shit. I struck for myself, to avenge my heart’s death. “You worthless piece of shit! Why? Why did you do this? Why do you have to be so fucking useless? WHY?” A hoof touched my shoulder. Without my noticing my companions had entered the room, Cog supporting an exhausted but alive Zapper, who managed a weary grin. I felt a surge of gladness at his survival. And there was the old mare, looking up at me, eyes half closed and unjudging. “That’s enough young’un…” I subsided, trembling with the emotions plucking at my muscles, demanding violence, demanding vengeance for uncertain crimes. I wanted to kick, and keep kicking until her bones were splinters. “Please…just tell me how to remove the collars and you can live, at least until your brain cancer catches up” She drew a hoof against her muzzle, wiping the blood, eyes alight with malice. “No. Shan’t! You can all suck it! You can all fucking die!” Excellent. Just perfect. I smiled in satisfaction. “Very well. Let’s play your game then. My turn is it?” I turned and walked towards the throne, summoning my magic, horn sparking crimson. Crawling strands of light seized her by the mane, wrenching her along no matter how she shrieked. My heart was set in stone. The brief moment of contentment passed. The small voice of reason in my head was imprisoned, beating the walls and crying to be heard, but to no avail. I hadn’t been the best pony all those centuries ago, but what little self-control I possessed had been gagged long since, replaced with desire to see the light of life fade from a pony’s eyes. Too much hurt, too much death, too much taken away. Celestia and Luna you owe me! I lifted her, the noxious gown swishing beneath. Slamming her against the wall guns, I pushed. At first Trepanna blinked in confusion. Then she hissed as the pressure increased. Sharp gun barrels bit through both dead and living skin, and she howled in agony. Voices called my name from beyond the anger, but I couldn’t understand them. The dead raced around my head, their shouting blotting out thought. Instead a cackling demon was in charge, pulling my strings with gleeful wickedness and filling me up with heady narcotics, a cocktail of the suffering of others. “Hang in there sweetheart! Feeling talkative I hope?” She whimpered, but was otherwise silent. Blood pooled below her dangling hooves, and I knew she would die soon without attention. But I was stumped. My brain flashed up several intricate ways to extract information, but I had none of the delicate instruments required for such invasive procedures. Then I remembered the raider who had passed out earlier before the fight. Younger, and quite possibly more pliant. I turned to my silent audience. “There’s a live one in the room back there, go and grab her if you please” Cog stared in revulsion, a picture of moral disgust. “Ah ain’t got no truck with torturin’!” he spat. I twitched with impatience. “Relax, she’s young, she’ll get over it.” I laughed as Cog’s eyes bulged in outrage. “Come on my friend I’m kidding! Just drag her back so I can scare her shitless,” I grinned and raised an eyebrow “Must I remind you it’s the only way to get you all out of here alive?” He wavered, jaw muscles knotting in consternation. “Go on…shoo…” I waved my fore-hooves at him “You be the hero of the piece and I’ll take care of the nasty bits.” He looked at the floor, then fixed me with a look of such wounded confusion I would never forget it. “It just ain’t right” he said quietly, and walked away, dragging his hooves dejectedly. I waited, tapping a hoof while the raider princess moaned in a half conscious torpor. Zapper sat on the edge of the podium as the old mare fussed around him, horn flickering a pale orange as she passed it over his wounds. Rusty paced nervously back and forth. At length Cog returned, carrying the unconscious raider filly by the scruff of her mane and placing her gently before me. She was indeed much younger than the others. I picked her up with magic, her head lolling drunkenly, and looked her over. An adolescent female. Around the same age as me, at least how I was before the long sleep. An earth pony, very thin, almost starved, bones showing through her patchy white coat. Her mane and tail, once a deep, royal blue, were now matted and filthy. Scars criss-crossed her skin, poorly stitched wounds gleamed unhealthily. She had been abused by her ‘friends’. The bottom of the pile, the drudge, the bitch. A little fool trapped in hell. She’d do nicely. She stirred, eyelids flickering, focussing on me, sluggish confusion giving way as she tried to process her predicament. “Wh…what?” she stammered through numbed lips. “Welcome back to reality.” I said, grinning cheerfully. Her eyes bulged, legs pedaling furiously in mid-air. “You mean this is real!? Oh fuck me!” I leaned close, and lasciviously ran my tongue across my teeth, snickering at her terror. “Now let’s hope it doesn’t come to that shall we? For now, all I need is information. Contestant number one…” I swivelled her to face the slowly bleeding Trepanna, and whispered by her ear “…has declined to comment, so you, lucky number two, have a chance to win a lifeline.” “A little weak thing like you must have spent a lot of time at the wrong end of their depravity. Kicks, cuts, other things. Nopony notices, nopony cares, and I think you see things simply because nopony knows you’re there. You’ve seen how the collars work. You must have.” I could see the sweat beading on her brow. Her gaze flickered nervously to Trepanna, then back to the more present threat of me. The raider princess noticed her indecision and somehow raised her head, blood dripping from her mouth and eyes glowing beneath her hair like hot, spiteful coals. “Don’t you say a fucking word you little…” she began. I felt something snap. The demon in my head pulled angrily on a thread. The rage boiled, my muscles wrenched and I swung, the silvery machete arcing round and severing Trepanna’s left foreleg below the shoulder. I heard her screaming, felt the blade shivering luxuriantly as it bit through meat and bone, the bloody thump of the limb hitting the floor. “Don’t! Push! Me!” I shouted at her face, the words coming from within, impelled by fury, forcing up my throat and past clenched teeth. The reek of blood and pain was affecting me. I could smell the blood, the fear, all the little pheromones the body releases when it’s in mortal agony. I fought for control as each scent was dissected, tested, all triggering the racing heartbeat, the rush of blood, the rage, the hunger. As I turned, my strings pulling me back towards the cowering raider, I distantly felt my own fear. “Okay okay for Luna’s sake don’t hurt me! The terminal is behind the mirror just leave me alone!” She cowered in terror. Even through the haze I was shocked by her expression of pure panic. I looked away and strode to the mirror, and for a moment I considered my reflection. My heart lurched at the sight, the smouldering yellow eyes beneath a curtain of red, staring back at me from another life. The reflection curled its lips in disgust, and raised a foreleg. Our hooves met in the centre, and the mirror shattered. I ripped aside the broken frame, revealing the softly humming terminal. I knew little about such things, but again my implanted knowledge came to the rescue, displaying the basics of programming directly onto my retinas. I pressed some keys, and lines of code scrolled past. After a few tries I managed to decipher the password. It was ‘exfoliate’, for whatever bizarre reason. There were several files available, meaningless lists of staff data and sales forecasts, but I selected the directory marked Stock Control. Inside there were three commands available. Release Inventory, Inventory Select, and Delete Inventory. I chose the first option and pressed enter. With a series of clicks and beeps the collars of my companions fell open, clattering to the floor like so much scrap metal. There was a collective sigh of relief. Hooves sounded beyond the door, and the freed slaves filtered in. They were scared, hungry and wounded, but just the act of being freed had restored their spirits. “You saved us! Thank you…!” “I don’t know if my Sailflower is ok, can you please…?” “Do you think we could give them a good kicking…?” I raised a hoof, and the clamour instantly died. I took a deep breath. I’d never been good at pep talks. “Alright everypony this is it, you’re free. It’s time to get you all back to whatever passes for civilisation around here. Help each other! Those who can walk help those that can’t, and if I see anypony, and I mean anypony, being a selfish dick I will personally cut you down to size. Grab weapons, ammunition, everything, and be quick about it!” Inspiring words. Nevertheless they jumped to obey. I turned to the old mare. “Ma’am, do you think you could help those in need? It would speed our progress” She bobbed in assent, fixing me with a beady eye. “No problem. Been helpin’ folks in need since before you were born...or wherever it wus you come out of” She hobbled off. Zapper rose from the podium, wincing. “Ah’m gonna get me some valuables before they all grab it for themselves. Come on Cog, Ah need you t’ carry the goods to Haydes…” They left, Cog casting one more hateful glance. I was alone. The raiders didn’t count. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the little one creeping towards the door, eyes flickering nervously back and forth between me and freedom. I waved a hoof vaguely in her direction, and smiled bitterly at the sound of hooves clattering away. Looking at Trepanna I saw she was dead, her head hanging low and a lake of lifeblood beneath her dangling hooves. I was exhausted, emotionally and physically. The adrenaline had run its course, leaving a hollowness that could only be filled with more bloodshed, a weariness that ran bone deep. I wanted nothing more than to sleep again, to climb back into the viscous fluid that had held me quiet and dream until the world healed itself again, or rotted away into nothingness. My legs went weak, and I slumped onto my haunches, staring at the crucifixion before me. What now? Stellar rose in my thoughts, sweet memories accompanied by the taste of blood on my tongue. I couldn’t care less about the worlds’ destruction, those fuckers had it coming. I just wanted her back. The bloodlust wove around my thoughts, choking back the sorrow before it took hold, pushing her away. That was gone now. It all was. What was it Zapper had said? We were going to Haydes, apparently not far from here. A town presumably. A town meant wealth, and wealth meant thieves, like the ones I had massacred today. My gaze slid back to the suspended corpse, and inevitably I reasoned that reward might be forthcoming for proof of their demise. I tiredly rose, and levitated the machete. *** *** *** The remaining raiders returned from their fruitless hunt to find a small army of armed ponies hungry for revenge. They were mercilessly cut down, and their barding and weapons were added to the hoard. The procession of freed slaves made its way through broken streets, leaving nopony behind, and I did my part carrying those too wounded to walk. The trek was a mere two days, but it seemed like weeks as our caravan of cripples struggled towards civilization. Our nights were filled with the cries of the young and wounded, and the smell of sickness permeated every waking moment. Some were too ill, too wounded, or just too tired, and every pony that hit the dust behind us hung heavy on my conscience. But we persevered, I made certain of that. I didn’t want to be in charge, but I constantly found myself driving them on with a mixture of quiet reassurance and open threat. Nopony else would step up to lead, and I would be damned if I let these ponies down. I couldn’t understand this newfound piety of mine, until I realised that I had very, very little else to believe in. The destruction of the old world had no effect on me, I had no love of it. All it had accomplished was taking me apart piece by piece, and putting it back together into something else. I was glad they were dead, and glad of the refreshing simplicity of kill some ponies, save some more, and kill again. I was just glad that they accepted me at all. Now that death was seemingly postponed I began to hear whispers when they thought I was out of earshot. Families clutched their foals when I passed by, and full grown stallions made signs against enchantment, surreptitiously waving their fore hooves and stumbling over half remembered folk chants. One night Zapper came to me. We had set camp and had just managed to get all the ponies settled to their satisfaction, which was no easy task. The nights were dark. A true dark, as might have been the doing of Nightmare Moon before she was converted to civilization all those years ago. He himself had been lying apart from us, tinkering with some strange device that shed a sickly green radiance. From his recumbent position he told me what had happened, most of which I had already guessed. The war escalating, until they began the final nuclear doom, deploying weapons and spells of apocalyptic power. The words washed over me, describing how the world I once knew had been erased, seemingly for good. Some ponies were lucky enough to hide away in sealed vaults beneath the ground, called Stables, where they would remain until the horror had passed. Apart from the degenerate scum that roamed the wastes, most surviving ponies today were Stable dwellers, or descendants of those who had been. The rest had to stay, and burn. Eventually the device beeped, and he smirked in satisfaction. “Here, this is for you…” he said, levitating the object to the ground before me. I remembered. It was a Pip-Buck 3000, a tool for almost every task imaginable. I had owned one before… Time spent with friends in the streets of Canterlot… My first Pip-Buck, shiny and new, so happy… I picked up the Pip-Buck, and with a sense of finality placed it around my foreleg. The metal bands closed with a click. It sat there, heavier than I expected, but extremely familiar. I flicked a switch, and it lit up with a friendly green glow. Scrolling through the menus I found I knew exactly how to operate it. An icon blinked in the corner of the screen, indicating a downloaded file. “Ye’ might wanna check your mail…” said Zapper, eyes glittering in the firelight, “…Ah downloaded the data that was in the terminal beside your tube…” I eagerly opened it. Most of it was corrupted, strings of meaningless runes and symbols. But fragments remained. **************************************************Arcan* e*gineers have d**lared pr*totype one un*uitable for deployment *n the groun*s that it has **veloped resista*ce to cortex blocking techniques. It *ontinues ** defy our *ff*rts to con**l its behaviour, s*owing a distr*ssing ability to erode our cranial implants. The othe* *ubjects hav* pr**en far more biddable. **ter much deli*e**tion p*ototype one h*s been designated an ‘outmode’ *nd *ust be disposed *f. T*chnician three-two-two-seven has b**n giv*n the task of recycling the prot*t*pe via the petri pool****************************************************************************** Outmode. Obsolete. Out-of-date. Worthless. I whispered it under my breath. It sounded good. A little piece of me fell into place. "Looks like ye' found a name then," drawled Zapper. I looked at him until he started shifting uncomfortably, nodded, and turned away, staring at the scrambled text that was the only clue as to my current existence. Outmode. I would give ponies a reason to remember that name. *** *** *** Eventually we arrived at a small, brick substation half buried beneath the wreckage of a skywagon. Skeletons hung pitifully from the windows, and they stirred slightly at our passing as Cog kicked the door open. Zapper led the way down a flight of steps, made treacherous by a constant dripping of water from the ceiling. The corridor was humid, a dark passageway lined with pipes that drummed and groaned constantly as we walked through the half-light of my Pip-Buck’s glow, fighting blindly through suffocating clouds of steam. At length the tunnel opened up, widening onto a terminal chamber where other passageways leered from the shadows, illuminated by the incongruous glow of a large neon sign dominating the steel-lined wall opposite. The giant purple letters spelt ‘Haydes’ while smaller script beneath said ‘Let you’re mane down, in hell!” A spotlight snapped on, bathing the tunnel in painful white light. A hatchway opened in the purple ‘a’ far above us, and a pony stuck out his head. “Whut’s you’re business an’ where’re ye’ bound…?” the helmeted guard intoned in a bored voice, seeming unimpressed by the small army before his gates. Zapper stepped forward, limping slightly, while I lurked defensively behind him, unwilling to show myself should they refuse a mutant entry, or just gunned us down. “Ah got me some forty ponies, most needin’ medical assistance…” he paused at the guard’s disinterested yawn “…and a ton o’ weapons and armour that need sellin’” The guard leaned on the sill, and spat lazily. “Aw dangit. Ah wus hopin’ you’d be capless wasters. Now Ah gotta’ actually open the damn gate. Ya’ll jest hang on now…” The hatchway slammed shut. Silence reigned, broken only by the rush of steam, shuffling hooves and the pitiful sounds of the wounded. I became increasingly anxious as the seconds ticked by. “What happens now?” I murmured over Zapper’s shoulder “Do they accept ponies…like me?” I made sure my voice was steady, not betraying the melancholy resignation. I was a freak. It hurt even to think about it, but I had been changed, and I doubted that a town would want me around for long. If even those I had rescued from hideous death turned against me, all that remained was a choice between hurled insults or torches and pitchforks. He turned his head to look at me with a light smirk. “Don’t you fret now. As ye’ saw earlier, things’ve changed since you’ve been nappin’.” He chuckled and shook his mane, “Ye’ keep puttin’ em down like before an’ it’ll be practically Hearts and Hooves.” There was a rushing of steam and a groaning of metal. The illuminated sign split in half with a clang, a widening vertical gash releasing a blaze of light and sound. Bright lanterns, heady smells, steam and shouting ponies as far as the eye could see. The freed captives streamed past as I stood in awe, taking in the sight of a great, cylindrical street, lined with traders hawking their wares to the densely packed herd. Buildings of rusty metal clung precariously on either side, the crude structures lined with lights of every colour, and I could see the end of the tunnel opened up onto even vaster caverns beneath the ruined city above. A whole town, in the sewers of the old regime. The thought drew a smile from me. Where is your kingdom now Celestia? Where are the good and kind ponies, the elements of harmony? The answer? Reborn, from your own shit. “Grandmamma!” I jumped and span about, startled by the delighted shriek. An adolescent filly emerged from the throng and seized the old mare in a tight embrace, tears of relief flowing freely. “Now git yo’ cotton-pickin’ hooves off’ve me young un!” peeved the aged one, struggling feebly and causing the younger to cling all the tighter “You’re granny ain’t about te’ float away jest yet!” “Ah thought ye’ were gone f’sure!” the filly sobbed, acid green mane falling over her eyes “Why? Why’d ye’ have te’ go off like that? The aged one finally managed to extricate herself, and held the young mare at hoofs length. “We needed them ingredients. That rent weren’t about te’ go away now wus it?” “But…” the young mare bowed her head, tearful and shamefaced “…whut about Slinky’s…offer? He’s been gettin’ awful persistent, an’ Ah could’ve…” “No!” the old one stated firmly, gently bringing her granddaughter’s eyes level with her own, the same shade of bright , pure green. “Some things…” she shook her head doggedly “…just don’t. Ah don’t want ma girl mixed up with such…villainy!” They hugged again, the old mare stroking the filly’s mane as she cried quietly against her shoulder. I watched them for a moment, realising the implications. I had actually done something good, something that made another pony’s life that fraction better before they faded from this miserable existence. I felt a little glow of sanctimonious satisfaction, and smirked ironically, banishing it. Eventually they noticed me, standing like a macabre statue with the crowd parting and flowing around. The old mare put a foreleg around her granddaughter and walked to stand before me. “Ah’m Root Cure, an’ this is ma’ granddaughter Nell. Nice te’ meet ye’” she said, again fixing me with that tired but calculating gaze. Nell’s eyes went wide, and she took a step back, as if unsure whether to leap in front of her grandmother or hide behind her. “And Nell, this here’s the nice gentlecolt who rescued you’re old grandma from some inbred flea-bit raiders” she added pointedly. Smiling politely, and seeing no reason to be rude, I bowed in the traditional way as taught by my parents all those years ago. “A pleasure to meet you my good mares.” Nell did a comical double-take, perhaps surprised at my Canterlotian accent which, despite years on the streets of Manehattan, had refused to shift. “Oh! Erm…sorry…thanks….pleased te’ meet ye’” she stuttered in an utterly adorable manner. I stifled a laugh at her anxious apologies, and very nearly lost control as she gave a creditable attempt at a curtsey. A damn curtsey! Oh my word how delightfully quaint. “Oh you don’t need to humble yourself for me miss…” I said pleasantly, suppressing my amusement “…I despise captivity, and your grandmother didn’t deserve the attentions of such depraved individuals.” There. The old pleasantries creeping back. The social mores and small-talk, a result of careful tutelage by Mother and Father in preparing their foal for the immense complexity of Canterlot society… No darling, one does not use the soup spoon for one’s Crême brûlée… But Mother, it’s the right shape. All curved, same as the little bowls, see…? That’s right sweetheart, but you should use the other one for that, the one with the long spindly handle. It’s smaller and longer, so you can get to the very last fragments of pudding without getting it everywhere… But with the zoop spoon, I can get more crem brooly in one go, like this… Yes darling, but now you’ve got most of it down your shirt instead of in your silly face you little blighter! Come here you…! Urr yuck! Mother! Pfft! I can use…napkin…now! Gettoff…! There, that’s better. Now darling, we’ve got to get you presentable for the soirée next week. All the important ponies will be there, and I’ve heard rumours that Fancy Pants himself may be attending, so I need you to be at your best. I know you can be the perfect little gentlecolt when you try, so try hard, for me dear… Okay Mother…I love you… I love you too sweetheart… Then I was back in the street, staring blankly like an idiot. How embarrassing. I shook my head to clear it, angrily brushing away the faint moisture in my eyes. “Sorry, what did you say?” Root Remedy raised an eyebrow. “Ah wus sayin’ thank ye’ for you’re kind assistance, and ye’ll always be welcome in our house” She squinted sharply, and in a display of acute understanding added “An perhaps Ah c’n help with whutever’s inside ye’ head too” I drew myself up, and regarded her solemnly. “Thank you madam, but I’m not sure there’s anypony alive who can help me there” I said, with Nell looking back and forth between us in bewilderment. Solitude. I needed to go somewhere, anywhere that was away from here. But once again my conscience tweaked. Like the others I carried a bundle of loot, rolls of guns and valuables tied with rope. I swung it off my back to the ground before them. “These are for you. Sell them high, they’re worth more than they look.” They looked at the bundle hungrily, shuffling hooves impatiently, but not quite believing. Before they overcame their suspicion I lowered my head to Nell’s eye level. She cringed slightly but didn't look away, holding my gaze as I spoke. “You now own some very fine firearms, and this Slinky character sounds like a bad sort. The next time he gets a little too persistent for your liking, shoot his apples off. That’ll send a message about respectable behavior. You’re a good mare, and don’t let anything drag you down.” I turned, and walked away, all morality spent. *** *** *** Zapper and the others had gone shopping at the local arms dealers, but I had no wish to follow them just yet, as I had certain business to take care of that I knew Cog would certainly not approve of. The object I had salvaged from Trepanna’s lair was safely concealed in my saddlebags, but I could feel its incriminating weight as I strode through the crowds. I never needed to struggle as everypony else did. Each pony intent on forging a path through the suffocating masses would suddenly catch sight of me looming above the throng, and startle away as if shocked. A circle of empty space surrounded me as I walked, kept clear by their fear, but instead of hurt or anger I found myself experiencing the soft, lazy thrill of easy power. A self-satisfied smirk formed, and I was conscious of my fangs pushing gently against my lips. So this was how it felt, to be better than others simply because I had what they didn't. Strength and intimidation, the cheap high of a bully. Suddenly an unpleasant thought pierced my cheerful superiority, was this how they had felt? When civilization deteriorated, the death toll increased and Equestria fell into the ever tightening grasp of the wicked, did they laugh? Did they toast each other in the boardrooms, and drink, and shake hooves, sealing innumerable ponies to a death beyond their choosing? Did they drink, and taste anything but ashes? My smile tightened and faded. Who gave the order? Who told the grey guards to take my parents? Who kept taking and taking, and then reached and took my ponyhood away, and then reached further, and took my heart away as well. I tried to cut short my dark imaginings but they grew like a malevolent leech, I was trying to put faces to those who had wronged me, a desperate urge to see my truest enemies, to see something, anything to hate. But all my mind’s eye could see was greyness, faded, spiteful smoke scheming from afar, using and abusing all in the belief that all were there to be abused, all expendable in the religious reverence of selfishness. The thoughts coalesced into a writhing nest of bitterness, my muscles twanged with the effort of not lashing aside the ponies in my path, and bile rising on my tongue such was my anger. I grimaced and dry swallowed, forcing down the mounting vitriol. The haze was there, I could sense it, lurking just out of reach and waiting for its chance to take control. Only it wasn’t some other being was it? It was me, my fury, my wings, my weapon and my shield. Such…joy. Such a delight and strength. All things had become possible when the red mist descended, no more boundaries, no more petty restraints. I could fight anything, kill anything I pleased, and indeed it did please, terrifyingly so. I could lift oceans, tear mountains from their roots like rotten teeth, even wrench the Princesses from their gilded thrones simply because I wanted to, simply because it was fun. A sick, delicious shiver shuddered me from head to hoof, whispering bloodlust, making me stumble in its intensity. I bit my lip as I trotted onwards, trying to distract myself with pain. Instead my fangs nipped, my own blood dousing my tongue with metallic sweetness. Fuck. Stupid arseholes really hadn’t thought this through had they? I lurched against a wall, churning nausea making my ears ring as I fought the urges. Whereas freely going berserk was a delightful amusement, resisting made my guts twist in knots, the world blurring like a cheap stop-motion animation. Feverish shivering took hold, and a pathetic whimper escaped me as my bones grew thorns. Pain, everywhere, pain and sickness, over and over again, itching, squirming, raking from every direction, a thousand attackers, a phalanx of needles inside and out, gnawing until I cried for mercy. *** *** *** Time passed. Eventually the tremors stopped, feeling returning, a numbness in my skin alongside deadened muscles the consistency of lead. I felt coolness, a soft rushing sensation. I was in water of some kind. I realised my eyes were clenched tightly shut, lids aching with the effort. I cracked them open, and saw my own forelegs folded ferociously around my head. A few tentative movements confirmed I was curled in a foetal ball, as well as making me moan in prolonged agony. My entire body hurt, everywhere, the deep, gnawing bite of a toothache. I was lying on my side, in a pool of chill, soothing water, and I could feel more of it pouring from above. I strained my eyes upward, and saw the concrete ceiling, curving up and away, the alley walls on either side, rusted metal, rotting wood, the burst pipe, gushing an arc of clear liquid, showering me with coolness. The world carried on regardless, marching past the alley in which I lay, moving and living while I remained paralyzed in damp and darkness. The tube rose in my mind, the sensation of waking and drowning in the same breath, and I struggled upright, whimpering pathetically in pain but determined to escape the realization which filled my heart with shards of panic. Whips. That’s what you needed to make the unwilling do you’re fighting for you. Whether it be propaganda, inspiring speeches, a breath, a soft touch, there will be whips to follow. Obey, or suffer the consequences. Everypony has their whips, the little fears that spur us on. The fear of failure, of disgrace, or simplest of all the fear of pain. The whips take many forms, but always they are inflicted from outside, from the expectations of others, either those close to us or those in authority. But they…now, they had made me their perfect instrument. They’d put their whips inside my head. Fight, or suffer. I stayed there for a while, leaning against the wall with legs trembling. The panic slowly subsided but I knew it was still there, a low level of animal fear like a rodent that knows a hawk flies above. I took a step forward, gritting my teeth at the expected surge of discomfort and tottering slightly, head swimming drunkenly. I was still upright, so far so good. Another step, and the ache diminished. And another, my confidence renewing itself as the light at the end of the alley grew nearer. And then suddenly I was in the street, my aura of empty space reasserting itself as the town ponies flowed around me. I allowed myself a little glow of satisfaction at this small accomplishment, and grinned triumphantly. I had won. The data on me had said I had been giving them trouble with regards to control and they’d been right. They’d tried to make me a slave, and they had failed. The door to the marshal’s office creaked open at my touch. Bored guards glanced briefly before returning to their duties, and then did a double-take as their sluggish minds processed my appearance. I took no notice, and walked up to the front desk where a uniformed mare dozed in a reclining chair, breathing gently in slumber. I felt a surge of annoyance and rapped sharply on the desk, and she jerked awake, eyes lighting on me looming over her. “Whoa, horseapples!” she swore, springing forward and reaching for something under the desk. I interrupted quickly. “You deal in bounties correct?” I said sharply, before she did anything stupid. She froze and blinked owlishly, hoof still invisible “Uh…yeah…sure but…” “Do you have anything on a mare calling herself Trepanna? Raider. Wears the skin of her victims. A bit of a basket case?” That foolish blinking again, it really was getting annoying. Was hearing the tall scary mutant talk properly making their brains overheat? “Uh…Princess Trepanna? There’s two thousand caps on ‘er. But hang on a sec here you can’t just…” The saddlebag slammed onto the desk with a teeth-rattling thud. It fell open, and the object rolled out into the light. There was silence. The watching guards winced and the desk mare goggled. I tapped a hoof impatiently and glared at her, daring her to make a move. “Well?” I snapped petulantly. She withdrew her hoof from under the desk, coming up empty, and looked at me with a mixture of awe and disgust. “Dude…” she said incredulously “Ye’ didn’t need te’ bring the entire head!” *** *** ***