Fallout Equestria: Second Wind

by TinkerChromewire

Chapter 7: One Step Forward

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Safe--I had slowly come to terms with the fact that no place was ever truly safe. Some places were safer than others, but no place was ever going to truly be safe anymore. I had just been chased by beacons of virtue and hope for a mile down a desolate, war-torn street filled with burnt out wagons and sky carriages still bearing their skeletal passengers into a den of avarice and sin. This was safer than being outside, with eight heavily armed several hundred pound metal encased testosterone driven trigger happy militant bullet jockeys, but it still wasn’t safe. I was just trading one danger for a different brand of danger. Which kind of danger I was still very unsure, but at any moment I expected something bad to happen.
 

Lock and Key, the gate guards that had let us in, barred entrance to the Steel Rangers on grounds they had no warrant, which was an indirect way to tell them to fuck off. Hearing them go back and forth about how that ‘civilized pokes’ always did things ‘by the law’ required the rangers to return with a warrant from a judge to enter for the express purpose of searching for us. No warrant, no entry. It took all of five minutes for the bickering to die down and the steel rangers to give up their pursuit, leaving to harass more travelers passing their checkpoint. Or they could just use a different entrance. We weren’t that important, they wouldn’t waste time doing that.

It was at this time that both guards left their scaffolding to come join us. I had to do a double take,  two earth pony stallions, exactly the same. Slender and lithe, same messy black hair, same muddy brown pelt, and the same patched and worn security barding. They were even missing an eye each, except they were mirrored. One was missing his left eye, the other the right, both wore a gauze wrapping over their missing eye. They were twins.

“How’d you piss them off this time?” Asked the stallion on the right. He wore a wide smile.

“Did you throw water balloons filled with piss at em’ again?” Queried the one on the left. His duplicate snickered, “Let her catch her breath. She looks ragged.” “Are those hickeys on her ass?”

Gangrene was wheezing, panting for breath. With the exception of me and Rebel, everyone else was tired and panting. Rebel had been carried, I just never got tired. Gangrene was gulping great gasps, leaning her side against a nearby wall and alternating between sucking air and downing dirty water from her canteen. Keena was slightly panting, fawning over Rebel who was trembling, wide eyed.

“Give me...Ah...” She swallowed another deep mouthful, “A fucking second...” She downed another quarter of the canteen and then tossed it to Keena. The hippogryph caught it and dropped it, causing it to drop with a heavy thud onto Rebel’s head, making him curse fluently. The hippogryph spent the next half minute apologizing to the shaken foal.

“Ah, thas better!” The yellow punk wheezed, slinking from the wall to throw her forelegs around the twin gate guard’s necks, “Sup my two studly buds!” She planted a kiss on one of their cheeks in turn, making their tongue loll out and their expressions to turn mushy. “Thanks for pullin’ my plot outta the fire. They didn’t take too kindly to us. Still, worth it seeing a Crusader drop duce in his armor.”

“Heh, when do they ever take kindly to you, Gangly Gal?” snickered one brother. He sighed, rolling his single eye, “Now, our payment...”

“Yeah...” Gangrene began, smacking her lips, “A bit broke at the moment. Can I getcha later?”

The two brothers exchanged pensive glances and shook their heads simultaneously, “Afraid not! We want something from you.” The other brother quickly spoke up, “Something of value. It’s not like we turn away those colt-scouts for just anypony.” Seeing them speak was like watching one mind among two bodies, their motives and thoughts worked as one to finish where the other left off in their thought.

        They both withdrew from Gangrene and circled her, speaking in turn. “Guns, drugs, caps, or ammo.” Chimed one. “Suck, buck, or maybe a lil fuck?” Hissed the other. They were sleazy, I was growing concerned. So was Keena, her eyes narrowed and she ruffled her feathers in agitation. These were dubious characters, con-ponies like them were easy to spot. They had a tell, a certain behavior they stepped forward with when they knew they had you, when they knew there was no way you’d refuse their sale. In this case, they’d already rendered services that they demanded pay for. Refusing to pay might mean they would just let in the super asinine metal head force to come tan our collective hides.

        “Nah, I ain’t got time for you boys. Sides, dontcha prefer...Each other?” Gangrene rolled her eyes, she began looking through her saddlebags for something she could spare. She held up her issue of ‘Stud Buds’ which caught one of the brother’s interest. “How ‘bout this nice clop mag? This issue’s got a centerfold of some fancy pony too. Got a nice keister.”

        “Oh, I’ve never seen this one before!” Exclaimed one of the two. He licked his lips and drew his eyes over the fine, clean stallion flank in the fold-out centerfold the mare had mentioned, letting it furl out towards the floor. “Hello tail donut! My, he’s a gaper!” He murmured pleasantly, a deep rumble in his throat.  Keena covered Rebel’s eyes with her talons. I was just amused, sure they were shaking us down for things, but it was almost worth paying them for this entertainment.

The other brother wasn’t interested, his attention was turned towards the rest of our group. He tutted softly, “Gangy, I see two new mugs. No introductions?” He wore a feigned pout.

The yellow mare coughed, her throat rumbling with a mixture of spit, “You need an introduction? Fuck, alright...” Gangrene pointed a hoof to Keena lazily, “That’s just Keena. Hippogryph. She’s nice, pushover.” Then she nodded in my direction, “That’s Steelgraft. He’s one of them pre-war ghouls. A doctor, believe it or not. Certified hole doctor.” She turned her head, inhaled through her nose and spat a fat loogie straight onto the floor. “He’s a bit of a biter though. Dirty plot donut bastard...”

“That was just to motivate you to keep running.” I huffed, turning away from them and rolling my eye to the sky. “She acts like she didn’t love it.” There was a canopy above us, a net of sharp wires held aloft somehow. That must have been why Keena hadn’t just flown in. She would have been torn to shreds. It made sense, considering they had issues with a faction of griffins trying to take over.

“Why hello there pretty boy~” One of the twins whispered into my ear, starling me.I couldn’t feel it, but some pressure was moving me to the side, he was right against me. “You look handsome for a corpse. I think I know what I want now~” Every muscle in my body tensed and the urge to respond with violence creeped up along my spine and burrowed into my brain.

 “The one pesterin’ Steelgaft is Key. The polite boy readin’ the porn mag’s Lock. They’re the gate guards for Big Top Blok. Decent boys, just watch out for key.” Gangrene’s words reached me, and the sneaking feeling of worry I had grew into a thick shudder. “He’s a bit of a corpse humper.” Gangrene cemented, thus putting all my worries into one package of ‘fuck’ and ‘no’.

“You forgot to mention they’re both fags.” Rebel blurted casually, “Course it’s fucking obvious. Gangrene, Key’s makin’ moves on your boy-toy.”

That poor meek church hippogryph, Keena, was struggling to tune out this colorful language, wincing at every foul word. It did little to stop her from coming to my rescue, sparing me the need to beat Key senseless. She pulled on Key’s tail with a deliberate and rough manner, “I don’t think Steelgraft appreciates you trying to mount him. Especially in front of a child.” She clicked her beak, “You have a deathwish, don’t you? Seeking relations with a Deadmare.” For once, maybe being an unholy eldritch abomination of science would come in handy. Heh, that’s funny because...Hands! Shut up, brain! We have to deal with getting mounted here, I’m just going to punch him! Not a good idea, they’ll let the Steel Rangers in. I wondered if everyone was with at odds with their own brain as much as I was.

“He’s a cyberghoul? Exotic!” Key left me be and turned to Keena, “That only makes me want him more.” He looked over to Gangrene, “I want a night with your slave. How much?” The fact Gangrene looked to be considering it worried me greatly. Mental images of stallion burritos penetrating stallion cornholes flitted through my mind--It wasn’t an unpleasant thought, I had already established I had been with a stallion before, in life. A handsome, sweet red pegasus whose name I could not remember. Romance and lusty sex were two horses, beaten to literal death since my own expiration. I had no interest in sex, and my only romantic interest was the mare from my memories, the kiss still fresh in my mind.

Convinced he was insane, Keena backed away, “And I thought raiders were revolting.” She hissed. It looked like she was ready to pounce, spreading her stance. “Gangrene, you cannot be seriously considering bartering your friend’s integrity for caps!” I was with the horse bird on this one.

“We’re pretty buckin’ broke, Keena. And we’re gonna need a parts kit for that rifle. It ain’t got no external trigger.” Gangrene justified this coming debate with ‘deed of evil by necessity’. “That and I owe Key a favor anyway, so two manticores, one auto-axe.”  

“Everypony has a price, bird.” Key grunted in agreement, licking his lips. His foul breath could be smelled even when he was facing away from me. What did he did, make out with dead bodies or just chow on rotten garbage all day?

        Keena took a deep breath, letting her feathers fluff and settle. She held the small medallion she wore around her neck and said a silent prayer for strength. I caught a short part about ‘save me from temptation to smite this foul fiend’. She turned tail and flicked it. “I have no part in this. There are other ways to make caps...” She looked to me, then to Gangrene and huffed. “I’m not happy about this. Reconsider.”

        “This ain’t a democracy.” Gangrene rolled her eyes, “I think I got seniority here by experience. Trust me.” Oh, I trusted her alright. I trusted her to fuck me over, literally, right now, for a quick score of caps! “A thousand caps!” Gangrene barked, holding up one hoof. “But not today, he’s got work today. He’ll be free...Sometime next week? Course, to make sure somepony else don’t take up your slot, gonna need half up front.” This was surreal, unreal, it wasn’t happening. She was bartering with ME.

They bartered back and forth for a few minutes. Keena, Rebel, and I watched in half-stunned silence. Lock left, going back up the scaffolding to watch the street while reading his new clopmag. “Bloke can’t just go date a ghoulie like the more sane corpse humpers...” He muttered as he left. I think Lock was the more sane, stable twin.

“I’m not getting a say in this at all?” I interjected. This was not the kind of danger I was expecting here! I knew no place was ever truly safe, but some things were sacred! Like my ass, which was holy because it had a hole. My hole, that I used to use at one point in time for...Fertilizing fields. Now, well, it didn’t get any use because I didn’t eat at all. What happens to the beef jerky I’ve been eating? Maybe it’d come out eventually or...something.

“Nope!” Gangrene and Key both spouted simultaneously. They then came to an agreement, it would be 300 caps now and another 300 after he had his night with me no later than one week from now. Gangrene took his caps and added the sum to her saddlebag.

“I’ll see you next week, love corpse. Stay frosty~” The stallion slapped me on the plot with his hoof. I flinched, unable to feel but the thought of him touching me made my skin want to crawl off my body. I’d rather be in the cloak Gangrene had made for me earlier, at least that hadn’t had an interest in my hiney hole.

“I think I’d rather die.” I retorted darkly. Or kill you. That was a thought, kill him! That was sarcasm, you dolt. You’re really bloodthirsty. My own thoughts were taunting me now while my best friend sold me for sex. Next week. I might be dead then! See, silver lining!

“Now that’s even better...” Key cooed, winking at me before sauntering up the scaffolding’s  rickety ramp to take up his position with his brother. He shared a kiss with his twin that no brothers should share and focused on his ‘work’ as gate guard. And by work, I mean going down on his brother, but the angle was thankfully too bad for me to actually see what was happening.

“Soooo that actually happened. I was hoping that was some surreal memory relapse involving some dystopian pony movie I watched a century ago, but I see you there with 300 caps.” I pressed one of my gauntlets against my face and brushed my mane back, giving a disgruntled groan, “I’m a patient stallion, but I’d really like a reason better than,” And I made an effort to mimic Gangrene as facetiously as possible, “We really need teh monahz!”

The dirty yellow mare rubbed under her chin in thought, pensively biting the piercing stud in her lower lip, a lightbulb of inspiration flashed in her eyes and she grinned callously.“That’s for bitin’ me on the ass. Think of it this way, I gotta walk round with your teeth marks on my plot all day today and you only gotta worry bout getting your donut frosted next week. A decent trade off.” She justified her actions as ‘back at you, ass-biter’. She trotted over to the directory to search the store list.

“I am sorry, Steelgraft.” Keena patted me on the shoulder, “Let us focus on saving the children first. This is a necessary evil to save them. Perhaps you can pay him back his caps and call it off later?” Her suggestion was valid, in the realm of reason. I preferred it to actually getting my ass rammed by Key. “Loving and Tolerating all life is difficult at times.” She added.

I let my ears droop with a sigh. “Maybe I’ll name my power gauntlets ‘Love’ and ‘Tolerance’ so I can love and tolerate things more thoroughly.” I was fine with loving and tolerating, but I didn’t want to tolerate having somepony loving my ass!

The horse bird chirped scoldingly, “You’re missing the point entirely.” I don’t think she liked my sense of humor.

Rebel was snickering, “Hey, think of it this way...” He pointed to the collar around my neck, “By the end of tomorrow that will go off an’ you ain’t havin’ a worry in the world.” That actually made me feel better for some reason, until the little brat finished his thought. “ ‘Course, Key would still bugger your corpse.”

I cringed. “Rebel, if I die, stuff my body full of live grenade and pull the pins.” Rebel looked excited at this request, and he promised me he’d do just that. And this one takes my sarcasm literally. “Lets just go get the tools and mod kit...” I grumbled, wanting to forget the past fifteen minutes of my life. Together, we rejoined Gangrene at the directory.

Welcome to ‘The Blok’, the directory at the entrance greeted us. The sign was a wide display jutting up from the floor,  mounted in place by a bracket on the floor. It included a directory which had been customized by the locals, shops had been renamed or crossed out entirely. Caricatures of a pony and their family enjoying their time together with every desire, fantasy, or vice surrounding them in the forms of ice cream, cake, movies, and merchandise was displayed just under the greeting. Their eyes and smiles were now gaping pits of cigarette burns. A large bucket filled with sand overflowed with finished stems of foul, burnt cigarette butts. Crudely illustrated dicks, drugs, and alcoholic beverage bottles were imposed over the once wholesome activities in thick permanent marker.

The bitch of a mare that had gleefully sold me out for some caps was studying the directory. She couldn’t find out where she was on it despite the star declaring ‘you are here’ boldly. I pointed it out to her and she rolled her eyes. “Hey, squirt, where’s the mod-shop at?” She asked the pint sized Mr. fixit.

“Uh, the weapon mod shop? Bass n’ Mackeys. 5C.” The young foal spoke after a few moments of thought. He was squirming, swaying back and forth. “And if it ain’t too much trouble, I think I needa take a dump.”

“Right now? Can’t it wait?” Gangrene groused, struggling to find a heading on the directory to find out where she needed to go. “Buck! Been here for years, still can’t make heads or tails of this through all the porn scribbles.” Keena avoided making direct eye-contact with any of this pornographic pseudo art.

“I needed tah piss too, but high flier here got me to take care of that mid-flight!” The small foal huffed, now doing a dance in efforts to thwart his incoming natural bowel movements.

The hippogryph winced, in part because of the cursing and the ugly pornography littering the directory, and in other parts for the guilt she felt for making Rebel so terrified that he let loose mid-flight. “I am very sorry about that, little Riot. That was just to keep you safe.”

“Tell that to my breakfast. I lost that too, along with my spleen.” He shuddered, “Radroach tastes shit going down. Worse coming up.” His dance intensified along with his whining, “I needa go now!” The foal began to jump up and down, making all manner of frantic facial expressions. His little dance tightened and he wiggled in place.

Gangrene pulled the copy of Mare-Do-Well she had on her from her saddlebag and offered it to the foal, “Here’s some reading material kid. Steelgraft, could you go with him? Dunno what sickos might be shootin’ up in there.” She waved me away, hoping I’d get the hint to keep an eye on the foal. “Maybe you can suck a few dicks and make some caps for me while you do?” She taunted with a sour chuckle. Rebel snagged the comic from the air and began a mad gallop for the nearby restrooms, clearly marked by crooked signs over the doorways.

“Wouldn’t we hear gunfire?” Keena asked, her headcrest perking forward.

“It’s an expression. Means takin’ drugs.” Gangrene corrected her. “Th’ buck’s 5C at?”

        I left after Rebel Riot, muttering as I did, “Oh, lets add foalsitting to my list of credentials. Steelgraft; monster slayer, bounty hunter, whore, and babysitter!” The little scamp was faster than me, I had to double time it to catch up. He was already through the door and had selected a stall.

        This restroom had met a similar fate the the directory, littered with trash and debris, many of the stalls were broken or lacked doors. What was this fascination with the ponies around here drawing dicks on everything? Graffiti everywhere, and a sick smell I could hardly stand permeated the place. Several broken mirrors covered the wall opposite from the restroom stalls in front of shallow hoof cleansing basins, leaking water into ebbing puddles that lapped around my hooves. A few small candy wrappers floated about, like tiny boats.

        “Rebel Riot, where are you?” I hissed, passing the first two broken stalls. I think I saw a gloryhole in one of the interior walls and quivered, grunting in disgust. “What a piss pot...”

“I’m laying road apples. The buck’re you doin’ here?” Came the colt’s voice from the fourth stall A soft grunt was heard and a series of ‘plops’ followed. “I’m loving this comic. Go MDW!” Yup. reading while taking a loo break, at least some pony past-times never changed.

“Well, according to lil miss slave driver it’s my duty to keep an eye on you.” I answered, moving my back to face the stall Rebel was in. I stared straight ahead, glancing around for any threat that could lurk here. Mostly, I expected stallions to be peddling drugs or soliciting sex. The lighting flickered dimly overhead, a loud flush was heard and a stallion came out of the stall next to me.

“Hah, you said ‘Doody’!” Rebel squeaked, letting out another short grunt.

“Yeah, real mature.” I replied. The stallion that had left his stall didn’t bother washing his hooves. He was a gaunt, ugly brown beast with beady eyes and a gnarled mane and tail in moss green dreadlocks. A torn cloth barding vest and a torn cake-mix box taped to his satchel pack was the only thing that really stood out. A single glance was spared my direction, he gave me a wide berth, moving around me quickly and glancing back before he left the stall. He was certainly skittish--at seeing me.

I had half a mind to pursue him, something in my mind urged me to investigate. Namely it was the baking goods box he used to decorate his satchel. Just like one of the Muffincake raiders. But they had used muffin boxes specifically. I briefly humored the idea of a feud between barbarian baker clans.

“Hello? Can you he---” A voice rattled out through static in my mind, “Operative...Operative, are you online?” The static faded and the voice became clear in my head. It was a stallion, an older one by the sound of it. “I have a tab on your condition. You’re damaged, but moving. Are you unable to respond?”

“I’m here.” I spoke softly, “Who is this?”

“My name is Head-Case, I am responsible for waking you up. I’m glad I was finally able to hail you.” The voice replied quickly. “What is your status?”

“You know who I am, tard! You made me lose my spot and scared a turd back inside!” Grumbled the foal from the stall, straining to let loose the brown ponies of war on the stall’s crapper. “If you’re going to mutter crazily to yourself, do it quietly, weirdo.” He was reading, having a conversation, and pooping at the same time. I think he was a bit weirder than I was. Well you are a gay robot zombie. Shut up, brain, you are not helping! I was not gay! If I were gay, it’d certainly help with the Key problem I have to deal with. No, it wouldn't.

“I’m just going insane. Yep...” I confided in myself, turning on the faucet to drown out the noise of my schizophrenic conversation with the voice in my head. After dousing my face with a few handfuls of water I looked at my face in the mirror. The reflective surface took the appearance of a faded computer screen, one with a distorted and static filled display, I could scarcely make out the shadow of a stallion’s head through the haze. From what I could make out, he was a unicorn ghoul wearing round spectacles, his face was torn and his sparse mane danced like underwater kelp.

"I promise you, your mental state is rather well, considering all the trauma you’ve endured.” The voice was weak, but clearly heard, “I can tell you’re not alone, so I will be brief. Again, my name is Head-Case, I’m the one that reactivated you. You were entrusted something important, the Pandora Pithos, is it safe?”

“Pithos? Are you talking about the Black Box? Yeah, it’s safe at Gre--” He tutted loudly, speaking over me quickly. So, this joker’s name was Head-Case? He introduced himself twice already, using a name fitting for a mental patient.

“No, don’t tell me where it is! This line isn’t secure. There are bound to be listeners--The warlords themselves could even be listening in. I’m sure you have questions, Penance.” Being called ‘Penance’ sparked a rapid fire crescendo of garbled, half-remembered memories of a sanguinary nature. That name was familiar but not one I enjoyed hearing aloud.

“Penance? I think you might have me mistaken for somebody else,” I replied softly as I could, “The name is Steelgraft, you whacko.”

There was a pause on the other side of my conversation, the image in the mirror shifted as he turned his head. “Using the name of one of my colleagues? That is just like you, incognito and still  characteristically rude. That’s good, it means you must remember who you are!” He exclaimed.

I shook my head numbly. “I only remember that I was an airship pilot. My commander was Rainbow Dash. I had a wife and child. I think one of my own crew-mates got me killed.” I said, recalling that dark pelted mare that confessed to me in Necro-Net. “Do you know anything, Head-Case?” I asked, hopeful that he could help me remember.

“You must be suffering from memory fragmentation. Most of your file was either corrupt or classified beyond my clearance.” Classified or corrupted, just like the first 14 names on the Veteran’s Donor List in the storage room’s terminal. The stallion continued uninterrupted, “You are--or more accurately were, an operative for the now defunct O.I.A.--The Office of Interministry Affairs. You were somepony of importance, close to the director in some capacity.” He sighed softly, “I’ll see what I can find for you, but you’ll have to remember on your own.”

The O.I.A. sounded familiar, and usually when it sounded familiar it caused a memory relapse or it boded ill on my mental state. I began rapid firing questions at him, mostly to distract myself from thinking too much about what he had just told me. “Where is my family? Why was I brought back?”

He cut me off again, “There are no time for questions, ‘Steelgraft’, as you call yourself now, I am just checking on the status of your mission. Are you enroute to neutralizing your targets?”

My targets? I made a face of disgust, lips curling back and I gave a snort, gripping the basin so tightly it cracked. “That was plural, as in multiple targets. I’m just after one right now; Muffincake.” I answered. “My interest in multiple targets is zero. I just wanna do this one and be done. I have other plans.” Like, I dunno, maybe opening a wrestling school for radroaches. Something that didn't involve killing other ponies!

“Your ‘other plans’ come after finishing your assignment, Steelgraft, or have you already forgotten your oath? Wait, don’t answer that, you probably have.” The stallion in the mirror sounded very displeased. Using his telekinetic field he adjusted his glasses upon his rotten nose, tilting his head down. I could hear the clacks of a metal keyboard. “I’ll update your mission directory for you so you can keep track of your objectives.” He rasped raggedly, taking a brief pause to shuffle something around, “Since you’re already at the Blok, it’s the perfect time for you to rendezvous with Frisky Fritter and Miss Zone Control at a shop named Donuts Extreme in the food court. They have something for you that should make your little adventure a tad more bearable. See what you can do about getting your implants repaired.”

“What targets am I supposed to go after? I don’t remember signing up for this! This is a little unfair!”

“The wastelands are not fair, Steelgraft, and unlike you, the denizens of the city require nourishment, sleep, and medical treatment. In the interests of preserving life, follow my instructions before Hades chokes the last bit of life from the city’s veins.” I couldn’t respond this time, the feed cut and the stallion was gone, the broken mirror was back to normal.

You wanted to know more, now you do, Penance. That was not my name, that was some weird code name or something! Well you can keep using that dead surgeon’s name. It really doesn’t matter either way. I slumped against the wash basin. “Who the buck is ‘Hades’? Another one of my targets?” I sighed, probably another warlord.

I had to clean up the city. I was like some sort of robot cop or something. An operative woken up from the grave to prune the evil weeds killing the last few daisies in an otherwise barren garden. It’d be an appropriate analogy if it wasn’t for the fact those weeds were heavily armed, well organized warring factions, only two of which I had any knowledge of. Marble and Rolly are rotting in jail while those bad ponies roam free to slaughter others. Ponies are dying at Hopenharm Hospital when all it would take is a little medicine to save them. Everyone else was too afraid to act. Even I was a coward, acting to save myself from this death sentence around my neck. How was I supposed to do this? I didn’t remember how to fight, if I ever knew how.

“You know, some ponies just jerk off in the bathroom.” Rebel chuckled behind me, I hadn’t heard him flush, I was too focused on talking to the stallion in the mirror. “You got problems, talking to yourself in the mirror like that.” He turned on the faucet next to me and rinsed off his forehooves, taping the soap dispenser which spat out a cursory spatter of foaming hoof sanitizer. It was strange they had any soap at all, they were probably enchanted to refill automatically or generate their own fluid. Honestly, I was more surprised the foal was bothering to wash his hooves.

I turned off my faucet and broke the handle. I was unable to reattach it, so I set the broken handle in the basin. “I’m just a crazy, senile old ghoul talking to myself in a mirror. Yep, that’s me. Nutso-wacko.” I swirled the air around the side of my head with a forehoof to illustrate this point.

Rebel gave a sage-like nod, “The first step is admitting you gotta problem. The second step is merciful euthanasia.” He struggled on the bigger words, unable to pronounce them properly. He must have learned them from Gangrene, seeing that she was a medic, but euthanization wasn’t something medics usually did. The foal made for the exit, stomping in the water puddles deliberately, splashing me and the walls. It’d be nice to go one day without getting covered in some form of gunk or piss. I followed, rejoining the others at the directory. We found only Keena there, Gangrene was nowhere within my limited range of sight.

The hippogryph waved at us as we made our approach, “Glad to see you didn’t fall in.” She joked with a smile. Rebel groaned and rolled his eyes.

“The kid knows his way around a toilet port.” I joked. “Where’s Gangrene?”

“She went to take care of the shopping. The mare told me to escort Rebel to the Rec Center and to tell you not to stray too far from the entrance so you’ll be easier to find.” The birdpony folded up her wings neatly after stretching them out. “Are you ready to go Rebel?”

The foal snorted, “Doncha’ go thinking I can’t handle myself. I live here, bird brain. I’ll get there. On. My. Own.” He punctuated each word at the end with a little stomp of his hoof. “Gangy ain’t thinkin’, itta safe bet that letting Steelplot here to wander alone is just begging for trouble. You should stick to him, I trust you’re at least a tad bit smarter than his hopeless ass.”

Keena shifted uncomfortably, her headcrest falling back, she winced at every foul word the child used. I wonder how’d she handle killing raiders if she couldn’t stand coarse language. “Watch your language, young foal. I can see your point. I’ll stick with Steelgraft and make sure to keep him safe.”

Now I was going to have a foalsitter of my very own. Wonderful. I opened my mouth to say something snide and snippy but was swiftly interrupted by a chime that echoed in the base of my skull. A floating scroll appeared before me, warped and barely legible writing appeared on it, reminding me of a set of objectives.

Current Mission: Baking Bad
1.) Proceed to Food Court
2.) Rendezvous at Donuts Extreme
3.) Locate lead on Warlord whereabouts
4.) Eliminate Target

        I waved at the scroll, trying to dismiss it. I struck it and it sailed away, but quickly returned. I swatted or tried to roll it up a few times to no avail. Keena and Rebel stared at me, looking confused.

        “What are you doing, swatting at imaginary flies?” Rebel asked, face scrunching up as he looked around for an actual fly. Seeing none, he settled his gaze back on me.

        “You don’t see the floating scroll with the writing on it?” I gestured to it, it was right there, plain as day. It reacted to my every touch, shimmering and crackling as it’s transparency shifted. “It’s right here, a magic scroll!” I’m just going crazy. The voices, the things I see. They’re just hallucinations. They might not be real at all. But they seem so damn real!

        Neither of them could see it, Keena at least squinted her eyes and looked about for the scroll before giving up. “I do not see anything Steelgraft, perhaps it is just your imagination, my friend?” She had a more polite way of saying I might be crazy, but at least she wasn’t mocking me as Rebel was.

        “He’s just buckin’ nutso, you see what I mean? Leave him alone for an hour and all of Big Top’ll be on him for a public hanging. His looks alone would warrant mass hysteria.” Rebel was very adamant about this, either that or he just wanted to ditch Keena and go it alone.

        “I see your point, Rebel. I will keep an eye on Steelgraft. Just be safe.” She agreed finally.

        The scroll was not leaving me be, it was hovering in my face and the directives on it were flashing rapidly, indicating what I needed to go. “I was thinking of going to the food court.” I grumbled, “I’m feeling hungry.” I wasn’t, but I figured they wouldn’t know I never ate. I just needed an excuse to go there.

The foal nodded, “Yeah, just follow the directory. I’ll come find yah after the guns ‘ah fixed up. Just don’t make a nuisance of yourselves. Avoid the plaza if you’re feeling squikish.” I took note of his advice, and soon he was already scampering off, his riot shield rattling in its sling, causing him to wobble as he trotted off along the stained cobblestone floor.

Rebel left us to wait for Gangrene at the Recreation Center, giving me some time to take care of my business of meeting up with my contacts to recover some form of aid. I sincerely hoped it was something useful, like a lead on where Muffincake was hiding, but that’d be far too convenient.

 The outdoor mall had a similar appearance to the shopping district we had passed through to reach the Highscore Arcade, except all the shops were reasonably intact or had been refurbished into decent condition. I used decent loosely here, considering that a majority of the stores here had broken windows and were filled with the same debris I’d seen outside in wrecked ruins. The shops were faded, but at least colorful, and some of their windows were intact, old displays in the windows had been changed to reflect the new mildly oppressive atmosphere. One shop in particular was ‘Dress for Excess’ which was now a heavy armor shop, behind the glass a suit of power armor stood on it’s own, welded together and bolted to the floor, it was a battered ‘retired’ suit that was just a display now. I half expected the armored suit to leap out at me and attack us the moment we turned our backs. For this reason, I didn’t take my eye off it until we were a safe distance from the window, which made me quite popular with the merchant behind the stall I slammed into. Stall’s display toppled, scattering a collection of immaculately clean mugs and clipboards to scatter on the cobblestones.

“HEY!” The burly merchant shouted, reaching up with his hooves to stop his display from joining the merchandise on the floor. He bared his teeth, showing off his crooked, unwashed grin.

I went to collecting the goods from the ground, Keena helping me quickly. I wondered why none of the mugs were shattered, they sounded like they were just normal white-glaze ceramic but their resilience left them unscathed. Instead of getting angry, the merchant helped us clean up his stall and soon it was back to the way it was before my bungle into it’s side.

“That’s better!” He tweaked the sign next to the display, it read ‘Indigo’s Indestructibles, Guaranteed indestructible’. “Thanks for the clean up, chum, but best watch your step from now on. I’d tell you ‘you break it you buy it’, but you ain’t ever breaking my stuff.” he laughed, his pudgy belly heaving with every laugh. He straightened his thick handlebar mustache and wiped his greasy hooves on his apron. “How about you take a look at my wares, hmmm?”

“Yeah, sorry about that. I’ll pay more attention.” I promised, chuckling. The merchant  wasn’t unpleasant. He didn’t even care about my appearance! “I really don’t have any caps.”

“Does it hurt to look? No! You need not pay for looking.” He waved at his happily wares, which included the mentioned clipboards, mugs, and other assorted ‘Indestructibles’.

“What makes these wares so durable?” Keena asked, which seemed to be what Indigo was waiting for.

“I am glad you asked! It is made of Stubbornite, a magical material that resists change. Virtually indestructible!” He went on a long list of uses for clipboards, most of which involved defense, and what was so great about reliable things that never broke. “They could be family heirlooms, never get old, stain, or even scratched. A little wonderglue, fasten together the best armor in the wastes! They make great souvenirs for the wastelander on the go!” He spun a good spiel, but I was skeptical.

“I really doubt a clipboard’s that durable.” I disputed his claim, turning away, “Sorry, but like I said, no caps, no interest.”

“Wait, I get it, you need a demonstration. Tell you what, take this clip board on the house, see for yourself how useful it can be! Then come back and bring friends to buy some clipboards and memorabilia once you see just how amazing Indigo’s Indestructibles really are.” He shoved the clipboard towards me, pressing it to my chest with a hoof. “and if you manage to break it and tell me how, I will give you a reward.”

Of course I’d try breaking it immediately, right in front of the merchant. Keena watched with interest as I tried to bend it in half, snap it, stomp on it, and pound it into the ground with no avail. The bird horse chirped softly, laughing as I frantically leapt up and down on it.

        “Steelgraft, you’ll break the ground before you break that clipboard.” The bird horse chirped softly, laughing as I  leapt up and down on the eldritch piece of office equipment that was  seemingly unvanquishable.  

        
Stowing the clipboard away, I vowed to Indigo to bring it back in splinters, just like his misguided dreams at becoming a ballerina. He only laughed and wished me the best of luck. Keena and I continued on our way, passing abandoned storefronts and other merchants shouting out to passing travelers. According to the directory the food court was near the old pony theatre down the left path once we got to the plaza, the same plaza Rebel Riot had warned us to avoid. It was blatantly obvious why once we reached where the plaza was.

Down a pair of escalators, which due to being out of order were technically stairs, leading to a subterranean lower floor filled with ponies, griffins, and the occasional minotaur or other odd rarity of wasteland fauna. Large reinforced streetlights fused together held a net of oppressive razor wire in place over the entire settlement, making it seem almost like a giant tent.  

The plaza of The Blok was a hexagon shaped area created by the three branches of the mall coming together at an angle to create it. Large pillars held up the first floor walkway we stood on, the old stucco was battered and cracked, dirty with age. A large fountain sat at the center, instead of water there was blood sitting in the reservoir, there was no figure in the center spewing water, but a large and terrifying looking guillotine with a sharpened piece of sheet metal for a blade. There was even a set of gallows built into part of the overhanging walkway just behind it, several bodies hung on nooses, swinging whenever someone passing beneath struck them.

Keena winced, looking away, “It must be just past 6 O’clock,” She crowed through a retch, covering her beak, “They always hold their p-public executions around that time.” She explained through her little gags and horrified wheezes. She didn’t have the stomach for this, this called into question whether or not she’d be able to kill a raider when the time came.

“That’s gruesome. What did they do to deserve that?” I had to ask, didn’t I?

The hippogryph turned away from the sight, her painted flanks shivering. She trotted away from me, gesturing me to follow her. “Rape, murder, and slave trading.” She chirped with an inward breath, her dark plumage ruffling around her neck, amber eyes locking on me. “The world is better off not tolerating their ilk.”

The sight was surreal to me. This place was a calm shopping center where you once could bring a family, go catch a movie, maybe a sunday matinée, hit the arcade just down the street, or go out to dinner. Now you could more easily catch a disease and watch a prime time daily execution of raiders and criminals. Entertainment sure did change a lot.

We made it to the food court unmolested for the most part. There was one mare that stopped us, asking us if we had seen her little fillies. She had with her a small piece of parchment with their likenesses drawn up upon them and claimed to have been posting them around the area. Keena took one of the fliers, promising to keep her eyes open in case she spotted them.

The food court was what you would expect in any mall in equestria, it was a cul de sac of confection shops and eateries with a gathering of tables and booths in the center, flanked by overflowing trash bins. Food trays littered tables, ponies of all shapes and colors sat eating what the shops offered. Freeze dried funnel cakes, war ration pastries, barbequed vegetables and fruit. The air was alight with the aroma of all these flavors and smells against the backdrop of cheerful looking shops.

‘The Spit’ was one such shop that sold grilled veggies, worked by a mild mannered mare who had scorch marks all over her, a phoenix was fanning the flames of the grill’s rack which was fashioned from the side of an overturned shopping cart. Another shop was the ‘Wartime Rations Bakery’, styled to look like it was made of graham crackers and candy, complete with candy corn cannons and gingerpony soldiers, it also boasted a large inflatable pony on the roof, a pink mare with a grey stripe, effectively making her mane look like a candy cane. ‘Pinkie Pie Approved! All proceeds to Birthday Parties for Super Needy Poni--’ A banner tried to convey a message, but whomever had put it up had run out of space. It was as old as this mall, nopony had ever bothered to take it or the inflatable pony holding it down. The razor wire was dangerously close to the inflatable, and briefly, I wondered if it would fly about like a deflating balloon if punctured.

“This is...Unusual.” I’d expected something more depressing, honestly. I selected a table a stone’s throw distance from anyone else and sat down, brushing discarded wrappers off the tabletop. A chime echoed inside the base of my skull and the scroll appeared before me once again, automatically updating.

Current Mission: Baking Bad
1.) Proceed to Foodcourt--⌫
2.) Rendezvous at Donuts Extreme--⇦
3.) Locate lead on Warlord whereabouts
4.) Eliminate Target

        This was an aggravation, the scroll would not go away, and the soft, subtle ‘ping’ sounded every dozen seconds, trying to remind me of my objective. I gritted my teeth, begrudgingly asking Keena, “Where is Donuts Extreme at?” The scroll rolled up, vanishing into itself. That irritation was trying to keep me on track, doing exactly what I was told to do. I did not like that at all.

Keena joined me at a table, she was considering which place she would eat at if she had the caps to do so. “Well, fasting is a meal in itself.” The hippogryph grumbled, then glanced to me, narrowing her eyes, “I do not like that tone, if something is bothering you, tell me. As for Donuts Extreme? Why would you want to go there?”

I drummed my fingers on the table, ears folding back, I hadn’t meant to get mad at Keena. “Sorry, it’s this...Overactive imagination of mine. It’s bothering me. I just got to meet some friends there.”

The hippogryph studied me for a moment, discerning if I was genuinely sorry or not. Satisfied, she smiled, “That is okay. I am sure you’re just grumpy in your old age.” Ouch, Keena, that was a low blow. “What kind of friends would you have there? Perverted ones, no doubt.”

“What?” I processed that for a moment, looking ultimately confused. “I just want to go to a donut shop, see some acquaintances.” I stirred the air with a foreleg, tilting my head back, “What, are donuts forbidden for Eternites?” I teased.

The hippogryph laughed, “No, no...It’s not my place to judge, I am just surprised. The shop is over there, past the pretzel cart, next to the Zebrican themed bar. I’m not coming with you, though. The owner always stares at me.”

“Well, to be fair, you do stand out.” I mentioned, at which she chirped and avoided my gaze. “I’m not leaving right away. I might stick around, chat with you a bit.” I added, “You said you wanted to talk to me, make your fellow church goers jealous?” Getting to know her didn’t seem like a bad idea, I liked her morals and how she had a decent respect for life and decency. I bet that made her unpopular.

“That would be nice, but not to make my sisters and brothers jealous, but to enlighten them that your kind can be saved.” She rested her talons on the table and clasped them together. “Would you like to hear about the church?”

        “I can’t believe I’m saying this...” I pressed both my gauntlets into my face and brushed my mane back slowly, resting my forehooves under my chin to prop my head up, “Sock it to me. Tell me about your church.”

“The church of Eternia follows the teachings of the four gods. The ones we all know, represented by their avatars that have since moved on. There is Celestia, goddess of the sun, Luna, goddess of the night, Cadance, goddess of love, and Discord, god of chaos.” She paused for a moment, “Are you following so far?”

This was a recap on the gods of the world, my eye fell to the table. I knew this already, but it’d be rude to just tune it out. “Yeah. I get why you’d worship Celestia and Luna, but why the other two?” I asked boredly. “You said they moved on. What happened to them?”

Her expression grim, Keena lowered her gaze to the table, “It is uncertain, some say they perished in Canterlot. Others believe they ascended to the heavens. Some believe the goddess of love is still among us, somewhere. As for Discord, he is everywhere. Some claim he makes strange things happen in the Wastelands, giving signs of a strange, wacky nature.”

“What are their teachings?” I asked, my interest piqued. With the exception of Discord, I saw the ‘Gods’ as powerful, ageless rulers in my time with magnificent magical powers. The fact they had been turned to deities was a testament to their influence.

“Compassion, kindness, patience, humility. Though it depends on which of the great four you are most attuned to.” She chirped cheerfully, “Whichever your choice, it all ends with eventual enlightenment to join the Eternal Herd.”

“I bet those steel rangers could use some enlightenment. Buck, some lightening up would work too.” I groused, letting my face drop to the table, briefly admiring the names that had been carved into the tabletop. I let out a hard exhale, my upper lip flying about liberally, “This has been great Keena. You mind if I go meet up with my pervert friends at Donuts Extreme?”

“Yes, I agree with you. Those Rangers need a lesson in humility and kindness. Most just with to avoid them or fight them. It’s refreshing to see an outsider that thinks like we do.” The birdhorse of the cloth said sweetly, “I don’t mind at all. If you wish to know more about the church of the Eternites you should listen to Father Faith’s broadcast this Sunday with me.”

“If we live through this to Sunday I’ll come visit your church with you.” I said as I got up to leave the table. It would be something nice to look forward to if I survived. It gave me a bit of hope.

I would never be able to look at donuts the same way again, ever. Tartarus below, I doubted I’d ever be able to look at another pastry again without having vivid, inappropriately graphic flashbacks to this den of sinful delight.

From the outside, Donuts Extreme was an unassuming shop with blacked out windows and flickering, magically animated neon signs. The most predominant glowing attention grabber was a mare seductively lapping her tongue around a donut’s hole, her face was splattered with glazed icing. To top it off, it moved! Okay, a bit perverted but it’s probably just to attract customers. I thought to myself, surely the inside wouldn’t have been that bad. I was wrong, I was delightfully, sweetly wrong!

Through the black painted glass double doors a bell chimed, the modest shop was clean, the soft fuschia countertops scuffed with hoofmarks. Two poles ascended into the tiled ceiling overhead at either side of the service counter, each occupied by a pony dancing to the beat of bouncing, deep beats. There were stools right in front of the counter with a few ponies sitting at them.

“Hey there cutie!” Called the pinto stallion from his pole, grinding his back against it as he rested on his haunches. The handsome buck wore nothing but donuts on his...On his dongle. I tried to look away, but my gaze came back to him. “My name’s Free Sample, would you like a taste?~” He bucked his hips at the air. He wasn’t talking directly to me, but instead to the few customers they had in the shop that just happened to include me.

“Oh, these ponies enjoy something with a little more tart~” Cooed the painted mare from her pole on the other end of the counter. She was standing on her front hooves, her limber body lurching slowly, her spine curving elegantly before her rear hit the pole. She slid down, her rear hooves hitting the counter, she looked at me from between her spread legs. She also only wore a donut, a single ring of glazed dough held in the tension of her flank cheeks just below her short cropped tail. “Discount on the donut I’m wearing!” A mare sitting at the stool in front of her dancing pole put her forelegs on the counter and took her up on that offer--By eating the donut off her.

My mouth was dry, my tongue became cemented to the roof of my mouth. It was a stunned animal, twitching at the mouth of it’s burrow. I shook my head quickly, closing my eye. I sputtered dryly, skirting around to the counter to greet the pony behind the register.

“Welcome tah Donuts Extreme!” Chirped the ruddy tan stallion behind the counter, the smile dropped from his face as he got a good look at me, “Bucking buck fuck, what happened to you?! I thought I had a runna bad luck in the wastes, but at least I didn’t hit every single ugly tree in Everfree with my face like you did!” The tan stallion in question had a few scars, but he was average in appearance, his reaction to me was atypical. No fear, no suspicion, just crass and sassy mocking.

“I died,” I deadpanned darkly, “Then someone decided I’d make a great taxidermy project.”

The stallion gave a sour look and chuckled, “They did a horrible job, buster!” My livid expression was met with a weak smile from the buck. “What can I do you for? You here for Donuts or are you here for the Extreme?” He leaned against the counter, setting the short stump of what remained of his left foreleg and gestured to the menu with his intact foreleg. There were two menus, one for just donuts and one for donuts and sex at the same time. “Extreme’s double fer yah, ghoulie, it’s unfair tah make my employees buck something like you without a bonus.”

“I’d really enjoy it if you could get off my stitches.” I growled softly, “We could talk about how you lost your leg, how would you like that?”

The earth stallion chuckled, “Aw, aincha a cute lil rotter!” He turned his head, “Zone Control, we got ourselves a regular comedian! Couldja do your job sweety and show him the door?”

The mare he called entered through the swinging doors behind the counter, wearing a chefs hat. Dough and flour powdered her blue coat, her mane completely white. She looked a bit heavy, either there was a baby on board or she was just generous when helping herself to donuts here. “Harassing customers again, Fritter?” The unicorn mare said with brevity, levitating the chef’s hat off her head and setting it on a peg hanging next to the door.

“Nah, we got ourselves a smart mouthed rotter scarin’ customers with his ugly!” Fritter chuffed, waving his stump at me accusingly. “Ah toldja we should have put up a ‘No Ghouls Allowed’ sign! We don’t need rotters givin’ my employees the crabapple itch!”

“I’m used to you being a jerk, dear, but please stop.” Zone Control said through a strained yet glowing smile. She stepped up to the counter, taking me in, her eyes traveling up and down my face slowly. “I thought you said he was ugly.” The mare chided at Fritter, “I think you’re just jealous a ghoul could be cuter than you.”

Fritter flailed his stump at the air in my general direction, “What?! I am so much better lookin’ than that buck! Sure, maybe I gotta few scars but I’m still your studly bear!”

“That you are, sweetums, but you’re being awfully rude to our customers. We should have service with a smile.”

I was rather baffled, so, the three legged stallion called in his pregnant wife to...Throw me out the door. “You can stop wiggling your flipper at me anytime Floppy Fritter. I’m not that into you.” Might as well take a swing at the stammering tan stallion’s ego while I was at it, in front of his wife no less.
 

“I’m sorry for my husband, he’s a terrible flirt.” Zone joined me, further flustering the stallion until his face became beet red. “Since hubby is being grumpy, I’ll take your order.” She turned her head and called to the mare at the pole, “Glazed, would you mind getting the next batch out of the frier while I handle this customer?”

“B-but ah! I’m workin’!” The stripper mare ground her painted plot into the face of the pony eating the donut from beneath her tail. The donut was long gone, now the mare servicing her was just licking all the glazed sugar as sweat off her flanks. Donut hole has just been permanently redefined. 

The mare dubbed ‘Zone Control’ rolled her eyes and sighed, “Free Sample, are you...” She didn’t finish her statement, her eyes glazed over and she averted her attention from Free Sample’s ‘work’ he was doing for a pair of stallions drooling in lust for his swaying caboose.

“Guess that leaves you, Fritter.” Zone Control said expectantly, “I’ll take care of our guest, you go into the back and try not to burn yourself with the hot oil.”

“But...I...UGH! Fine, I’ll just go.” The stallion donned the chef’s hat and stumbled off into the kitchen, cursing all the way. This was quickly becoming my favorite pastry shop of all time, mostly because of the plucky blue mare.

“Sorry about that, Frisky’s just real cautious around ghouls. Especially ones that have a remarkable resemblance to those stitchwork abominations from the Dead Zone.” Every syllable held knowing, her coy and playful manner laid her testimony bare. An ominous click of a gun’s hammer to the left of my head solidified my suspicions. Her horn had been faintly glowing with a soft opaque aura this whole time, why hadn’t I noticed earlier? The mare had floated a large riot shotgun around the counter into my blind spot and had it to my temple.

The dancers still danced, entertaining their guests, the door’s bell sounded, a short line of ponies grew behind me, and everything was proceeding normally for this quaint little shop. Turning a blind eye to the shotgun wasn’t an issue for any of them.

These two were my contacts, the mare was surprisingly polite for having a gun to my head. “Aren’t we friendly.” I croaked, my dry throat rattling every chord. My mouth, which was already dry was now a barren desert, my lips were sticking together. A majority of my body didn’t function normally, the parts that did were growing to be an irritation. It was my nerves or dehydration.  My body was drying out, which meant I would need an occasional fluid intake.

“You don’t survive in the wastes long without earning a few scars or learning a few tricks,” Zone Control said while pressing the barrel against the side of my skull. “I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt.”

“So benefit of the doubt to you is a shotgun to my head?” I asked glumly.

“I haven’t pulled the trigger. I could be wrong about you. I want to be wrong about you.” Zone Control said gently. The mare beamed a smile to the customers that were getting impatient behind me, “Give me just a moment, I’ll be right with you. This stallion here’s a first timer, he’s just indecisive!” She gave them a friendly wave.

        The stallion in the mirror hadn’t told me who to look for or what to say to find my contact. Instead of waiting and watching, I stupidly ran into a hurdle of passive aggressive resistance in the form of an interrogation at gunpoint. “You could just take care of the other customers first.” I offered, forcing a weak, faltering smile. I stood aside, the shotgun following me, the next customer took my place.

Zone Control began taking orders, flashing her gaze at me occasionally between accepting caps and ringing the bell for Frisky Fritter to bring more donuts, their glass display case was getting low. Fritter seemed to find glee in seeing the shotgun floating at my temple, giving a soft guffaw at my expense while he carried a tray of fresh, warm donuts on his back.

Once all customers were dealt with, taking their orders or getting in line to ‘partake in the extreme’ with the donut stripper of their choice, Zone Control’s attentions were once again upon me exclusively. “I can already tell you’re not here for donuts or sex, so what are you here for?” She tried to coax an answer from me, greasing my lips with the impending threat of a shotgun blast.

“It’ll sound crazy.” I confessed, my head drooping, crimson locks falling about my face, “But a stallion in a mirror told me to come here, saying that ‘Zone Control and Frisky Fritter’ had something to make my assignment more bearable.” I winced, expecting my life to end at any moment. All the hype about deadmare being difficult to kill did little to soothe my fears of getting my skullcap blown off.

Zone Control slowly lowered the shotgun, her eyes slowly widening from their once-narrowed glare. “Who are you?”

What had the stallion said? My name was Pestilence? No! It was...was something about petunias. My eye rolled towards the ceiling, my lower lip curling between my lips. I bit so hard that black ooze dripped out onto the floor. “I’m Operative P?” ‘P’ for bullet perforation!

The shotgun sailed back over the counter, sliding under to be stowed away, “You’re him?” She seemed surprised, astounded, almost a little bit excited. “You’re Operative Penance? I figured you’d never show up.” She was leaning down behind the counter, “It’s a good thing I stopped Fritter from selling your things.” She came back up with a moderately sized brown box tied shut with twine string. A heavy ‘Clank’ was barely heard over the music as she shut the heavy metal door to the floor safe she had fetched the box from. “Here you go. Just have a seat over at the booth, I’m going to tell Fritter who you are. Hopefully he will mind his manners.”

I picked up the box and gave it a shake next to my ear, nothing but a muffled, heavy rattle. Giddily I sat at one of the booths near the large blacked out windows. Red booth seats with patched and stitched upholstery, several wicked springs shot from torn, gaping holes as I sat down. “Cozy.” I muttered, settling down with a creak. I undid the twine laces and opened the box eagerly. It was like a birthday present! What was inside. A powerful weapon? An enchanted object that would always steer me true? A bomb disarming kit to get my collar off?

Lifting the lid revealed a pair of boots. Pony greaves fashioned out of hard leather, laced, and ending in heavy metal dome plates riveted over where the hooves would be. “That’s it? What’s supposed to help me is a pair of greaves?” I spat in disbelief.

I took the boots out and dropped them onto the table, overturned the box and shook. A few more items tumbled out. A small black ring box, a compass, an eyepatch with a winged equine skull on it, and a piece of paper fluttered out. It lazily spun, flipping in the air. I snatched it after tossing the box aside. It was a journal page, old yellowed parchment written on in intricate yet legible scrawl. I took the time to read it to myself.

What is a name?  A curious thing, a name.  A word alone, yet so much more than just that alone.  It evokes images, beliefs, and thoughts.  Even without knowing the pony, a name can tell much, right or wrong.  Yet they are also transient things, subject to whim and device, to the plots of others.  Twisted beyond recognition, a mere shadow of their original meaning and purpose.  They become spectres of their former selves, no longer recognizable save through a warped looking glass.

Some names are strong enough to withstand the forces of others, for a time.  Yet even the strongest names can be twisted and fouled.  What hope do we poor ponies have when even the greatest of us can have their names smeared and slandered while they yet live?  I shield myself with the cloak of anonymity.  My name, while important to me, never shared the import that others did.  I was alone, forgotten... but that also brought  the security that when I passed, the memory of me would pass also.  For you, Captain... they barely let the body cool before warping your name.

Most of us knew the story.  Most of us were there.  We watched your fall, your slow decline.  I watched you die.  You were a hero.  A tragic figure with a heartbreaking end.  It was dramatic.  It was poetic.  It was fitting.  Your legend should have ended there.  Yet others conspired against you.  They could not just let you rest, they could not just let you die.  I watched as they turned your story to one of revenge and fear, warmongering and death.  I knew the difference, the truth, but stricken in grief and despair, I remained silent, and let them tarnish your name.

You were a statistic, a figure.  Another tragic loss in the war.  The memory of you was twisted from who you were into an empty shell, a meaningless number.  You died that day, Captain, but even afterwards I did nothing.  I withdrew.  And thus, I finished my betrayal.
~From the Journal of Nevermore~

From the journal of Nevermore? This was the same pony from the earlier page I had found. I pulled the other journal page from my saddlebag along with the clip board, who knew it’d become useful, I put both pages on it and clipped them in place. The hoof-writing and signatures were identical.

        The pulse of the music and the giggle, squeals, and whistles of ponies around the shop masked the approach of Zone Control. The mare captured my attention by setting down a set of cups filled with chilled water and a small chipped plate covered in several colorfully decorated donuts. “Reading Nevermore’s journal page? She left that with us for you.” The mare said in passing, offering me one of the cups.

“You know Nevermore? I didn’t think she was alive or involved with me. I thought it was just coincidence.” I replied, beginning to piece things together slowly. I never claimed to be the smartest stallion, but my hypothesis was that these journal pages were about me; hints to my past to help me remember. Tilting the cup to my lips I took a strong gulp, my mouth wasn’t so dry anymore, the rattle plaguing my throat vanished after a few swallows. I sputtered, forcing the water down, my body tried to reject it, some spilling over my lips onto the table.

        “Yeah, she hasn’t fared well as you, she’s a ghoul.” She surrounded the donut covered plate in a quick shield spell, protecting it from the water I spewed when I coughed. “Careful there, you shouldn’t drink so fast!”

        “So this guy’s it, huh? What a joke!” Fritter came over to join his wife, standing beside the table. He mopped up my spillage with a rag in his mouth and then slapped the dripping thing over his shoulder. “Head-Case madeja sound a whole lot more impressive. You kin hardly handle my wife holdin’ you at gunpoint.” Head-Case was mentioned, so these ponies knew him too? That meant I wasn’t crazy, that I did actually see a stallion through a mirror. I still wondered how that had happened.

        “You can’t handle me at gunpoint either, dear. I doubt he was expecting such a rude reception.” Zone Control said, levitating a donut from the plate and taking a small, dainty nibble. She made a face and wrinkled her nose, “These don’t taste right with the artificial sweetener.”

        “Yeah, I know. There ain’t any good trade caravans in business after the latest blockades.” Fritter’s expression soured darkly, his upper lip curled and he snorted out harshly. “Them no-good barbarian baker clans’re draining the city of sweetstuff. It’d be better if the cuppycakers hadn’t been taken over by em’ too.”

        While the two had a more personal conversation, some of it regarding me as if I wasn’t there, I was going through the other items from the box. The compass was broken, it’s compass spinning madly in a quick circle over and over again. “You know what’s neat about this compass? A lot of ponies tell me it’s broken but it never steers me wrong. It always points where I need to go.” The echoes of a voice, my own voice, spoken to someone else in a memory. If it was true, than this compass would tell me where I needed to go, but it only spun madly in an aimless circle. The way the needle spun in the brass casing was hypnotic, the gem inlay on the compass’s face shimmered in the warm lighting of the shop. Peridot for North, opal for South, pearl for West, and a amethyst for East. “It happened in October, my life went South. I set this stone in my compass so I would never forget I lost you, my one true love. We buried you in a box too small to carry all the love we had for you.” The relapse into my memories at the graveyard became fresh in my mind, staring at the tombstone where my wife lay buried, my memories failed to be clear enough so that I could remember her name. What did the other stones mean?

        “Hey, buddy, you even listening?” Fritter snorted out steam from his nostrils into the side of my face making my ear flick. “My wife’s talkin’ to yah.” He sneered.

        I jolted, awareness crashing into me as the wet rag that Frisky wielded was slapped over my snout. He pulled the the rag back and I blinked my eyes several time to refocus them on the mare sitting in front of me. She was giving a very disapproving look at Frisky. “Sorry, I blanked out there for a moment. What did you say?” I asked, rubbing the back of my head with my knuckles.

        Zone Control sighed and turned her gaze back over to me after staring daggers at Fritter, “I asked if you wanted a donut.” She pushed the plate to me in her telekinetic grasp.

        I stared at her for a few moments before setting the compass down and reaching out for one of the donuts off the plate. I never felt hungry but I could taste just fine. I took a bite, the outer layer was crisp and the dough inside was fluffy, almost like cotton candy. The taste was tart and sweet. “It tastes pretty good to me.” I complimented with a full mouth of the sticky, sweet goodness. I finished it and took the next one, downing that in a few bites.

        “Looks like somepony really likes your donuts, Fritter.” Zone Control giggled.

        “About time somepony appreciated my donuts! Most just come for the ‘Extreme’.” Fritter grumbled, rolling his eyes, “Can’t blame em' though.” He glanced over to where the stripper mare was ‘entertaining’ her clients. He licked his lips and purred throatily, “Glazed Marshmellow is really something.”

        “Ahem,” Zone Control cleared her throat, both brows raised. “Sweety, you’re drooling and staring. At another mare. While your pregnant wife is here.”

Frisky Fritter chuckled nervously, “I uh, you’re really something too! M-my something! The something I Like to glaze!” When Zone’s expression didn’t lighten by much he smiled wide, “I think I bettah check on the next batch!” He squeaked, leaving before he could capture his wife’s ire, shambling off to slide over the counter, tail flicking as he wormed over.

“Yeah, you go do that.” Zone Control giggled, shaking her head and taking another bit from her donut. She snorted, seeing me polish off the last of the donuts on the plate. “You don’t waste any time, do you? You eat like a feral ghoul, Penance.”

Washing down the rest of the sweet mush I wiped my snout on my foreleg. “Really needed some comfort food.” I reasoned, reaching out for the small ring box. I might as well check out what was inside. “You can call me Steelgraft, that’s a less silly name.“

“Suits you, too.” Zone Control agreed, “I’d hate to agree with Frisky, but Head-Case had you made out to be something more impressive.”

The content of the ring box was a small, silvery grey orb sitting in the middle of a stretched silver wedding band. The band was inscribed with letters that were not legible, tarnished beyond deciphering. “My reputation’s totally overblown.” I spoke lightly, frowning. “What is this thing?” I rolled the orb between my metal forefinger and thumb, inspecting it closely.

“I want to believe in a better future, one without Hades or the Warlords.” Zone Control confided in me, resting a hoof onto her swollen tummy, rubbing it with a motherly smile as she gazed to it. “A free Detrot for my baby.” Her gaze raised up to the orb I held, her smile still warm. “That’s a memory orb,” she told me, “That one holds one of your memories.”

Even when identified the object remained a mystery. “How do I use it?”

“It’s ah suppository.” Frisky Fritter chuckled, having came by to collect the soiled plate and set a new plate laden with donuts down. “Yah just pop it right into your bum!” He popped his lips and gave a quick nod towards his rear.

“In...My plot.” I uttered, shuddering, “There’s a better way? I could just swallow it.”

Fritter was laughing at my expense, Zone Control swiftly corrected him. “No, Steelgraft, that’s a memory orb, you use your horn.” The mare was glaring at Fritter again. “Maybe you should go back to the kitchen, dearest. Make some more donuts.”

“I only got three hooves and I ain’t no unicorn. It ain’t easy to work the oven and fryer!” The earth stallion whined, flailing his stump around dramatically. “I’ll end up with burns.”

Point made, the mare answered it’s call and rose from her seat with some effort, hefting her weight and settling onto her hooves. A short huff escaped her lips, she winced and felt her tummy. Fritter braced against her side and they shared a smile.

“You okay, honey?” He asked, worry in his voice.

“The baby just kicked a little is all.” She replied, giggling. “The baby is just as energetic as thier father,” She teased, nosing him lightly, “I’ll go take care of the baking, but you have to do the dishes when I’m done.” She said, overcoming her earlier frustrations with him so that her love was the only thing that showed through.

“That’s a deal, honey bunches.” He beamed in response, kissing her lightly. He watched Zone Control leave, his gaze lingering on her flanks and rolling all over her body. “I’m the luckiest stallion in the world.” He boasted, giving a soft, dreamy swoon.

“And yes you’re a complete jackass.” I remarked. I was focused on the memory orb, trying to concentrate on it with my thoughts. My horn sparked once, feebly, and went out. I gave the nut at the base of my skull a wrenching, painful twist and tried again to no avail. My magic just did not work.

The store owner’s limited good manners vanished the moment his wife passed through the doors to the kitchen. He turned on me with a snarl, “I wantchu gone before she comes back out.” He ordered, “Who knows what bad business is following you. I don’t want it here. Gather your things, take these donuts, and leave.”

“Your place, your rules.” I acknowledged him. He seemed taken aback, surprised and pleased that I wouldn’t fight him on this. “I’ll be gone in a few minutes,” I continued, “Just let me use this orb and put my boots on.”

Fritter became much more polite when he found he wouldn’t have to fight. Maybe it was just because I respected his rules, this was his ‘castle’ after all. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt tah give you ten minutes.” He offered with a somewhat bitter smile. “Just be gone soon.” And Fritter left me to my own devices. Overall he wasn’t unpleasant. I envied and respected him, he had a lovely wife he wanted to protect. I would have acted no different than he was, so there would be no hard feelings.

My saddlebag was filled with the contents the box once held, I gave one final glance to both of the journal pages before stowing them away. What I thought was coincidence was not, the journal was about me--for me, by someone that knew me before I died. Nevermore, she was alive as a ghoul, somewhere out there. She probably knew all about who I was. I would have to track her down. I placed the donuts in the small brown box and cinched it closed, it would keep the donuts from being crushed. This sweet delicacy and beef jerky were among my favorite tastes, I would have to eat them sparingly and share them. The boots I was going to put on before I left. The compass was slipped away next to the bear trap and chain, and lastly the memory orb. I wanted to use that now.

“Ah, Fritter and Zone Control, such pleasant ponies.” The voice playing in the base of my skull almost made me drop the memory orb, juggling it in between my palms before I managed to subdue it. “Oh, sorry, I must have startled you. It’s just me, Head-Case.” The voice revealed.

“How long have you been listening in?” I asked as I got over that sense of dread that hearing voices in my head kept giving me. I was definitely going to go insane at this rate.

“Well, seeing as you have a memory orb that you don’t know how to use I am here to help you use it.” The background of his connection to me was filled with beeps and mechanical sounds, meshing with the subtle pumping beats of the donut shop’s music created an odd rhythm between the two. “I’m going to need you to uncover your left ocular--your iSeeU implant has a memory recollector built-in. The orb you now have was reformatted into a Black Opal and was locked so that only you could access it.”

That just flew right over my head, everything he said made no sense to me. He wanted me to uncover my left eye? I shuddered, resting my palm against the left side of my face. “Way outta right field, doc. That’ll hurt like a nail to the skull or a punch to the horn.” I warned, not wanting to go through the lancing discomfort that came with exposing my left eye to light.

“Sounds like a very bad implant or degradation. We’re going to need to get that fixed.” He mused. “But right now I am going to ask you to bear with it. It will be much easier to speak with you if you can see me, you deserve transparency on my part. It is no small task I’m asking you to do.”

“See you? What do you mean see you?”

“Just uncover your eye and you’ll see. Literally.” He answered cryptically.

Steeling myself I removed the eyepatch, wincing as the dim light dazzled my senses. The brightness dimmed, a thousand screens of data streaming over my vision, blotting out everything I could see. A loading bar appeared, a slow rotating icon I did not recognize. A gear with an eye in the center, on either side there were three lines. advertisements for other things began to show up as I waited for whatever was supposed to show up--A pet robot dog from Robronco, a new high performance spell powered sky chariot, the latest and greatest innovations in maneframes for personal use.

==Login--Username: PP-013/\Pasword: *******==
[[Initiating bio-sync: 87% -- System Integrity: 23% Maintnenace Required]]
--Reboot Sequence Complete--iSeeU is online--

        A small minimap was displayed on a screen floating in my vision, a bar for my status and integrity read positive, and a simple read-out for nearby items of interest appeared. Most notably certain objects that I could place into my saddlebag or take were highlighted and a cursor appeared on the plate in front of me. It was red and warned me that stealing was wrong. Cute. My good friend imaginary floating scroll also appeared, updating itself for me.

Current Mission: Baking Bad
1.) Proceed to Foodcourt--⌫
2.) Rendezvous at Donuts Extreme--⌫
3.) Locate lead on Warlord whereabouts⇦
4.) Eliminate Target
        
“This is really busy...” I groused unhappily, batting at the scroll floating in my vision with great distaste.

        “I agree.” Head-Case said as yet another screen appeared with the others, this one was a simple screen that displayed the pony that had been talking to me. Head-Case smiled with his broken split lips from behind the dome egg-shaped glass of the tank that contained his head and neck. Bubbles drifted up in the light blue fluid filling the tank. The unicorn ghoul adjusted his glasses on his rotten muzzle , his smile wide, I could see his tongue and teeth through a gaping hole in one of his cheeks. “Perhaps we can find you a better mode for your HUD, but it works fine for now--at least while your left eye is uncovered.” He added cheerfully, waving a crab-like manipulator in a gesture.

“You’re a floating head in a jar.” I deadpanned. “I’m in a donut strip club talking to a disembodied head about things I have yet to understand.”

“Not bad for a Tuesday, no?” He chortled, causing another bubble to raise to the surface. “I believe you deserve transparency between us. No secrets. What I’m asking you to do is no small task.”

“You were pretty vague in the bathroom earlier.” I reminded. I shot careful glances about, making sure I wasn’t disturbing anyone. The dancers were good at keeping the attention of everypony in the shop. The HUD trailing in my vision and the pain creeping into my skull was making it hard to concentrate.

“Well, yes, there is little time. I have to juggle several responsibilities.” The head in a jar spoke  grimly. “My promise is that I will answer your questions honestly.” He assured me. That’s what he meant by transparency. He’d answer my questions. It was too bad time was short, I needed to look at this memory orb, and my eye socket was on fire.

My digits curled into the table, teeth gritting. I wanted to cover my eye up again, so getting this memory orb dealt with quickly scaled to the top of my priorities, trouncing the large pile of questions I had prepared. “Tell me how to use this idiot ball before my head bursts into flames.” I gurgled, nausea and pain driving the food I had eaten to rise in my throat.

“You certainly don’t stick it up your bum like Fritter was suggesting. You just look at it with your left eye and maintain eye contact for at least fifteen seconds. Your ocular will do the rest. You’ll be helpless and unable to do anything while you’re experiencing the memory, just like when you experience a synaptic memory relapse.” He informed me crisply and quickly, most of his words melting together into unintelligible technobabble.

Just stare at it, my mind urged, see what’s inside. It could be anything, from one of my own memories to a host of many others. “What memory is in it?” I asked, locking my gaze with the orb. My ocular calibrated, warning me to not look away.

[[Target acquired; Memory Orb]]
##engage## S.M.I.L.E.

        “Good intentions, Steelgraft.” Head-Case spoke sadly, “The road to Tartarus is paved with them.” His words faded away as the orb began to play it’s contents for me, tearing the worlds away in jagged smears of blended color until everything was muddled and unrecognizable.

        “Who would try ahn do something like that?” A mare’s voice coming from me demanded the computer screen I stared at. The mare looking back at me from the screen was a young adult mare with a reddish gamboge mane in messy curls and a light olive pelt.

“Ah don’t know, cuz! Somepony tried tah hurt big sis an’ ahm really scared!” The mare confessed through a set of sobs. The lace holding her mane together was messy and unkempt, her bow drooped just like her ears did.

“Don’tcha worry, I’ll be out on the first train outta the Trot to come sees yah!” I promised, or more accurately, the mare I was seeing through promised.

I was seeing a memory through someone else’s eyes, someone who had a thick accent that seemed incredibly familiar. Tough and blatantly forcing moxy into every word. I couldn’t take in the surroundings because my host was so intensely focused on the mare in the screen.

“I’d love tah see yah, Babs, Ah really would! What about yer research an’ yer patients? Yah gotta responsibility out thar.” The mare in the screen looked torn, between seeing somepony she cared about and making sure my host was responsible. “Them’re veterans yah’ll treatin’! Big Mac would be mighty disappointed iffin’ yah left them hangin’.’’

‘Pfffft’, my host blew a lock of her amaranth locks from her eyes, “I got dat covered, don’tcha worry ‘bout it. Thing’re goin’ great for these vets. Robronco’s gotta lotsa great materials and even jobs for these guys once they recover. I’m not lettin’ anypone get fresh ideas, staying true to the vision, know what I’m sayin’?” My host reached forward and adjusted the camera on top of the computer, “But yous needs me, so I’ll be there soon, got that?”

Before the mare from the screen could protest further, the video feed was cut. “W-wait, whydya turn off th’ video?” The sad mare on the other end cried.

“Cuz you’ll be seein’ me tomorrow, Applebloom.” My host said warmly. I felt tears welling in my eyes, my host was starting to cry. Her voice was straining. She was just putting on an act for her cousin. She didn’t want her to see the crying.

There was a pause from the other end, then the mare replied, sniffling, “T-thanks Babs. I’ll see yah soon.”

The communication was turned off and the terminal shut down. My host scooted back and let her attention slide over her desk to the papers covering it. One of them was a document pushed before her by a withered scar covered white hoof. My host’s attention traveled up the foreleg and settled on a scared and sickly stallion with a gold mane and tail, his smile was gentle as it was calm. “Thanks for keepin’ it down durin’ my call with Applebloom.” my host said softly, wiping her eyes, “Yah ain’t gonna tell anypone I cried, are yah?”

“I would not dream of such a thing. I am here to help you, Miss Seed,” The white stallion spoke consolingly. “You’ll have all the time you need with your family, as a representative of t-th...” He turned his head to cough, his hoof flying up to cover his maw.

A stallion next to the one with the golden mane offered him a hoofkerchief. This buck was even more torn up than the one having a coughing fit. My host looked at this buck and lingered her attention on him. The buck was an ashen grey, splotches of white pressing out through the still healing burns that covered him. Bandages wrapped his head, over his left eye, he wore sunglasses over them. Indoors, how fashionable. Red mane, tied back into a ponytail, leg braces. This earth stallion looked like he was very unlucky. No, to my horror, there were vestigial remains to a broken horn sticking out of his forehead! He was, or more accurately used to be, a unicorn.

“See something you like?” The stallion croaked lightly. “You’re staring.”

“No, ah! I mean...” My host closed her eyes and I could feel her head turn. When she opened them she was looking elsewhere in her office, namely to a small figurine of the Ministry Mare Applejack she kept on her desk. She pulled it closer to her with a hoof. “You should still be restin’, you’re one of my patients.”

“You’re not the only one that has to be tough for others.” The stallion chuckling. “You alright there, Wheezy?” The buck patted the golden maned stallion lightly on the back. “You’re not allowed to die before me, remember?”

This made the stallion laugh through his coughing fit and he soon settled, handing the blood covered hoofkerchief back to the other. “D-don’t make me laugh, it hurts t-to laugh.”

“Should I call ya a nurse? I don’t needja dyin’ in my office.” my host’s spirits were low, I could feel the lump in her throat and every emotion she experienced.

“No, there is more pressing matters. Namely, you signing the merger so that the researchers I am representing can work with you on your project while you are dealing with family matters. This is a personal favor, seeing as you’ve treated my old friend here very well.” There was something about this golden maned stallion that made me like him. My host was indifferent though, but she appreciated this offer. With a hesitant hoof she signed it in the places she was told to sign. She didn’t bother reading it.

“There.” She said with a sigh of relief, “Here’s hoping we can work together. Dr. Stable is against it but he’ll come around. I won’t forget this favor. I just worry for the veterans, yaknow?”

“Duly noted, Miss Seed. I have no official capacity or authority in this, I’m only here because Fluttershy is where you should be, with her friends at Applejack’s side.” He said with kindness, bowing his head solemnly, “In fact, my friend here is one of the best Airship Pilots serving the Ministry of Awesome. He’s here to deliver you to your destination no later than this evening.”

Her heart leapt in her chest, eyes misting with tears, this time out of happiness. “Y-you mean it? I thought I’d haveta take the train or call in a favor! You’re making this real easy!” My heart, sank, the ballast to my host’s. Her joy rose as my indifference and curiosity became a lead weight and dropped me. That stallion that was in the room, the one next to the golden maned stallion was me.

“I owe you.” The war-torn me from a previous life said, “You’ve taken good care of my sister and injured crew. Family is all I have left. Let me take you to yours.”

Wordlessly the mare pushed her chair back and rose up, picking up her statuette of Applejack. “This is all I need. I can buy clothes and such when we get there. Lets go!” My host rounded the desk and made for the door like an eager little filly. The memory faded away to a mute smear of brown, muddled fog.

Back in Donuts Extreme, in my own body, once again mostly numb and unfeeling save for the burning exposure of my faulty eye implant to the light I began to make sense of what I just saw. “W-what was that?” I stuttered, my mind reeling in confusion, “I can’t make sense of it, why was that important?”

Head-Case was shocked to see me animate again, giving a startled grunt and hovering back in the screen’s feed so I saw him in his entirety. He was indeed just a head floating in a jar. “Oh! You’re back. Well, what you saw was the beginning of the end for Detrot. The mare running the rehabilitation project, Babs Seed, signed over her project to the O.I.A.--At the time it looked like she was just signing a joint  effort between the Ministry of Peace, Wartime Technology, Arcane Sciences, and Robronco. The Office of Interministry Affairs handled the merger. As you can see by your condition, good intentions went sour.”

“I was there. I was messed up. I have a sister! M-my crew...T-this is a lot.” I clutched either side of my head and grit my teeth, I could feel the pain of resurfacing memories driving nails into my skull. Because of the memory I knew what it felt to want to cry but to hold back, everything was happening so fast. Take it in stride. Take it with pride. Keep moving forward. “Who was that stallion He was my friend, wasn’t he?” The golden locks, the nickname wheezy, I could hear his voice so clearly.

“Your son’s a natural, just like you were. He’s very bright.” The stallion’s voice was familiar, the same one from the memory, just less tired. “I’m glad to hear that. Recoil would be so proud.” My voice replied internally. “Say, how do you like chess?” “I like it with hard cider, Mister Goldenblood.” “Please, just call me Goldenblood.” It didn’t make sense to me, it had no consistent basis, he was talking about my son as if he was his pupil. Was that how I knew him, through my son?

“That stallion was your best friend, Steelgraft. It is why you’re in the condition you are now. When you died, he spared no expense to bring you back. His name was--”

“Goldenblood,” I interrupted. “His name was Goldenblood.”

“Yes. I’m glad you’re beginning to remember. He was the figurehead of the O.I.A. and he, like you, did what he could to ease the burden on the Ministry Mares. On the surface he was a charismatic, kind and unknown leader and advisor. Beyond that, he was a manipulator. Of the many projects he greenlighted or overtook, yours was by far the most grim and dark.” Head-Case’s synopsis was jarring and upsetting, Goldenblood was my friend. All I could recall were fond memories, at least now that I was starting to remember him.

“That’s a lie.” I argued, “He’d never let something like this happen.”

“Maybe you’re right.” Head-Case conceded, “It may very well be Hades’ fault this happened. That doesn’t change the fact that you and your crew suffered fates worse than death. The rehabilitation project turned you and all those other veterans into monsters.”

The rest of my crew? They ended up just like me? I gagged, the gurgling sick bile rising in my throat, I could taste the acrid mix of sticky mush back in my mouth. I swallowed forcefully and belched.

“Calm down, Steelgraft! Your mental state is out of control! You’ll lose soul cohesion if you do not calm down!” His mollifying tones did little to soothe me, I didn’t even understand what he meant.

“What happened to my crew?” I demanded, barely containing myself.

“Some of them made full recoveries.” Head-Case said soothingly, “I made sure they were well taken care of and released from my care. They made it to Stable 22 or 23, with the exception of your sister and the ones that ended up like you.” He took a shallow breath inwards, the fluid in his jar bubbling, “Those that ended up like you lost their minds and wander, serving Hades and slaughtering all those that dare enter the Dead Zone. You’re one of the few that are not thralls to that vile necromancer. You’re PP-013, Pony Prometheus. A prototype made before Hades became the problem that he is now.”

“What are my targets?” I demanded. “You want me to hunt down my old crew mates, don’t you?”

“Yes, you must act as the reaper and pass them on to Asphodel. Hades himself must be cut from the mortal coil. This project is long overdue to be shut down. If it isn’t stopped, Hades will expand his influence and defeat death--by making everyone a thrall to him.” He explained everything succinctly,  in words even I could understand. I was brought back to life to slay the necromancer that had a hoof in creating me and to lay his pawns, my own crewmates included, to rest.

“And the warlords?” I asked, “How many of them do I have to kill?”

“They’re just a symptom, but slaying them will certainly help you on your way to dealing with Hades. Each warlord offers tribute and fights to impress the ‘King of the Trot’ hoping to gain his favor for power. Killing each one will weaken Hades’ resources and help the suffering citizens of Detrot.” He further explained, waving a claw, then the other, as if weighing something mentally. “So, what about your ‘other plans’ you had cooking?”

“My dream of becoming a ballerina that teaches radroaches to wrestle will have to wait.” I sarcastically replied.

“I have to say, your sarcastic wit despite circumstance is your best quality.” Head-Case was on the verge of ranting about how most ponies are so glum. “And that explosive collar looks good on you!”

“Did you have anything to do with that?” I grit my teeth, suspecting that he indeed had been in on this from the beginning.

“The collar? Faust blessed, no! That was Mechanic’s doing. The entire settlement is already dealing with disease and supply shortages. Try to be lenient and don’t hold that against them.” He replied simply, shaking his head, his sparse locks of hair rolling in the fluid in his tank.

A direction, a goal, and more of my memories returned. With them, a newfound appreciation for my curse. I wouldn’t be bumbling around like a moron, wondering what my purpose was or why I was here. I had unfinished business, the pony I was clashed with who I thought I was. “I don’t have any other questions.” I muttered, binding my eyepatch back into place, everything faded away and my vision was freed of the cluttered hud. The pain and discomfort was gone, leaving me to think clearly.

“Good, I’ll be here if you need me.” Head-Case chimed in the back of my skull. “Your ten minutes is almost up, you’d better get moving.”

Fritter was shooting glances at me from the register, he’d probably watched me talking to myself. Well, there’s another pony that thought I was nuts for sure!

The Memory Orb found a home in my pocket and I was set to don my boots, slipping on one and working the laces with my digits, pulling taught to make a firm double knotted lace. It was when I was getting ready to put on the other boot that the front door to Donuts Extreme was forced open so hard the ringing bell was shot across the shop, bouncing off the wall.

“What the buck’re you doing, you’ll break my door you stupid gits!” Frisky Fritter roared at customers in the doorway. My attention joined the curious glances of several others. In the doorway were some nasty looking characters, scarred and singed, covered in armor made from leather and industrial scrap, and armed with battle saddles mounted with makeshift industrial tools as weapons.

At the forefront of the pack was that ugly, beady eyed pony with the moss green dreadlocks I’d seen in the restroom. “I saw him come in here!” The ugly, beady eyed rat of a stallion shrieked, “The one that bumped off Chunky Salsa!”

This was bad--worse than bad, this was the reason why I should have left quickly. Hindsight 20/20 as usual. I crouched in my booth seat, hoping to evade detection.

“There are only my regulars here. No new faces lately.” Frisky Fritter lied, “So turn your ugly acne covered ass around and go bugger each other. You baker barbarian types ain’t welcome here.”

The Muffincakes? Great, I should have made the connection. That stringy, ugly stallion was in league with the merry band of muffin-themed industrial activists.

“We not welcome?” Grumbled another of them, laughing madly, “Is it...Is it time to help them make cupcakes?” That mare speaking now was something straight from a baker’s nightmare. Chef’s hat on her head she was covered in huge scars and festering wounds, her horn cracked and healed in an upward half spiral. “Pony...Batter...Batter.” She clucked madly, her horn lighting up to pull a nasty looking nailed bat out.

I don’t know who shot first, the customers or the sick raiders--Maybe the sound of a plate dropping was all it took to spook them all to action, opening fire on each other with deadly results. The Cuppycakers were wielding heavy rivet guns, lobbing superheated  construction bolts a fair distance into their target. One of the customers ended up pinned to the floor, his blood boiling out from the wound.

My seat burst into flames, several bolts tearing through the back of the seat and narrowly missing me. I rolled off my seat, right into the crossfire and into view.

“Der he is!” Shouted the ugly beady eyed pony that had taken cover behind an overturned table. “Kill the ghoul!”

My first action as soon as I saw that stallion in particular was to throw what I had on hand--Namely the left boot I had been planning to put on. The heavy boot sailed and cracked the pony square in the nose, knocking him over behind the table, twin gushes of blood streaming from his nostrils.

The mad raider mare in the chef’s hat had taken a few rounds, but was swiftly moving to her first target. She brought a strange looking bladeless chainsaw to bear at the pinto stallion that had been dancing at the pole. A sizzle of heat and a blast of light fizzled through the base of his thighs and came upward, severing his masculinity from his body and peeling his guts open. There was now a gleaming, sizzling golden hot beam of energy coming from the device where a blade should be. The poor stallion’s wounds were instantly cauterized by the blade’s heat, he fell over, grabbing for his entrails as the mare brought her bat down on his head with a succession of meaty ‘thwaps’. Two more rounds sunk into her side but were brushed off by the brute of a beast. She leapt off the counter and came barreling at me next!

Frisky Fritter took behind the counter, screaming for his wife to stay in the kitchen. I lost track of everything else going on. The air was filled with gunfire, screams, and the sizzling smell of flesh.

‘CRUNCH’--’CRUNCH’! The mare baring down on me was as fast as she was brutal, pounding me across the face with her nailed bat, cracking me on the side and shoulder. I was knocked into the counter, breaking several stools from their mounts in the process. One stool became my bludgeon and was swung at the mare. She countered,  her energy lathe splitting the stool just above my prosthetic hand.

“Think we can just talk about this?” I snarked, ducking under a swing with the energy blade that would have surely cleaved my head from my shoulders. A quick jab to her face split her lower lip and ruined her manic grin. This crazy raider wouldn’t quit, I wasn’t used to anything surviving this long against me.

“Schtupid ffffffuck!” She gurgled, spewing a mixture of blood and bile at my face, blotting out my vision. It’d really be nice to go a single day without getting shit all over me. This creative raider them pummeled me over the horn, rattling my senses, I was stunned.

“What’s going on Steelgraft?” Head-Case added to my plate another thing I could not keep track of. His voice was lost in the blazing heat of the lathe blade coming into my armor’s shoulder. “Steelgraft, your integrity is dropping to critical levels! Steelgraft?!”

“Busy getting my plot kicked.” I hissed dizzily, letting out a short breathless gasp as my senses became reacquainted to immense levels of pain.

The discomfort of having my left eye exposed to light could not compare to the burning heat of the magically projected blade. The armor did nothing to protect me, splitting at the contact with a sizzle of burning canvas and metal. I could feel a fracture through my shoulder and neck, as if my skin was made of living, feeling ceramic, chipping and cracking under the magical force. The blade left a jagged, burning crack over my shoulder and chest where it touched, revealing blackened flesh underneath.

Batter-Batter continued to assault me with her other weapon, slamming the bat into my back, beating me into the ground. More pieces of my skin came loose, shattering on the floor. That weapon made my skin like Porcelain, so brittle and defective.

The mare brought her energy bladed weapon at me again, aiming to stab me. I regained my composure and rolled to narrowly avoid that killing blow. I drew iron, turning my head to grip my .38 Cornhusker from its home. ‘BLAM’-‘BLAM’-‘BLAM’! I fired three shots rapidly. One struck her cheek, sending an explosion of gore and dislocating her jaw. The second went wide and clipped her ear. My final shot struck her in the dead center of the chest. She stumbled backward, her horn flickering. She wheezed, gurgling on the blood rushing down her throat. She raised her bat, giving a rattling cough and swung for me.

A shot from behind the counter blew the wooden bat to splinters. A follow-up shot blind-sided her, tearing a hole in her flank and sending her to fall into a booth table with a meaty thump. “Lets see her shrug that off!” Zone Control shouted, rising over the counter. “Steelgraft, get back here!”

I did not have to be told twice, I jumped over the counter and landed next to her, a set of rivet bolts slamming into my side as I was airborne. I tipped over after landing, pain lancing up my side. The heat from the bolts penetrated my armor, singing it and my pelt, bolting my armor to my side.
 

“This shouldn’t hurt. I shouldn’t f-feel this...” I groaned.

Frisky Fritter doused me with water from a plastic bottle, steam rolled off of me as the bolts cooled. “Poor baby got a buckin’ boo-boo?” He berated me while he did his best to help me, biting my coat and tugging hard to loosen the bolts piercing my side until they popped out. He fell onto his plot with a sour grunt. “And cuz you didn’t leave my shop’s getting wrecked!” He sobbed. and flailed his stump unhappily.

“Fritter, shut up! This isn’t his fault! The Muffincakes have been planning a hostile takeover of the Blok for some time and they want Steelgraft for some reason. With him here it makes sense for them to accomplish both at once!” Zone Control shouted over the sound of gunfire, raising up to pop a few shots at the remaining raiders. She pressed her back against the counter, reloading her riot shotgun with calm determination. “How are you holding up, Steelgraft? I’ve never seen anypony survive a hit from  a Can Cleaver before.”

I spat the gun’s grip from my mouth, the Cornhusker dropped to the floor with a heavy clatter. “It feels worse than it looks.” I said, pushing myself up to inspect the damage. Both Fritter and Zone’s faces were contorted in fear and disbelief. A spiderweb of delicate cracks blossomed from the heart of a deep gouge in my chest. “Okay, scratch that, this averages out to feel about as bad as it looks.”

“Did Zone Control say a ‘Can Cleaver’?” Head-Case echoed ominously. He didn’t wait for me to respond, which was great since I was dealing with the matter at hoof. “Originally it was used to cut solid blocks of steel into sheets for fabrication, now it is used as a powerful magical melee weapon. You are protected against normal means of harm, but a magical weapon ignores your damage resistance! You need to avoid magical damage, due to your nature, it will--”

“Turn my skin into glass?” I interrupted him, gritting my teeth. “Thanks for the info dump, chump, but I have pressing matters to deal with.” Head-Case fell silent at that, the soft crackling static of the open channel vanished as it closed. The wound tingled, the cracks sealing themselves at a slow crawl.

“Who’re you talkin’ to you nutter?!” Frisky demanded, his eyes wide. sweat was pouring down his body. The smell of burning pelt and sick made him retch. When the remains of the pinto colt slid off the counter and flopped to the ground next to him he lost all inhibitions, depositing his stomach’s colorful pastry strewn contents all over the floor. “O-oh Celestia! F-free S-samp--” *Hrk*!

“I’m talking to a disembodied voice in my head.” I answered. “Head-Case says you’re swell ponies.” I said with a grunt, sinking several digits into the wound, stirring at the black, stringy gunk that was just beneath my stitched and cracked flesh. It didn’t hurt, the burning tingles subsided as the wound began to slowly recover. Ponies were dying, with each death a spike of pleasure pushed away the pain and improved the integrity of my crippled body. I am never going to get used to this, I thought, I wonder if Gangrene and Keena are having as much fun as I am.

Oh, we’re taking a break now? I suppose this session has gone on long enough! Oh, that’s right, you discovered a new flaw...That’s a lot of fun, learning about yourself? And no, you don’t get to level up. You gain Exp slower because of your starting trait, doofus.

Flaw Discovered!
Tit-for-TAT:
Character Progress Review

What? You actually have your character sheet? Good! Huh? Gangrene has one too? Hmm, alright, lets see em!

Steelgraft's Character Card
Gangrene's Character Card

        These look good! You had help with them, didn’t you? Who did these? Oh it was, Nessy, I recognize that style. She’s a very good artist! And I suppose it’s time to give a shout out to my editors and readers, thanks for reading and sorry for taking so long with this update!