//------------------------------//
// Chapter 8: Harvest 
// Story: Fallout Equestria: Second Wind 
// by TinkerChromewire 
//------------------------------//

Google Docs Link


"Harvest"


Time will separate the wheat from the chaff.


“What the fuck were you thinking?!” Frisky Fritter screamed from behind the counter, covering one of his sore, ringing ears with a hoof as he sat on his haunches, coughing at the smoke and flour that clung to the air. He looked like a ghost! The entire store was in shambles, everything that wasn’t on fire or blown to bits was covered in a fine layer of flour and uncooked dough.


        “I was thinking we were out numbered and I wanted to try something.” I answered smartly, blinking a few times, rubbing my eye to get the flour out of it. It was completely a fluke that my crazy idea had worked at all in the first place.


        “You threw my oven at them!” Frisky spat, fuming mad. Not only was his shop wrecked, but he was confused how the hell the stallion had turned his oven into a bomb in the first place. Fritter looked around for his wife, coughing, “Where’s my wife? Zone?!” He called for her, shaking his head to dismiss the ringing in his ears. 


Tossing my grenade belt into their large oven with all their flour as a combustion accelerant had been a stroke of brilliant improvisation. It was so crazy I doubted it would end in anything but my untimely demise! Still, I could at least scratch killing a large group of raiders with baking supplies off my bucket list.


Frisky moved over to a flour covered corpse, looking it over. It was a mare, crushed and battered, he feared the worst and clutched to it, sobbing. “Oh darlin’, sweety pie! Why?! Wai’dya have tah go ahn play hero?!”        


“Frisky...That’s not me.” Zone Control huffed, sneezing as she popped out of a small pile of dough and wooden debris. The mare was unharmed, fortunately for me, Fritter would have rightfully beaten me to re-death if she was injured in my insane gambit. The mare was in surprisingly high spirits, giving a small giggle at her husband, “You look ridiculous, Frisky! You’re all covered in flour! Did anypony else make it?”


        The now embarrassed Frisky was probably grateful he was covered in flour, thus hiding any shameful blush. He dropped the unidentified corpse like a bad habit and rushed to embrace the love of his life. “Thank Faust yer alright! Iffin’ anything happent tah yah I’d be so lost!” He bawled, reaching down to stroke her tummy. “Th’ babe, is yer tum-tum a’right?” While I imagined he was surely pissed I wrecked his store, the stallion had his priorities right--His wife was number one, for that, he earned more of my respect. My only hope was that he wouldn’t beat me stupid for blowing his store up.


        While we had won, it was a pyrrhic victory, where the raiders were completely wiped out and of all the customers and employees, only four of them remained. Frisky Fritter and his wife, Zone Control, the stripper, Glazed Marshmallow, and one lucky customer that had taken cover under a table that had not been blown to bits. The painted mare was between shock and mourning her co-worker, nudging the still, mutilated corpse that had less than half an hour ago danced and seductively swung his hips wearing nothing but donuts. Frisky and his wife were hugging, both grateful to still have one another; the shop could be replaced, but their love for one another could not. The single customer was a bit too shaken to do anything other than clutch his rifle to his chest and tremble, his wide eyes darting around at every sound like it was a threat. The deaths of the other ponies did not weigh too heavily on my mind, that in itself bothered me, but as Gangrene had said, this was just the nature of things.


        There were hardly any spoils of the battle, almost everything was destroyed by my improvised explosive oven. The magical chainsaw, a ‘Can Cleaver’ according to Zone Control, that had been used on me sat beneath a broken slab of countertop granite. I hefted it up and found the control lever that had to be depressed to activate it. The device must have originally been mounted on a mechanical arm or mounted swivel, the pump lever attached looked poorly grafted on and was obviously from a petrol pump. The blade came to life in a golden hue of sunlight and softly hummed like the beating of a hummingbird’s wing. “This weapon’s beauty is deceptive of it’s raw cutting power,” I thought. How long could this thing go until it needed a new battery, if it ever needed one at all? It was going to come in handy against these raiders, permitting I got close to them without getting torn to pieces first.


My other boot was missing, leaving me with only one. In fact, among the bodies, there wasn’t a single hint of the dread lock sporting beady eyed stallion anywhere. Either he slipped away or he had been obliterated. Either way, the twin to my boot was missing. 


“Well, damn, and that was a decent boot, too! I hate mix matching my attire...” I grumbled, taking a seat on a pile of rubble to begin unlacing my boot. Then the pile of splintered tables and wall began to shift, a rasping gurgle alerted my attention to something lifting me. A head breached the surface of the pile and sent me tumbling end over end to land face first into the floor. 


“B-batter...Batter...Pony batter.” Groaned the die-hard raider mare Batter Batter, getting up from beneath the pile of junk I had just been sitting on. Her bleeding wounds were caked with flour, shrapnel sticking out of her in absurd angles. She spat, giving a husky groan and reached for me, the magic of her horn flickering, trying to grab her weapon back from my saddlebag.


“How the buck is this one still alive?!” I cried, stuck on my head and looking at her upside down. I rolled onto my back, trying to get to my hooves. She pressed her advantage and tackled me, laughing madly and spitting thick globs of spit and phlegm over my face. She activated the Can Cleaver inside my saddlebag, splitting open the top flap and tearing it free. It took all my strength to keep her from sinking that blade right into my neck. 


The bomb collar gave a sharp cursory beep as the magical blade began to bite into it--I struggled, the collar was sensitive, if it went off I was going to die! Ponyplucking horseapples of GAK! “Gah, get the buck offa me you rancid breathed reason to always wear a condom!” I sputtered, fighting back against her. How was she stronger than me? She couldn’t be! ‘You need to recharge for a bit after hurling something heavy, you jackass!’ My mind screamed at me. She was stronger right now because I was spent! The same thing happened in the hospital with the metal table, I had pushed myself too hard and had yet to recover! Hindsight 20/20...


“Hold on, Imma comin’!” Frisky shouted, clearing the counter and rushing the mare to tackle her off of me. The most one-sided hoof fight I had ever seen followed Frisky’s reckless gambit. A three legged pony was no match for a drugged up raider psycho! Frisky was getting his chops slapped by a flurry of angry, hormone and drug driven hooves that left him slobber knocked and woozy. The raider had forgotten everyone else, focusing on brutalizing the now bloodied Frisky Fritter.


“I’m gonna geld you and use your balls to decorate a cake!” Batter-Batter hissed through broken, twisted teeth, rearing up on her hind hooves, intent on smashing Frisky’s head like a melon. Her attack never landed, her rear legs were taken from under her. Without her back legs she toppled back and landed with a grunt, her wounds sizzled shut. Even then, the mare was working to keep fighting, her horn flickering once before I fed the golden hued blade through her chest, dissolving her into a fine rainbow colored powder. It was eerily like PNK-3’s confetti. If that aggravating orb of pink were here, she might find the confetti making sword amusing, then again she had a magical laser, didn’t she? Oh, so she makes her own...Confetti, I concluded bitterly.


“I don’t think she’s getting back up from that.” I chuckled whimsically, waving my off hand at the sparkling powder that lingered at the air. The raider mare’s back legs still stood where they had been severed, smoking from the edge of the wound. She had been built of stern stuff, that was for sure. Now, she was just confetti. 


This magical chainsaw could turned ponies into rainbow confetti. That was just insane. Turning somepony into a pile of party glamour! Some of the bodies hanging from the walls that still stood had cascading streamers of entrails. This was just a party, wasn’t it? A party for stark raving lunatics.


Frisky held his bleeding face, coughing and sputtering flecks of blood. He looked beaten up, but nothing too serious from what I could see. His wife ambled over, her face a thousand word picture of worry. “Frisky! That was really brave, stupid, but brave!” She leaned down, looking over his bruised and battered face, stroking his cheek as she asked him if he was alright.


The wounded buck spat out a tooth, giving his wife a wide, gap-toothed smile, “Ahm fine pumpkin. I just need a lil off the top this time.” He mewled dizzily, Batter-Batter had knocked him senseless. As long as there wasn’t permanent damage, I would be grateful, I wouldn’t need to hear him whine about how the store got wrecked.


A small winged beast landed outside the curtain of settling dust a short distance from the gaping mouth of the ruined shop. The surviving customer jerked, raising his rifle reflexively, shaking like a leaf. The old prospector’s mustache and beard moved like a quivering bush. “C-comp’nee!” He rasped, trying to arrange his rifle into the battle saddle he wore quickly. He pushed a table up to give himself cover. I moved forward and crouched, readying the Can Cleaver to attack. Zone Control acted quickly, pulling herself and her mate behind a small pile of rubble. She trained her shotgun on the figure moving to converge with us.


I squeezed the handle and the magical energy blade buzzed to life. I was ready to charge at a moment’s notice--I suspected that the Baker Barbarians had some flyers on their side, this one was stupid to come alone. 


“Wait til they’re closer.” Zone Control whispered, “If they find out we’re alive, they’ll run off and get reinforcements.” She was right to worry, we were all out of ovens. “Steelgraft, see if you can take them out, I’m really low on ammo!”


“You’re low?” The old buck with the mustache and beard grumbled shakily, “I think I’m out!” He gave a bite to his battle harness lever and tugged, the gun let out a hollow click. “Yup! Dry firin’! Jus loik my own piece.” Had the gun been loaded, he would have shot a round, alerting our opponent to us! Not to mention with my horrible luck he might have accidently hit me! That old coot wasn’t thinking. 


This was going swell--We were all pretty low on ammo collectively. Most of us were injured, though I was certain I could push on, the aches and pains my living companions felt would tax their endurance. I had plenty of .308 ammo in my saddlebags! Except my Cornhusker Revolver was still behind the counter somewhere. I wanted to slap myself in the forehead for how stupid it was to forget my sidearm so carelessly! I’ll just retrieve my piece after this encounter was dealt with.


We waited, the tense seconds melted away, I could hear the shallow breathing of my companions quicken. Zone Control rested a hoof upon Frisky’s side, reassuringly rubbing the dazed stallion while she kept her bulky riot shotgun at the ready. The soft, hollow sound of clopping hooves over brittle pavement and splintered particle board drew closer, the dark figure obscured by the smoke paused, looking around. They were just a short distance from me, I’d say only about four or five meters.


The timing and distance were perfect, I vaulted forward and closed the distance quickly. A brief, weak squawk echoed from my target as I gripped them by the throat and slammed them backwards, raising my golden blade to silence them forever. A flourish of russet feathers hit the air, I squeezed the handle of the blade and mindlessly brought it to bear.


“Shhtahp!” My opponent begged, her amber eyes entreating mercy.


 I stopped just in time before I made a horrible mistake. The magical teeth of the Can cleaver buzzed an inch away from the warm amber eyes of my companion, Keena, my hand was wrapped tightly around her throat, cutting off her air. She struggled against me, looking terrified. My feelings matched her own, I was scared that my own actions had nearly driven me to slay a friend in confusion. It was even worse that I did not withdraw once I recognized her. My mind urged me to eliminate my target.


The hippogriff gripped at my hand that clutched her throat, her eyes wide, the longer I held her the more she struggled. It was like a trance, I had decided to not kill my friend, but my body fought me, insisting on following through. Kill your target, my mind urged me, Terminate target. Cannibalize remains. She looks delicious. Something was wrong, terribly, terribly wrong.


At some point the smoke settled enough so that Zone Control could see what was going on. Her shouts were muffled and drowned out into unintelligible background static. There was me and my target, that is all the world boiled down to. Hooves grappled me from behind, trying to pry my frozen stiff form from my victim. Thankfully, Zone Control had thought to disarm me of my magical energy blade, using her magic to pry it from my unresponsive digits and tossing it off into the food court where it clattered heavily over the cobblestones. I couldn’t keep track of so many things happening at once, it was a struggle just to keep myself from crushing the struggling hippogriff’s throat! I wanted to stop, I did, more than anything I wanted to be in control. I did not want to kill her. She was not a combatant, she was not a raider, and this was not for survival!


“Steelgraft, let her go! It’s not a raider! Steelgraft!” Zone Control shouted at me. She could just shoot me--Right in the side of the head, she had ammo. She could shoot me and stop me, I knew that. When the threat of my own expiration reached me, my grip loosened enough so that Keena could breath, her rattling coughs and tear-filled eyes piercing my into mine, seeding my heart with guilt. 


After a brief period of shared terror, the three other ponies trying to peel me off the helpless cleric were able to tear me off. Breaking my iron grip snapped me out of my bloodlust induced stupor, returning my faculties to my control, leaving me confused and frightened. I had no idea why I could not stop, why I was driven to keep acting in a homicidal manner. Frisky now stood between me on the others, I had barely regained full awareness of my own actions when the donut maker began to spit and shout.


“Th’ buck’s wrong with yah, you crazy sunnoffabitch? Yah nearly kill’t this here gal!” Frisky spat, his face a bit puffy from the earlier pummeling he had received. He was sweating, panting, and generally very displeased. I didn’t blame him. He braced a hoof square on my chest and pushed, shouting so hard that spit and blood flew between his busted split lips, “Check yer major malfuhnshun’ you piece o’ junk afore you go gettin’ will buckin’ nilly with friendly fire!” He gave his shop a glance over my shoulder and gestured at it with his stump, “Or we might end up with more shit like that!” He added, just to drive an necessary point home. 


“This damn buck’s a problem fersure. Ain’t he just onnah them Cyberghouls? All it needs is tah get hungry fer our meaty bits ahn we’re all chowder!” The old prospector huffed, looking to Frisky for support in such a decision. “I says we pop his collar afore he decides to lose his grip!” 


“It’s your nature, that’s all. You thought she was a target--Targets are to be eliminated. You were just protecting them,” muttered a dull, heavy voice in the back of my head. This thought was so backward that I would never draw a conclusion even remotely similar. I would never hurt an innocent for any reason.


The prospector and Frisky were soon in a short, heated argument about how to deal with me. The prospector wanted to trigger my collar, fat chance I’d let him, while Frisky wanted to let me live mostly so I could pay him for damages to his shop. 


Zone Control was seeing to Keena, who seemed to be alright. I leaned over to get a better look at Keena, worried that she might be hurt. She was rubbing her neck with a talon, coughing while Zone Control calmly rubbed her back. Keena’s once white poncho-like gown was stained with ash, that was probably my fault as well.


My actions spooked the twitchy prospector, his ears flicking in my direction, rearing up in half-startled fright. “Doncha dare move a tail flaggin’ muscle!” The bushy bearded teal earth stallion ordered, training his gun on me as he came down to set his heavy hooves down. His bushy eyebrows covered his eyes, but I could still somehow feel that heavy hateful glare from him. “Move an inch and Oi’ll--”


“You won’t be doing anything to him!” Cawed a very unhappy Keena as she muscled her way between both Frisky and the older stallion. She placed herself between me and the two stallions, facing them with a stern glare. “It is I he wronged, and it was an accident. It is my fault.” She was defending me. I didn’t feel relieved, it made me feel worse somehow, like it was a write-off for my actions. 


“How th’ buck’s it yer fault? That stitched up tin can’s a few rocks short of a rock slide, sure, but he’s still buckin’ destructive!” Frisky argued soundly. I agreed with him, there was no excuse for what happened, none that I found reasonable at least.


“He was confused.” Keena insisted, “It goes against his very nature to show mercy. He still  stopped, I could tell he was fighting with himself. I saw it in his heart.” As naive as that sounded, she was right, I had been fighting myself and in the end I would have lost if it wasn’t for the three ponies working together to pull me off. I doubt she knew that and I did not want to tell her how close I came to doing something horrible to her.


“His ‘heart’? What malarky’s that? He got as much heart as ah filthy lil toaster!” Frisky roared, turning to gesture at his wrecked storefront, “Ahn look what that fuckin’ thing did tah mah shop! Sure, ah dunnot think he should be shot fer it, but he owes meh! By n’ large he owes me fer dis shite he left me. No way tah have a home when half it’s busted!”   


The air was rife with shouts, name calling, and curses. Keena drew back, letting Zone Control, Frisky, and the old prospector have at it with one another. She winced every time a curse word was used, covering the sides of her head with her talons, sitting next to me as she watched helplessly. Even I was at a loss, wallowing in whatever it was ponies wallowed in due to the massive guilt fed to me by multiple parties. I didn’t even feel comfortable in my own skin, as if it had taken on the same disgusting texture as that garbage bag cloak. 


“Well if you hadn’t insisted on blacking out them durned windows, we wouldah seen them raiders organizin’ outsahde!” Came one retort from Frisky to his wife. 


The pregnant blue mare’s response was equally heated, “Oh, so all the passing ponies and young ones could see your customers licking sugar off flanks while you watched, drooling like an idiot?!” She stomped a hoof angrily, her lips curled in a snarl.


“Lotta good it did, gettin’ all mah regulars taken by surprise loik dat! Lookit, darl, the place’s gone!” Frisky growled, flailing his stump in the general direction of the store that once was Donuts Extreme. 


The prospector interjected, insisting that I should most definitely be shot, though without ammo he had no way to follow through with such a threat.


“You’re firing blanks, just like your saggy dick, you old pervert! I’m the one with the loaded gun, and I say we’re not shooting somepony on our side!” Zone Control’s earlier cool had completely vanished, I knew not to mess with a pregnant mare, but the old prospector hadn’t learned this lesson even though he was grey in the mane. 


They argued while we sat there amongst the ruins of a once- lively locale. I shifted my gaze away from the trio of shouting foalish ponies to take in the full scope of the damage to the Food Court. Smoke curled off eviscerated remains that dotted the mall’s grounds, a mixture of raiders and innocent townsfolk in varying state of mutilation. Several bodies were nailed to walls by heavy metal rivets, hanging like portraits of their own likeness, framed by blood splatters seared into the wall behind the victim. Further out, raider bodies lay in pieces, torn apart by shrapnel launched from the store with deadly effect. Not a single table was still standing in the food court, all of them lay broken on their sides, trash everywhere. The giant Pinkie Pie inflatable on top of the once cheerful gingerbread house themed bakery was limp, deflated and dead, coiled over the front of the stoop, blocking the store’s entrance. All the joy was dead, and the kindness in the hearts of others died with it, reducing it to a game of blame between three survivors.


I couldn’t stop them, they probably wouldn’t listen to me anyway, even if I felt like saying anything. Keena sighed and left to go into the gaping entrance to Donuts Extreme. I decided to follow, if only to get away from all the screaming going on. They were too absorbed in their screaming match to notice me follow Keena back into the shop.


Sliding over the remains of the broken counter, the search for my sidearm eventually lead me to check under the mangled remains of the cash register. I left the caps alone, in case Frisky came in to gather the contents of the register. I didn’t need to add theft to my charges of vandalism, pony slaughter, and assault. My gun wasn’t too badly damaged, just a few new scuffs from when the broken register crashed on top of it. The iron found it’s home in the holster on my shoulder, after a quick reload of course.


It became clear why Keena had come into the shop with me when I saw how she had treated the bodies. Most of the intact remains were arranged peacefully, as if they were sleeping,  an old bit coin on each eye lid. I never expected to see such an old custom still observed, it was uncommon when I was alive to do such a thing. The coins were payment to Charon, the ferryman, so he would carry you across the river Styx to Asphodel in the afterlife. How I knew that instinctively was another question entirely. I could remember some things, it seemed. 


Keena was seeing to  the comfort of the painted mare whose name escaped me at the moment. Her face was buried into the russet ruffled feathers of Keena’s shoulder, crying over the loss of the once lively male counterpart to her career as a combination donut and smut peddler. She was wrapped in talon and wing, but not even the fluffiest of hugs could quell her grief.


Of all the bodies, Free Sample was the most sickening to look at, mutilated into an obscene display of carnage yet still identifiable. A pool of red lapped around the body, slowly growing in size and merging with a smaller puddle of bile, likely from the painted mare. The side of his face that was still intact was curled into an expression of sheer agony, eyes shut tightly, his mouth agape in a silent, eternal scream, forelegs crossed over his chest in a vain attempt to keep the ribbons of innards from spilling out. The Pinto stallion’s once proud masculinity lay with him, still covered in donuts now soaked in blood and sprinkled with pasty chunks of sick. I realized for that to be with his body meant the painted mare had carried it to him.


It might be best to wrap his body, to spare the mare the constant reminder of the gruesome end her loved one experienced. With no linen wrappings available, I made due with the moth-eaten drapes I found hanging off a broken curtain rod on the crumbling wall behind them, covering the body and tucking it underneath. The old drapes took on the stains of the body, marbling against the original brown color of the ugly, singed drapes.


“Thank you,” the painted mare muttered hollowly, pulling away from Keena to look up to me. Her cheeks were streaked with tears, her black mane a clumpy mess. The flour that had been coating her had flaked off in curdled chunks, stubbornly clinging to to her pelt and mane. 


“Oh, the drapes? No, I just thought he’d appreciate being covered for decency. I doubt he’d want you to ever see him like this.” I replied, unable to return even the fakest of smiles, I simply bowed my head and made a motion of straightening my eyepatch. “I owe you an apology, if anything...” I added, feeling guilty over my inability to act in her friend’s defense earlier.


“No, thank you for saving us from the bandits. He’d thank you too, if he was here. For saving me.” She was choking on her cries, “They took him away, just like that. How could t-they enjoy doing that to somepony?” She choked back her tears, her lips trembling, she was struggling to speak, still shaken by everything that had happened.


I took a glance at the devastation my improvised explosive had caused, a forward propelled explosion that caused parts of the store to somersault into the food court. I sighed, how could anyone thank me for causing something like that? “That’s not really something to be proud of.” I admitted, feeling withdrawn. “I caused a lot of damage...”


“You saved lives, Steelgraft.” Keena interjected wisely, “There were many of them ready to rush in, I saw them. Whatever you did, you did it to preserve life, not to take it.” Her words were soothing, but did little to quell what guilt I felt. I had tried strangling her less than a ten minutes ago. She reached out with a talon and hovered it over my shoulder, a brief flicker of fear in her before she drove herself to touch me, “You’ve acted to protect, Steelgraft, for that I will not fault you, you have done me no wrong.”


To protect, that was something I remembered. My oath, the one that Head-Case had asked me about. One part of that oath was to protect.  “I solemnly swear on the light of the sun and the crest of the moon I shall protect Equestria from threat both foreign and domestic. I will uphold the...The...” I recalled a brief fragment mentally. It died almost as soon as it flickered through my mind. “I didn’t want to kill anyone.” I muttered numbly, the full impact of my actions were dawning upon me. I had lost track of how many lives I had taken at this point. But then again, I had saved lives, and many lives were depending on me right this very moment.


“I just wanted t-to work here with my cousin. I loved my job here. They didn’t care ‘bout that and now only I care that he’s gone. Everypony else is just...” She choked, unable to express her feelings without breaking down again. We could still hear the others arguing outside, the same topic, whose fault it was and Frisky still bent out of shape about his shop and customers. The customers were an afterthought though from what I could hear. 


“I’m sure they care.” Keena chirped, stroking her talons through the mare’s hair, preening some of the gunk from the clogged locks carefully. “They’re afraid, reacting with anger.” She guessed, adding on further  “I know I care, and so does Steelgraft.” The hippogriff gestured to me with her other talon, I offered a fabricated smile with forced feelings that seemed genuine enough.


“Look, it isn’t safe here,” I explained, “We need to get moving, somewhere, anywhere but here.” I worried that the explosion and the loud arguing outside would attract more attention, and soon. It wouldn’t take long for reinforcements to arrive, if any were coming.


“I don’t want to leave him!” The sullen mare rasped, her eyes brimming with tears. “Please, we just can’t leave him here like this!”


“Steelgraft is right,” Keena agreed, “We have to go. We’ll take care of your loved one’s arrangements after you’re safe. He would not want you to be in anymore danger.” Her sound argument won her over in the end, and though she was hesitant to leave her loved one’s remains behind, she agreed that it would be best to get someplace safe. The church going hippogriff took one final glance around the store, her attention lingering on the two stripper poles that appeared to be unintentional load bearing supports for the remaining half of the ceiling. “We should move his body out from under this crumbling awning, I feel what’s left of this store will collapse at the slightest provocation.”


So that’s exactly what we did, with some help from Keena the body was completely wrapped in the drapes and laid over my back. I was sure to get many stains on my tattered duster, but that was the least of my many worries. 


The arguing outside had slowed to a dull, bitter fight between just Frisky Fritter and the old prospector, Zone Control had been reduced to silent tears. I wondered what words had been said that would get such a reaction. I was getting rather fed up with the two stallions that continued to bicker, about what to do next and who should lead. They both had different plans but wanted to stick together for safety. Two want-to-be herd leaders clashing, neither of them had a clue.


An unfriendly dark sky loomed outside the razor wire netting, a pitch black veil of hopelessness. It was dark and with the failing lights of the shop behind us and the vacant, dark shops all around, there would not be much visibility once the scattered fires went out. I knew we had to move, before we lost all light and were left playing blindpony bluff with psychopathic pastry chefs.


“Hey! What were yeh doin’ in thar? What were yah doin in mah shop?” Frisky started at me the moment he noticed, accusing me of sinister acts. He probably wanted a distraction from his losing battle of wills against the older, yet equally clueless stallion.“Didja steal from mah register, huh, think ah owe yeh fer thah damage yeh did?” He growled, condemning me with a sharp glare.


I set the body down gently, then Frisky’s karma came crashing down behind us, his shop collapsing just as Keena had predicted. It was bound to happen, most of the building’s support was gone, all it needed was a little bit of time to settle completely.


“W-what did you do in thar?! You finished it off, didn’tcha?! You low down no-good monster, ah never shouldah done no favors fer dat crackpot doctor tah wake yer sleepin ass up. Shoulda juss dumped yer rubbish n’ fergot ‘bout it!” He went off on me, which was to be expected. His frothing lips and twitching eyes were filled with deep, hateful anger. “Yer an omen, yeh took everythin good bah juss showin’ up!”


Done, this arguing, this blame game, this pointless circular chasing of our own tails, it was over. I reached out and snatched the buck by the front of his stained apron and brought him close, pressing my face to his. “Shut up.” I hissed darkly, “There was no fixing up that wreck after I blew the store, what, did you think you could rebuild? Know any good restoration spells? It’s just a crummy little building that was once filled with happy, lustful little ponies. But you don’t miss those little ponies, do you?” He struggled against me, trying to pull away as I laid a verbal beat down on his overgrown ego. “You have more to mourn and celebrate than you let yourself realize.  You have a mare that needs you and all you’ve done is shout and yell at her. You make me feel guilty about saving your lives...” I released the stallion and pushed him over towards his wife. “You still have your whole world. Don’t you dare throw that away.”


Frisky was speechless, either humbled or just reeling from my little ‘pep talk’. His wife looked to him expectantly, still choked on her own tears. She was emotional and pregnant, Frisky should not have yelled at her like he had. Their embrace was touching and hopefully that was the end of the blame game, or at least for the moment any conflict the group had was forgotten.


“Ahm sorreh, darl, Ah fergot mah head thar a moment.” He managed, holding her tightly. “Please dun crah no more. Ahm sorreh. Ah didn’t mean what ah said bout you gettin’ preggers, honest...” 


Wow, that made me glad I had missed a large part of their argument, seems like Frisky had said some off-color things that had caused the water works to act up. That crusty old prospector was giving me a mean look, even now. I offered him a snort and a roll of my eye, growling at him. “Still want me shot? Go ahead.” I said, unholstering my iron and holding it out to him. “It’s loaded, pretty sure you’d kill me with a well placed shot. Go ahead.” I held it by the short barrel, offering the mouth grip to him.


Keena had been happily watching the two lovers reconcile before she snapped to attention at what I was currently doing. “I do not think it is a good idea to tempt him to sin!” She warned.


Her warning fell on deaf ears, I wanted to see how gutsy this old stallion was. The aged buck licked his dry lips and weighed the offer. He took a step back, his ears falling back.


“Take it! What, are you all talk? You’ve got an empty rifle, you damned idiot! Here’s a loaded weapon. Are you going to take it or not?” 


        “Thas mighty generous of yah, but in light ah yer...Actions, maybe oim a mite harsh n’ all.” The buck conceded, swallowing with nervous fear. He was a coward, one that spoke without thinking. He wasn’t going to be any good in a fight.


        “A coward. No wonder you’ve lived to be so old.” I stated, holstering my side-arm in it’s home and turning to Keena. “That takes care of that problem.” With the arguing diffused, we could get some traction, a plan of action. We couldn’t just sit around waiting for something to happen, we had to act. “What’s the safest place we could go right now?” I asked noone in particular, really, any of them could answer this question.


        It was Zone Control that spoke up, after drying her tears the mare had calmed significantly. She was soon back in the game, brushing her platinum mane from her face with a hoof, breaking away from her husband. “The safest place? Right now, I’d say the safest place is anywhere but here...The exit it’s--”


        The old prospector interrupted her, “What’re you suggestin’ woman? Outsahde? Neh, too risky, t’ey gotsa curfew har fer a reason. Ah reckon dem raiders know dat too. S’why them raiders planned it loike dis.” The aging bruiser wiped his beard and mustache on his foreleg and turned his head to spit, rumbling darkly, “It’s a rock inna hard place, y’hear?”


“That’s mah wife yer talkin’ to like that, watcher tone!” Frisky snapped, pulling a convenient 180 in his personality, going from an argumentative husband to an overly protective one. Still, this extreme was better in my opinion.


“Hush,” Keena squawked, “We must build ideas and work together! We need a plan, not more arguing!” The poor hippogriff had more patience than me. I would have resorted to threats of violence by now, I probably wasn’t the nice pony I thought I was after all.


“These raiders don’t seem the planning type. Their tactics are sloppy and reckless.” I noted to them, rolling one of the raider bodies over. Like all the the Barbarian Bakers they had light armor, made from leather mantles and heat protective gear that did little to protect them. They had box art of pre-packaged baking goods taped over their armor. “They charge in without thinking, hit hard, and die quickly.” 


“Yar methods are plenty reckless, rotter, what makes you so sure you know anything bout tactics?” Frisky asked, giving a dismissive snort. “If anythin, it don’t matter if they thought it up or had help, it don’t help us one bit tah know either way.”


“Maybe you’re right. That begs the question, what do we do now? What’s this curfew?” I asked, urging them to answer my question so I could make an informed decision.


“The curfew,” Zone Control began, “Is when all the magical engines that operate the gates lock down and turn on, diverting their power to operate the electric current through the razor netting above, the gates themselves, and power the interior lighting.” She aimed a hoof overhead, “It’s like a massive bug zapper, keeps the real nasty beasts out. There’s enough current to fry even the sturdiest of Cyberghoul. It’s the only reason Big Top ever survives the night.”


Glazed Marshmallow spoke up, wearing a solemn yet warm smile, “Me and my cousin would toss apple cores at the gate when the guards weren’t there...They’d explode.” Her revelry was touching, but all I could picture was those apple cores being ponies. A giant bug zapper, the applications of such a defense seemed brilliant, but in this situation it was bleak.


“When does that happen?” Keena chirped, tilting her head in Zone Control’s direction.


“8 o’clock, every night, the curfew comes into effect. No one in or out, it’s only a problem if you’re stuck outside. Never thought we’d ever get stuck inside before...” Zone Control sighed out, rubbing her temple with a hoof, “Last time I checked the time, it was...About Seven-Twenty. The whole fight’s a blur. No idea how long til we’re stuck in here.”


“Ah says we take our chances, run out der into thah night n’ find a good spot tah hide, let it blow over, run tah another town come morn.” The old prospector suggested. 


“What about the other survivors? There are others that need help, a group of them are at the Wartime Rations Bakery, captured survivors are being held at the plaza.” Keena gruffed, ruffling her feathers as she spoke, pointing a talon at the old crusty stallion, narrowing her eyes, “Are you suggesting we abandon those we can save?”

   
        “Oim suggestin’ we survive. Take only those that won’t slow us down. Ones that kin fight.” He wheezed, giving a dull cough, sweat rolling down his brow. “Too big ah group n’ we’ll get spotted by beasties. Too few n’ we get overwhelmed. Stay light, move fast, leave stragglers behind.”


        “Only those that can fight? Guess that means you’re the first odd pony out, short straw.” I chuckled, causing the stallion to scoff at me. “I don’t need deadweight suggesting suicide.”


“Yeah, I’m agreein’ with the rotter, seein’ as me an mah wife ain’t fast movers, Ah ain’t trustin’ no snake in the grass tah not leave us tah save hisself.” Frisky said, nuzzling against his wife’s side. “Thar ain’t no way in Tartarus we’ll make it far. Too risky.”  


        “Yah’d actually leave me behind?” His voice was cracking, his pupils shrank. “Serussly?”


“You’re free to go it on your own, but I’m not about to abandon anyone, here nor there, foodcourt or plaza.” I said, making my intentions known. “You can shut up and help me, or you can go be a lone wolf. Don’t expect me to throw away anyone else for your security.”


“It seems to me that the one without a beating heart has more heart than you,” The hippogriff scolded the old fool, clicking her tongue sharply. She extended her wings and gave a single flap, circling around us twice. “I’m going to signal the other survivors to come down here, we should make haste for a location in the mall we can secure ourselves for the night.”


Our plan was quickly put together, we had only minutes to organize it. Frisky was incredibly helpful after he’d been brought down to Gaia by his wife’s needs. The closest location to the food court that was at all defensible was the ‘Cinemane Cinema’. According to Frisky Fritter, the building was mainly constructed of concrete and rebar, with narrow corridors and several large theater rooms it had plenty of places to set up positions with adequate places to fall back to and plenty of places to hide. Keena mentioned she had not seen any raiders make it out past the food court, due to their staging on Donuts Extreme in order to take me out. They had wanted revenge for my killing of Chunky Salsa, but to come at me with such fervor made me suspect ulterior motives.


We gathered what we could from the nearby shops, food, water, and a few medical supplies to treat the wounded we had. Frisky Fritter spent a few minutes digging through the rubble of his store with his wife to get to their floor safe. The items inside would prove useful, a medical box, some spare ammo, and Frisky Fritter’s old battle saddle and sub machine gun. 


“Spray n’ pray ah always seh. A thousand tiny holes, you’ll hit somethun vital eventually!” He boasted, giving a soft squeak when Zone Control tightened his saddle a notch too tight. 


“You took the same approach to getting me pregnant, you dolt.” She huffed, “Lots of tries, one success.”


“Hey, it was fun! Ahn admit it, you liked all them tries!” He groaned, “Too...Tight.”


“I’ve heard that before...” She giggled, “Plenty of times...Just make your shots count, we’re low on ammo and we’re not out to pick fights.”


The old prospector never did give me a name, so I just took to calling him ‘Crusty Crab’, seeing as he was always grumpy and crusty was a good description of his looks. He didn’t like it. I didn’t care. Though he did prove useful in gathering supplies, his experience looting ruins allowed us to outfit a few more of our group with some form of self defense, be it rolling pin or vegetable knife.


To top it off, the singed mare that ran ‘The Spit’ had her companion, Pilot Light, a phoenix that would work as a light source until the interior lighting came on. I just hoped the mythical bird wouldn’t be a massive beacon giving away our position.


It was to be expected that many of the survivors would be wary of me, or frightened by my appearance. Most avoided looking at me or flinched away when I came near them. They didn’t feel comfortable around me, not that I could blame them, not that it made me feel any better. 


Retrieving my Can Cleaver, I moved out from the food court, shoving one of the burning tables out of my path. Keena followed me, beak dancing in the direction of even the faintest pop of a crackling fire, her eyes searching for any hostiles. She was jumpy. A sharp shriek of one of the nearby megaphone speakers mounted on one of the street lamp poles holding up the razor netting made her jump.


“Zrrk--Okay, so about me killing a pony every three minutes?” Began the voice of a stallion over the speaker, I could hear the cries of what must have been several dozen captive survivors in the background of his broadcast. “I’ve been slacking, and for that, I am truly sorry. You see, it seems that a group of wannabe heroes have come thundering with heavy metal hooves to wreck this little party. I was a bit busy diverting forces to take care of them so I really had no time to choose the next executie.”


A sense of unwellness swelled up inside of me, something about the voice of this creature made me grit my teeth in anger. The entire food court fell into silence as everyone there listened in, eyes full of fear at what they might hear. 


“I’ve kinda changed my mind about just killing them one at a time, you see, as much as I love this guillotine it isn’t much sporting and it’s time consuming. Sure, it’s a magical machine that turns fillies into candy, but it’s over too quick and after the last executie, I’m bored.” He made an exaggerated yawn, smacking his lips loudly into the microphone, causing an echo. 


“I’m going to give them a chance to free themselves.” He offered, taking a pause to laugh, “I’m going let them out five at a time and they get to fight for their lives against Tauros. I’m sure you have heard of him...If not, well, let me just say he’s going to teach you savages to pay your respects to Hades. Now, now, I know, I know what you’re going to say...”  He cleared his throat, and he mocked in a deep, yet pleasant voice, “Cradle Robber, you handsome deviant, noone could ever beat that beautiful beast of burden! That is just uncouth of you!”


By now, everyone was either angry or frightened, this disembodied voice was talking about ending lives like it was just a game, like they had little value or worth. Driven to tears and fuming anger, they said a thousand things in silence, their pacing, crying, and pained expressions telegraphing their helplessness. I stood frozen, listening to every word, ears perked. My emotional response was null, I could not describe or understood what I felt, it was a quagmire of conflicting emotions that could not settle with just one state. 

 
“You’re absolutely right, that’s why the last one breathing at the end earns their freedom. I think that’s generous, and seeing as those tin cans are trying to step up Tauros will need a warm up before he crushes every last one of them.”  He drew in a shallow breath and rumbled, “Give up, lay down your arms, and die with what little dignity you have.”


I stopped listening, the mad monster was going on about his choices, exclaiming every time he chose a victim to go up against whatever champion Tauros was. The survivors began to panic, mutters and cries of distress fluttered about, some wanted to take their chances and flee into the night while they still could. 


A fierce roar of gunfire silenced the nearby megaphone, exploding it in a shower of sparks and smoke. Zone Control blew the curling smoke from the end of her shotgun’s barrel and spoke loudly, “Now listen here, all of you! There is still hope to be had, because we have one thing these raider punks don’t have, and that’s community! This is our home, our turf, and we’re all neighbors! Everything’s going to be alright as long as we stick together!”


“We can’t fight them!” Spoke one neigh-sayer, “We’re out-matched! We’re just a bunch of shop owners and a few towns ponies, what can we do against one of the Warlords?”


“Ah dun think mah sweetums was suggestin’ we go runnin’ in thar an’ picka fight wit em, ah think she’s jus sayin’ we kin survive as long as we stick tahgether in this.” Frisky clarified, trying to be supportive of his wife as well as appeal to the other’s desire to survive. 


The time to act was now, the plan had to change, there was no time for me to go with them to secure the cinema. The captive citizens at the plaza needed help. Against my better judgement I was going to lend a hoof to the Steel Rangers that Cradle Robber had mentioned, the enemy of my enemy was my casual truce so to speak. I hoped it’d go that way, after my last encounter with the Super Asinine Tactical Squad I wasn’t going to let my guard down.


“Zone Control, Frisky Fritter, you guys gather up all that’ll go with you and secure the theater, now!” I called to them, over the rising mutters of the other survivors scattered about. Not all were keen on sticking together anymore, I had no time to convince anyone otherwise. I was already leaving the foodcourt, securing my gear and making sure I was ready for any encounter between here and the plaza. 


“You’re not coming with us?” Zone Control asked incredulously, looking at me as if I’d gone mad. “We need you, Steelgraft!” She called after me.


“The ponies in the plaza need help right now! Get to that theater, I’ll be sending anyone I find along the way to you so give them a clear path, got that?” I called back as I left the survivors to their task. I had to trust them to stick to the plan and make a safe haven in the mall, one that other survivors could flock to. There was no other choice, the only alternative was to wait until that mad monster had slaughtered every resident he had captured.




        I started out alone, with limited provisions and weapons, and moderate damage. I could still feel the tingle in my chest where that magical blade had turned my flesh to ceramic. I didn’t know how to fix it, how to reverse the effects. Not only that, but I had no inside information on anything, I was charging blindly into a fight I knew nothing about.


There was a distinct difference in my thoughts now, between survival, revenge, and my idea of what justice meant. I had spent a week staring at the posters of the most wanted ponies of Detrot, memorizing their faces, wanting to dole out punishment to them for the ills they spread in the world. Only then it had been a thought exercise to keep myself sane, I never actually thought I was capable of making a significant difference. Killing the Warlords and their pawns had been a fantasy. 


It was different now, seeing their cruelty with my own eye removed all reservations I had towards taking the life of a raider. They were irredeemable monsters, Cradle Robber being the worst offender I’d had experience with up until this point. I was going to kill him, it was pre-meditated murder, not a job, not an assignment forced upon me to save my own life--I was going to kill him because I wanted to, because his life wasn’t worth the lives I would save by ending his. What kind of pony did that make me? Was my behavior new or just resurfacing traits from my previous life? I had more questions than answers.


        “You know, I am a bit impressed by you skills of leadership, captain,” a voice spoke into the back of my mind. I’d almost forgotten about the good doctor hitching a ride in my own grey-matter.


        “Head-Case? I thought you ran off somewhere to give my sanity a break,” I responded, plodding along the cobblestone at a light trot, keeping my eye open for any raiders that might be skulking about. “I was a captain for a reason, handling a crew is part of the job.” I mentioned, putting one hoof forward into the realm of common sense.


        “Oh no, I was just waiting for you to be alone. Ponies will think you’re crazy if you talk to yourself, seeing as they can’t hear me,” The wise old head-in-a-jar said with a light chuckle, “They don’t need more reasons to shoot you.”


        “Right, are you here to just chit-chat or are you going to give me a...hoof?” I asked, rolling my eye. He had no hooves, from what I saw in his floating projection. I just wanted to poke fun at him a little, lighten the mood, the tension was thicker than an illiterate dragon at a spelling bee.


        “A hoof, you say? Well, yes and no. Strictly speaking I have no hooves to give, but I do have some advice about your FAP.”


        I stopped in my tracks, arching a brow, “You’re going to give me advice on rubbing one out? The dead bodies everywhere and the constant screaming over the PA system’s kind of a turn off. I’m not about to go squeak one out of my hose.”


        There was a short pause, then laughter in the back of my skull, Head-Case giving a hearty, long laugh, “Oh, my, I just, no! Hahaha. I haven’t given advice on how to clop since I was a medical professional some ninety years ago! What I’m referring to is your ‘Field Action Plan’.”


        “I should give you a lesson in unnecessary and confusing acronyms.” I grumbled sarcastically, resuming my slow trot down the cobblestone street, passing several shops along the way. 


Most of the stores were wrecked and looted, old ads in store windows advertised the lowest prices all season, ‘Shop more, pay less!’ Beside the old ads, bodies were bolted up, gutted of the organs and eyes, leaving nothing but empty shells of ponies and griffins. Old ads and a new massacre, for some odd reason, they meshed seamlessly into a heavy blanket of dread. I wondered why they would take the eyes and organs, the phrases ‘Cupcakes’ and ‘Sweet and tasty’ were the only clues as to why they harvested their victims. 


“It’s short-hoof for saying it, to save time.” He replied.


“You wasted more time explaining that stupid acronym that you did if you just said ‘Field Action Plan’.” I replied, passing the remains of the stall of Indigo’s Indestructibles. The stall was not as indestructible as the wares sold there, which were scattered about unharmed. The fat stallion was nowhere to be seen, he was not among the harvested bodies. I assumed he’d wisely fled, at least I hoped as much.


“Point taken, Steelgraft, I’ll keep it in mind next time you’re coming up with a FAP to refer to it as it’s proper name when applied to you. It’s a suicide mission.” The jar-headed irritation chastised, “You’re trotting right into a trap, you know? You’re no match for Tauros in your current condition. You should leave while you still have a chance to escape. Most of the Warlord’s forces are here, soon they’ll be trapped here by the defense grid leaving their boss mostly unprotected. You should take advantage of that, this is the best chance you have!”


“You want me to run away? That’s rich, say I miraculously do find where lard ass is hiding and turn him into a meatloaf, what’s to stop the raiders her from electing a new king of the fatness here in Big Top?” I countered, “Not only that, but I wouldn’t find Muffincake and I’d be leaving my friends to fend for themselves.”


“Sacrifices will have to be made for the greater good. As for finding the warlord, one of the raiders ran off with one of your boots.” Head-Case rambled, “It’s an enchanted item and I can track it from my lab, it seems that raider is heading straight for the Industrial Park.”


“Good, that means I can head straight there after I take care of business here.” I stubbornly replied, insisting on this course of action. “What kind of enchantment’s on the boots?” I asked curiously, wondering if the single boot I now wore would be of any use.


“The boot is enchanted with cloud walking, a common thing for airship captains to have back in the day. They were your old boots.” Head-Case informed, letting out a long sigh with sufficient strength to push a galleon from port. “You’re not going to be happy until you’re dead again.” In short, the boot I was wearing was completely useless, since clouds were in short supply on the ground level.


“I’m not making any compromises. Are you going to whinny and knicker at me for not taking easy street or are you actually going to be helpful?” I asked, rounding another corner. 


“Fine, I’ll give you some real advice, in your current condition you’ll break to bits. You’ve got several crippling injuries. To recover from tissue damage you must replace the organic components. Any source will do, a blood pack, dead body, or even a living opponent can be consumed to regenerate.” The doctor wisely informed me of a method to repair the damage I had sustained. I have to eat other living things or drink blood. What the hell was I, a vampony?!


“Your advice is ‘take a bite outta crime’, really? That’s it?” I muttered, ducking behind a cluster over trashcans in a small alleyway between two small shops. Distant singing floated on the air, it’s tone was dead and hollow. I was getting close to someone, and their song was haunting.


‘Cupcakes so sweet and tasty’
‘Cupcakes, don’t be too hasty’
‘Cupcakes...Cupcakes’


        “You need to recover from that damage somehow, and your organic parts have suffered extreme damage. There shouldn’t be any shortage of bodies when dealing with raiders.” The crazed doctor advised me, seeming to have no issue with recommending me to cannibalize another pony. That advice was going to be ignored, no eating other ponies for me! Sure, I think I’d rather go with a blood pack.


        “Head-Case, I need to go silent,” I whispered, “I’m getting closer to the plaza, there are raiders nearby.”


        “Good luck, Steelgraft,” Head-Case replied, “I’m going to trace the fleeing raider’s whereabouts, I’m curious why he took your boot in the first place.” With that being said, Head-Case terminated the connection.


        Peering around the cover I saw the source of the singing, a young bubbly mare, her pink mane flat and sharp like a razor’s edge. She didn’t seem like a raider at all, just a sallow, grey mare with a bored glaze over her eyes. The earth pony wore no armor, a whole range of weapons floated about her somehow, I searched the group for a single unicorn but saw none among them. That didn’t make a lick of sense, without a unicorn how were those objects floating like that?  


The unassuming raider mare had a small chainsaw bladed knife, one of those rivet guns, a large drill press fashioned into a lance, and a whole set of kitchen utensils, knives in the majority circling about her in a lazy orbit. She was singing a song about making cupcakes, while she was getting ready to harvest a victim, sliding the blade of two knives against each other.


The poor chocolate colored stallion struggled, his forelegs spread and bolted into the outer wall of the shop behind him. He was begging, not for his own life, but for the young kids surrounded by the rest of the mad pastry chef’s group. They had been caught while trying to flee, and they were making an example of the oldest of them, a colt that could hardly be considered a stallion.


        “Please, d-do whatever you want to me! Just let the others go!” The buck cried, gritting his teeth, tears rolling down his face, his choked cries only made the bored looking mare smile wider.


        The crazed mare with the flat pink mane appraised her victim with a lick of her lips, pulling one of the older foals from the group. “Oh, I’m going not going to hurt them, silly! I’m teaching them how to make cupcakes...” She cooed, giving a wispy, rattling giggle. 


        “Lemme go you ugly blue waffle!” The foul mouthed foal with the red and black mohawk roared, fighting against the force pulling him to the mare. It was Rebel Riot! I grit my teeth, counting the raiders there and assessing their collective firepower. I wanted to dive in, but rushing in and getting vaporized wasn’t going to help anyone.


        Thirteen raiders in total, too many for me to take on with my paltry firepower. Some of them had Can Cleavers, and were decently burly, their stout legs dwarfed my slender limbs. They were bigger, uglier, and certainly better armed that I was. I might be stronger and more durable, but in a direct assault I didn’t like my chances. I was curious about how much more damage I could actually take, if I was really in bad shape or if it looked worse than it actually was.


**iSeeU online--Damage Assessment_##%**
//System Integrity: 27%\\_//System Error!\\
==Maintenance Required==


        27% integrity? That sounded bad, imminent failure bad. I really was screwed and needed a pick-me-up. I had a couple healing potions, it’d be really convenient if those worked for me. I could grab a raider and recharge, drain their bodily fluids. They could be walking vending machines...filled with blood. No, there wasn’t a need for me to start eating raiders, it’d terrify those kids! I could get the drop on them, surprise them, take them out quickly before they knew what hit them!


“N-no, gerroff! Yah can’t make me!” Rebel screamed, capturing my attention. I peeked out again to see what was going on now. The grey earth mare was forcing Rebel Riot to grip the small chainsaw knife between two hooves and inch closer and closer to the exposed belly of the helpless stallion.


That was all I could stand, it was now. Forget planning, forget everything, it was time to charge and pray! I couldn’t leave the alleyway, the moment I tried, something grabbed me from behind.


I turned on my assailant, who flapped their wings to escape my reach. They perched on the edge of a dumpster, warm amber eyes piercing the dark alleyway. I hadn’t noticed her, hadn’t heard her, the hippogryph had been behind me, watching me. She was like a ninja, that or I had the senses of a dead fish rotting in the sun. 


“No, do not go out there!” Keena warned, “They’ll eat you alive in your condition!”


“They’d eat me alive in any condition, they don’t seem to be picky eaters.” I huffed, rather glad to have someone with me at least. “How long have you been following me?”


“I’ve been following you the whole time.” She answered, preening the feathers of one of her wings briefly. She folded them up on her back and ruffled herself up, making herself appear larger. “I heard you talking to yourself, I didn’t want to interrupt. In case you were praying.”


Great, so she heard me talking to myself. Well it was better her than anyone else, the hippogriff was unlikely to judge me for my one-sided conversations, seeing she partook in plenty of those herself. 


“So, charging in head first’s a bad idea, what else can I do?”


“Create a diversion, draw some of them into this alleyway. If you can take some of them out, all the better for us to take on that mare.” She sounded hateful, her eyes narrowed into sharp slits. “Leave that witch to me. I will handle her.”


“Without a weapon...” I reminded her, “You’re unarmed.”


“Celestia has shown me the way, this is how it must be. Her plan favors our victory. Now, make haste and we shall meet them with justice.” She said, a single flap of both wings sending her airborne over the building’s rooftops, just under the razor wire netting.


Okay, time to improvise, quickly! Bear Trap n’ Chain was going to be used as an actual trap this time around, I set up the trap and laid an unfolded newspaper page on top. I baited the trap with something none of those raiders would be able to resist; one of the donuts I had in my saddlebag. The trap was set, and my next step was to get attention. I grabbed the nearest trashcan and rolled it into the cobblestone street, making as much noise as possible. 


“What was that?” Grumbled one of the raiders. Success! My distraction had drawn attention! “Go check it out.” Ordered another.


The dumpster made the perfect cover, it kept me hidden when the raider came to inspect the source of the sound. He kicked the trash can back into the alleyway, squinting into the darkness. 


“Anyone thar? Come on out,ah won’t hurtcha...Much.” He sniffed at the air, wetly coughing at the stench of the rotting garbage overflowing from several trash cans. “Mustah been a rat...a big rat.” 


He finally noticed the bait, it was a sweet donut, baked recently, it had to look out of place sitting in the middle of an alleyway. He smacked his lips, lumbering over to it, his ponched belly swaying on his wide frame. The rough looking stallion licked his wet lips and went for it, his hunger rewarded with the hard bite of metal jaws sinking deep into his leg. Had he gone for the donut face first, his end would have been swift and mostly silent, but with that trap on his leg, he howled in pain and pulled. There was no getting the metal stake out of the ground, I pounded that eight inch stake into stone.


His cries drew even more attention, a flurry of hooves heralding the arrival of no less than four more of the raiders to investigate. When they saw their ally had fallen victim to a trap they set to freeing the blubbering buffoon from it.


“Jeeze, Butterball, yer such an idiot, fallin’ fer a trap like this. You got idiot written on yer ass.” Giggled one of the raider mares. “You’re lucky I like yah, you know what usually happens when a horse busts a leg like this?”


“I know what happens to a lame horse!” I answered loudly from behind my cover. I put my gauntlets on the dumpster and pushed, the wheels squealed. A fierce buck with all my force sent the full dumpster sailing into the closely-packed raiders, dragging them across the cobblestone path, turning their collective mass into a splattered smear of pain through a display window of another shop. “They get sent out to pasture.” I finished my answer to the now deceased mare.


A soft tone inside my mind sounded before an internal display read-out displayed an increase in my overall integrity. I had natural healing afterall, that was neat. It was just taking forever to do anything useful. ”You’re still in denial, aren’t you, deatheater?” My mind asked, which was unnerving. I think it was a sign of insanity to ask yourself questions unintentionally. 


**Damage Assessment_Update##%**
//System Integrity: 32%\\
==Maintenance Required==


Distraction, check! Optional one liner while dispatching vicious raiders, also check! Five raiders down, and the attention of all the remaining raiders was homing in on my position. All in all, that was exactly what Keena had wanted me to do. 


The bear trap had stayed behind, the leg that fell victim to is stuck in its teeth. I tore up the stake and reset the trap. I threw a trash can out into the open first, it exploded in a screaming fireball as it drew fire from the twitchy raiders. I followed soon after, thrusting the bear trap out to strike the nearest raider, only to have to trap trigger prematurely, set off by a super hot rivet shattering the pressure plate.


I just really wanted a day where everything went my way, the sun shining, the birds singing, and the only horrible beating I would receive was from a stiff breeze. That wasn’t today, since it was nighttime and the raiders about to overtake me were not singing cheerful tunes.


“Keena, give me a claw here! I got their attention!” I shouted, taking a quick step back to avoid an attack from a drill lance. I beaned the raider in the head with the broken jaws of my now useless bear trap. I snagged a nearby trash can, it made a very poor shield against the saddle-mounted Can Cleaver swinging at me.


I’d made the mistake of letting them get in close, where their accuracy and weapons could make short work of me. I’d been hit several times by the blazing rivet gun, the metal plates sewn into my jacket getting bolted into my side. A hiss of sparks and heat kissed the air in a golden shower of light, in a fit of desperation I had thrust my gauntlet forward to intercept a follow up swing from the Can Cleaver wielding raider. My gauntlet was holding, the magical pulsing blade hissed angrily but did not burn through. With my other gauntlet I drew my own Can Cleaver and forced my opponent back, narrowly blocking a charge from another foe wielding what looked to be hoof mounted jack-hammers. A geyser of dirt and rock kicked up where his hooves had landed, that weapon really packed a kick! 


“Keena! I’m dying here, the buck are you?!” I shouted upwards while keeping mind on the incoming attacks. There were too many to dodge, the rivet gun hit me several more times, searing hot pieces of fractured flesh and boiling black ooze spilled from my wounds. I was losing and Keena was nowhere I could see.


“Your friend left yeh here all alone?” Mocked the rough looking burly raider, “Smart cookie, too bad, that’s just how they crumble.” The jack-hoof wielding raider delivered a swift strike across my snout, staggering me. He didn’t let up, once he hit once, he just kept coming, again and again.


“Fuck, you can really take a tenderizin’, can’t yeh?” The stallion huffed, laying into my side with a firm blow that knocked me into grouping of trash cans, scattering them. My weapon flew from my grip and skid out of reach, the magical blade flickering off. The raider was panting, his chest heaving, he was catching his breath.


“My tenacity is one of my selling points.” I wheezed, my vision swimming. I was hurt, that stallion rang my bell hard, the ringing was nearly deafening. Black goo streamed from my nose and dripped from my lips. That beefy bastard had tree-trunk legs each ending in a damn jackhammer! Points for creativity, I never suspected the art of sadistic baking and construction tools would ever find common ground.


They circled me like vultures, watching me slowly get up. They were just playing with me now that they thought I was beaten. They were playing with their food. Not a few shops away from me I could hear the pitiful sound of a pony falling victim to the sick harvester, his cries growing weaker as his life waned.


“No, no! Stop! Steelgraft, you lazy fuck! Get over here! Help me!” Rebel Riot begged, fighting against the grey mare. His cries reached me, in my cloudy vision I could see that sick mare forcing the foal to sink that blade into another pony. 


“Now, now, don’t get distracted. Pay attention. You can help me make cupcakes or you can become cuppycakes...” She cooed dreamily, withdrawing the blade from her victim. “Now that he’s open, we have to get the parts before he dies, then we get to take his eyes.”


Through blurry, swirling clouds of haze I could see what was going on, the mare was forcing the young colt to disembowel the gurgling buck a few shops away. She had him at gunpoint, the rifle at the back of Rebel Riot’s head was the same Bloomberg assault carbine that we had asked him to repair for Keena. The young nearby were huddled near a pile of boxes, supplies looted from nearby shops by the raiders, one among them was a minotaur calf.


I still couldn’t wrap my head around how that crazy mare could levitate those objects without a horn. Then again, I had been having trouble wrapping my head around the jackhammer piston that had been slamming into my skull in the most literal interpretation of that expression.


A swooping shadow dipped in the distance, yawning in a graceful arc. The rifle was snatched from the air like a fish from a river, silent and quick. My senses adjusted just as a second blow sent me sprawling, splintering an old bench and crashing me into the outside wall of the shop behind it.


“Looky here, he’s all tuckered out! No fight, yah black-blooded freak? King Hades lettin’ his little fuck-toys be out on longer leashes, now?” The buck clicked his tongue to the roof of his mouth and looked down at me apprehensively, raising one of his hooves, the piston giving a low hum as it primed. “Any last words?”


“About time...” I replied, chuckling. He didn’t know what I meant, but my meaning was driven in when Keena’s rear hooves cracked into the side of his face as she landed. 


Keena raised the rifle in both talons to fire off a quick burst of fire. The raiders scattered, surprised by her sudden appearance. There was no fury or malice in the amber eyes of Keena as she delivered justice to the wayward souls of the raiders. “Sorry it took me so long, I had to find help.” Keena apologised.


“It’s all good.” I replied in utter disbelief.


I had my doubts about her, the modest, well meaning church going hippogriff seemed so reserved, so calm, and too kind to ever harm another another. What I was seeing now was going to destroy every judgement I had passed on her. Her application of shooting games from the arcade was applied in a method that aspired to be divine deliverance.


The rifle blazed in rapid fire, three shot bursts at each target she readily saw before her, each went down as the tightly knit grouping tore through vital areas, dropping them instantly. In the span of five seconds she had killed three of the raiders, her wings still beating the air, her sharp eyes just tapping that iron sight as she flicked from target to target.


        I drew my own iron in my mouth and shot across from Keena several times, my rounds were not nearly as accurate, but after firing four times rapidly, I downed the raider that had charged Keena with his drill lance. I made sure he’d never rise again by popping the final two shots into him, just to make certain he wouldn’t be getting up.


        “I thought you were all love and tolerance,” I said, spitting out my revolver and reloading it as quickly as I could. My prosthetic digits made reloading this weapon easy, how earth ponies and pegasi would ever reload a firearm like this without magic was beyond me. It really did suck having a useless horn. “I was afraid you got lost while waiting to ambush. Where’s this help? Did it get lost?”


        Flicking a switch on the side of her rifle, Keena delivered a single round to the dazed raider underneath her, then took flight a foot off the ground. “No, they’re just slow. Steel Rangers inbound,” She answered, “Another group of Raiders are on their way too. I’ll share my love and tolerance with the witch and secure the children. Do what you do best!”


“Yeah, sure.” I groaned, rolling myself back to my hooves. I wasn’t even sure what she meant by what I did best. I was decent at not dying, but mostly that was because I routinely ran away to take cover. Killing was just a natural reflex that just happened when I did things, and perhaps she just wanted me to test these reflexes. Out of the remaining combatants, the only one witch-like was the crazy grey pastry chef. So Keena wanted me to handle everything else, possibly including the new hostiles converging on our position! Oh, and lets not forget that there was the off-chance the Steel Rangers might try shooting me once they showed up! 


“It’ll be fun! That’s why it’s called friendly fire!” My mind echoed in it’s unending attempts to usurp my sanity. 




My luck wasn’t holding out, I was suffering damage while the raiders dipped and slid out of my reach as soon as they came in range to strike me. They were mobile, quick, and deadly, pressing advantages and attacking me from opposite sides. I could not take on more at once, it took all my wits just to stay ahead in this prolonged battle.


This situation further tested my meager abilities, pushing me to improvise and make use of my environment. I couldn’t let the enemy get too close, given their weapons would effectively tear me apart, but the issue there was that I was most effective at closer ranges.


Since this had been an outdoor mall, there had at one point been living trees here, in breaks between the cobblestone surrounded by a circle of bricks. Loose soil allowed for the blackened dead trunk to easily be uprooted. I found it to be an effective melee weapon with decent reach. The only downside to using the uprooted tree was the mare with the Can Cleaver could whittle my natural mace into steaming kindling.


Keena wasn’t faring much better against the crazy psychic mare. From what glances I managed to steal between barely avoiding death blows, I saw that the mare’s attention hadn’t broken from the task of mentoring a very unwilling Rebel Riot in the art of murder. Keena was dipping, swooping, and diving to avoid hurled knives and shots from the crazed mare’s weaponry but her own attacks were deflected by hovering cutlery. 


“Fight me, you witch! Answer for your crimes and seduction of innocent souls!” Keena roared, her righteous anger was felt in every word. The hate in her voice spelled out a personal vendetta. 


“Oh, you’re so silly little bird. I always win. I’ll break your  toy again and leave with all your little friends.” The grey mare replied in a dreamy sigh, the weapons dancing in the air about her ringing as the ran their sharp edges along the partnered edge of a nearby utensil. History between the two existed, I suspected that this aloof mare was the one at fault for kidnapping the kids at the arcade. 


I was useless against these high damage dealing, quick raiders. They had no protection but it didn’t matter if I couldn’t land a punch between suffering staggering blows. I couldn’t even aim to get a shot off at one without getting hit from a different direction! We were poorly matched, I was dealing with too many opponents that countered me too well while Keena was fighting an opponent she was useless against. Fighting either sucked, running away was starting to sound appealing.


“If you want easy street, the alleyway is over there. I hope it ends in a dead end, you’d deserve that if you’re going to abandon those kids to psycho mare’s deadly daycare,”  the little voice in the back of my head chimed. Why did my psychosis have to be right at a time like this? I was going to add ‘Not being a coward’ to my mental list of things I enjoyed if I was still alive after this. 


I backpedaled incoming swings of a golden hued blade, moving to my own discarded Can Cleaver, I armed myself. Golden blade against golden blade, sparks kissing the air and scattering the darkness. “Keena, we need to switch! I’m getting torn up against these guys! I can’t even hit them!” I shouted, pushing the rancid breathed mare back. An explosion of fire caught me off guard, a bottle shattered again and a fire blossomed at my hooves. 


“Burn, pony, burn!” squealed another one of the dancing, yapping aggravations.


“I am not going to lose to her!” Keena snarled uncharacteristically. Her rifle fired off another rapid rata-tat-tat of fire that was deflected once again by the floating cutlery. Keena was nimbly twisting and jerking, circling over her opponent, trying to pierce that solid defense. It was impressive to watch her fly with grace and precision, but the grey mare hadn’t broken a sweat.


“Lose?! Keena, this isn’t a game! I’m getting shish-kebabed here!” Alas, my plea did not reach her. She was too focused on her fight with the grey psychic. 


How the hell were we supposed to fight her if we couldn’t touch her? And how was I supposed to fight these raiders in open conflict? I was getting desperate, asking Head-Case for help was my only option. “Head-Case, I need a bit of help here!” I cried, taking cover behind one of the few dead trees along the street. A few bolts punched through the frail trunk just above my head, halving the tree at the middle.


“What is it that you need?” Head-Case asked, establishing a call connection with me. “You do realize that at this juncture, I must tell you ‘I told you so’ and that you should have just run away.”


“Real cute, I need combat advice for these raiders and their psychic commander!” I shouted, antsy for assistance. I had to abandon my cover as another molotov set the tree ablaze.


“Raiders, well that’s easy, but a psychic?” The voice of the doctor asked in a questioning, disbelieving tone. “Psychics aren’t real, that’s just a myth. But I’d imagine you’d fight a psychic the same way you’d fight any unicorn, naturally, something big to overwhelm their shield spells.”


“That’s an idea! Why didn’t I think of that?” I grunted sarcastically, managing to barely parry an incoming attack only to suffer a strike from a flanking opponent. I stumbled, brandishing my weapon with amateurish, undisciplined swings. Not one hit their mark, my dancing targets escaped my reach every time! “She’s not using a shield spell, she’s levitating a ton of weapons and blocking bullets with them! She’s not even paying attention! And these raiders are hopping around like they can read my mind or something!” I shouted, getting steadily more frustrated.


“That sounds odd, care to give me a visual? Take off your eye-patch.” He ordered calmly.


“A little busy dying here, doc!” I spat. This wasn’t going well at all for me. “Psychic or not, I know what I’m seeing and these raiders are too damn fast!”


“Of course you can’t hit them, your agility parameters are suffering due to the extensive damage! You need to feed or you won’t survive much longer!” He yelled angrily, “You’re so stubborn, had you just left you wouldn’t be in this situation!”


“No time for your lecture!” I growled, steeling myself as the follow-up swing from the mare with the Can Cleaver carved over my face. There was no avoiding it, it clipped me as I tilted my head back and skid, separating the eyepatch from my eye. Sizzling smoke curled off my brow and pain soaked through my now brittle skin, blossoming a small field of cracks over my complection.


“I have a visual! That looks like an ordinary raider. A bit of a butterball. You can’t hit them? That’s a bit...Sad.” Head-Case criticized, bemused that I was getting my ass kicked by some deceptively fast stocky ponies. “No armor, risky, near suicidal charges. Hmmm, the Barbarian Baker clans do like to live and die fast.” He observed. “Where is this ‘psychic’?”


I turned tail and ran from my assailants, toward the psychic mare so that my prosthetic eye could get information for my in-house informant. It was uncomfortable but I wasn’t dazed since the lighting was so dim, thankfully it wasn’t 8 o’clock and the interior lighting hadn’t come on yet. “She’s there, surrounded by all those knives, weapons, and screaming kids. Notice the fact she has no horn?” I said, diving into a shop nearby for cover from ranged attacks coming from behind. The shop I had chosen was a store called ‘Gently Used Toiletry’ that sold used toothbrushes, plungers, and old septic tank supplies. Possibly the worse decision I could have made, since the molotov wielding lunatic outside began lobbing his fire jars into the shop. 


“Time tah pre-heat the oven!” He giggled madly. 


“That is very intriguing, she’s no psychic--I’m getting a reading of magic, she’s a Harmonic user. Odd, usually Harmonics are only used by the Fallen due to their adverse effects.”  Head-Case rambled into my skull, going on about how such a magic worked. I didn’t pay too much attention, the store around me was on fire, starting to smell like burning manure. The stench was unbearable, and so was the rambling about magic soda that gave mystical powers for reasons I could care less about!


“Just get to the part where you tell me how to kill her!” I shouted, I could barely hear myself over the sound of gunfire outside and the crackle of fire in the shop. I was going to have to leave my cover soon, the fire was spreading, overtaking the store. 


“No need to yell, I already told you, just overwhelm her telekinesis by throwing something big at her.” Head-Case huffed indignantly, a display screen leapt up and I could see his disapproving scowl. “I would hurry, it looks like your party member is not particularly effective, a Harmonics user like that is immune to smaller caliber ranged attacks. Those raiders you’re fighting on the other hoof? They abscond armor to stay mobile. The Whirlybirds are very good at dealing with them due to their use of longer ranged weaponry. Switch targets with your party member and see how that works for you.” He said in so many words what could be said in few. Why did he feel the need to explain everything to me in the middle of a firefight?


“You know, that was actually helpful.” I realized. I had something else I had wanted to say, but my conversation was cut short when the blazing heat behind me reached the sealed septic tanks. An eery squeal of gas expanding in the thin shell of the rusted iron containers thundered before belching a heated explosion that sent me sprawling out the front of the store. A reeking scent of burning gas and manure spread, and the sky rained with blazing horse apples! 


“Just one day...One day where I don’t get covered in something gross...” I groaned, pushing myself up. Karma had been unkind to the stallion that had been throwing the molotovs, his scorched corpse smoldering a few feet away from me. I felt lucky to just be alive after that.


“Steelgraft, get up!” Head-Case pestered, his projected screen flickering in the corner of my vision, “Pay attention to your EFS, you have more raiders incoming!” Hoof-falls in a disorganized march, rapidly approaching like wall or raging water in a flood. More were coming down a nearby street. 


My EFS? I didn’t give a pony feather about my EFS right now! I didn’t even know what the buck my EFS was! There were too many flashing gizmos floating in my vision and none of them were within my realm of understanding. 


“Fuck this fancy beep boop bullshit!” I roared, cursing everything I had contempt for in this new world I had woken up in. Expressing my anger in it’s most sincere form, I peeled the dead raider off the ground and launched the steaming corpse at the grey psychic mare.


Her singing stopped, her concentration homing in on the body flying at her. She intercepted my fat once-living projectile with a small armada of flying knives and a few steaming bolts from her rivet gun. The body skid to a stop, I cleared it in my charge, surprising the grey mare with a quick swing of my magical energy blade, bisecting several knives in one wide arc. The punch I delivered at the end of my charge was quick and fierce, knocking the psychotic psychic senseless and spiralling her end over end with a meaty crunch, it was music to my ears.


“All of you, run! Now!” I yelled, my voice barely making it over the crying of the children. They were all frightened of me, save for one, Rebel Riot. He was unbelievably happy to see me. The rest of the children scattered, trying to escape the battle. “Get to Cinemane Cinema, go on, run!” I urged them. The scampering hooves set them out to follow my command.


“What in Celestia’s name are you doing, Steelgraft? I told you I would handle the witch!” A very displeased Keena squawked at me. She landed with a graceful dip and folded her wings, dropping her empty mag and pulling another banana mag from under her gold trimmed vestments.


“Your plan was to fight this witch because you have a vendetta, is that it?” I accused her, making the hippogriff shrink back from me. “It doesn’t work like that, Keena. I’m not going to put my life in danger so you can fight a rival! Secure the kids, I’ll cover your escape! Go!”


That brief verbal slap to the beak was all it took. She bowed her head, “I understand. My pride was blinding me.” She flapped her wings once and readied her weapon, “Children, move quickly and stay together! I’ll clear you a path!” So she lead the kids away, leaving me to deal with the psychic mare that was already back on her hooves. I could hear the occasional gunfire in the distance as she downed any remaining raiders I missed. 


The approaching band of raiders made a charge for the fleeing group, I saw them come streaming down a side street and book it in their direction. Keena fell two of them with a quick burst fire and both groups disappeared out of sight around a corner.


“Come on, where is it!” Rebel Riot groaned, knocking a box over. He hadn’t run off with the others! The irritating runt was scrounging through the pile of supply boxes the raiders had been stealing from the nearby shops!


“What’re you still doing here?! I swear if this is about caps, I’m going to be pissed!” I yelled, getting my weapon ready to fight as a very angry grey mare was soon about to pay me back for that sneaky stunt I had just pulled.


“I need a healing potion!” The foal whined. He didn’t look hurt from what I could tell.


“You look fine kid! Just run, catch up to the others!” I bellowed, my worried gaze locked onto my slowly advancing target. 


The angry grey mare was surrounded in a whirlwind of flying knives and other weaponry  held aloft by her mysterious power. Her dreamy expression was replaced by the jagged smile of an angry demon, her hair billowing about. “Where are you going? No! Come back! You’re not allowed to leave!” She called with a voice that echoed into a hollow and warbled cry. My punch had left a side of her face swollen and bleeding, oozing red ichor in steady streams.


“I’m not leavin’ him! It’s my fault he’s hurt!” Rebel Riot argued, the cries of the grey mare chilling him to the core. He shook like a leaf, and he frantically searched for a medical box among the supplies. “You said you were a superhero! Super heroes are supposed ta save everypony!” He bawled at me. Just like in his comic book, I had to save everypony, right?


The chocolate stallion nailed to the wall looked near death as it was, he had been cut open in a jagged line up the center of his guts, and some of his entrails were hanging out. His chest rose and fell with ragged, weak breath, and his eyes were glazed with pure terror. His chances of survival were slim, but they were going to be zero if he wasn’t helped.


Blades took to the air, whipped at us with lightning quickness, throws fueled by the insane rage saw within the eyes of the psycho witch. The shots were wide, grazing me twice and one shot stuck into one of the many boxes. I was beginning to doubt Head-Case’s claim that such a power came from drinking a magic infused soda. This was nothing short of daedric, chaotic magic.


“You’re right,” I admitted, snatching up a nearby box and using it as an impromptu shield against the incoming knives. “Never leave a pony behind.” There was no other choice I could live with other than doing what I thought was right, no matter the personal cost. “Find that healing potion, I’ll keep the witch busy.”


Rebel Riot nodded, his frantic searching through the supplies yielded no results for the first few tense moments. “Here it is!” He shouted.


“The healing potion?” I asked hopefully, the wooden box in my grip was already breaking apart against the thrown blades.


“No, my riot shield! Here!” He gripped it in his mouth and tossed it over to me. 


Well, it was better than a box! I ditched the useless wooden pincushion and picked up the resilient yet easily held riot shield, slamming the sharpened edge down and digging in. The knives just bounced off! Which was great, until the angry psychic mare started firing that high powered rivet gun, denting the shield with every pulse. Slowly, we were losing ground.


This wasn’t a mare, it was a force of nature. Cold blades of ice whirling in a dervish of destruction, her mad grin leering at us from the center of the storm. “Throw something big at her, what a great plan that was!” I mocked the advice given to me by Head-Case.


“Oh, a dead body, that’s certainly big enough!” Head-Case retorted. “How is this my fault? You’re the one being reckless!”


“Sure, it was stupid, but at least you did somethin’!“ Rebel replied to me, assuming I had been talking to myself. He couldn’t hear Head-Case. “I got it!” He announced.


“Another riot shield?” I asked sarcastically.


“No, dumbass, I got the healin’ potion! Lets grab Bruise n’ get the fuck outta here!” He snapped, securing the potion bottle. His plan was very agreeable, I wanted to avoid getting turned into a pincushion.


We maneuvered to Bruise on the nearby wall, which was hard since I had to compensate to give equal coverage to Rebel Riot and Bruise now. Gaps in my defense opened up, and I got a shiny new knife jutting out of one of my forelegs for the trouble.  I’d just strip the stallion from the wall and book it, but he’d die of blood loss if I did that, he needed the potion before I could move him. 


The foal was too short to give Bruise the potion, so he had to clamber onto my back. This meant raising the shield and exposing even more of my stabbable bits to the psycho raider now overtaking the store Bruise was bolted to. The fierce speeds of her knives swirling around her were eroding the store into plaster chunks and splinters.


“R-r-run...L-l-lea...” The chocolate colored stallion was weak, death was near. He wanted us to leave without him.


“Just drink the potion! It’s my fault yer hurt! I’m not letting you die cuzza me!” Rebel denied the dying stallion his request, forcing the potion on him. The stallion was just refusing to drink it! “Why won’t you drink it?!” Rebel Riot cried.


The suction of the air currents around the mare got around the shield and sucked it straight from my grasp, peeling away that final layer of protection. There wasn’t anymore time, we couldn’t save this stallion, and he probably knew it all along. His tear-filled eyes shared a lifetime of lost conversations. 


“Th--- ---” His lips moved, his last words, a gurgled whisper stolen by the violent current.  


Even if Rebel Riot hated me forever, we had to run. Against the protests of the child, I galloped, our very lives depended on it. The store behind us was stripped away, and with it the chocolate colored stallion. I failed to shield Rebel’s eyes, he could only gaze back in horror at my failure as the friend he was forced to butcher was turned into red mist.


“Noooo, come back here~” The warbled voice called hauntingly. Knives sailed through the air, striking all around us. Now that we were rapidly moving, the grey mare found us a more challenging target. With a shriek, she sent them all, all of her little flying friends came down like a hail of bullets. The thundering clash of the falling knives behind me grew closer, closer and closer, inch by inch, the impacts grew closer.


“Bruise! Why!? We gotta go back!” Rebel cried out, trying to break free of my grip. He was crying, trembling, angry and hurt. He hated this and I hated him seeing how ugly the world could be.  


“Damn it, quit squirming! We can’t save him now!” I hollered, trying to keep a grip on the foal while a rain of sharp deadly instruments rained down around us. Any shelter nearby was getting flayed apart by the fiercely flaying cutlery.


He pushed and pulled, eventually breaking free of my grasp. He hit the ground and charged the grey mare, even while blades and debris rained down. “You stupid bitch! I’ll kill you, I’ll kill you so hard! Give him back! Give him back!” He shrieked, charging her with reckless abandon.


I skidded to a stop and charged after Rebel. I could understand why he was so angry, why he hated her. That didn’t make it okay to throw his life away! By some miracle I caught up to him and threw myself over him, bracing myself against the coming hail. By now, I’d given up on escape, there was no way to outrun the force of nature that was the psychic mare’s rage. It was either death took us both or I greeted it alone like an old friend. At least this old, dead body was good for something in the end. 


“No, let me go! I want tah kill her, stoppit!” Rebel Riot cried. “Let me go! Bruise! That stupid b-bitch made me!” Even now the child was fighting against me, he wanted to charge straight into her, he’d die. I knew he wasn’t stupid, he knew he’d die, he had to know that.


The blades pierced the cobblestone, sinking inches deep, giving me a hint about how much damage they were doing to me since I could not feel the pain. The blades rang like thunder, roaring through the empty streets. My coat was shredded, my saddlebags split open, losing their contents, and black blood ran along my limbs, pooling around the frightened child that stared up into my eyes.


“I’m sorry,” I mumbled softly, “Throwing your life away won’t...Stops raining, you...” My thoughts were jumbled, and my memories surfaced briefly and vanished, like tears in the rain. It became increasingly hard to think as the seconds melted away, blurring into an incoherent mess. The vision from my left eye flickered and dimmed, and my thoughts became blank. I couldn’t make sense of where I was anymore, but below me was a child, a foal. He looked a lot like my son. In my fading consciousness that’s just who he was.


“Steelgraft? Steelgraft?! Your systems are failing! What’s going on, I can’t see your viz--” *Brzt* I heard a brief, scattered message from somepony before the connection went dead. It sounded important, whatever it had been. I probably missed an important call about an excavation for work or something. I’d have to call them back in the morning. 


“Still...afraid of thunder, Rowdy? That’s okay, it’s just a little...rain.” I managed, I didn’t know why I felt so tired. Was it early morning? Another thunderstorm late at night, making my son rouse me and my wife from bed? Yes, that’s all it was. I was too tired to fight the lull of sleep, and I yawned softly.


“Daddy, the thunder is scary!” My son cried, rubbing his tear swollen eyes with his hooves. 


I sat up in my bed and groaned, seeing the little blue unicorn in such a state pushed all the drowsiness I’d been feeling into the back of my sleep-deprived mind. I drew in into my forelegs and sat him in the center of the bed. “You’re getting too big to be sleeping with mommy and daddy, sport.” I answered, ruffling his mane with a hoof. “There’s nothing to be frightened of, it’s just thunder.”


“B-but there are monsters too! The storm makes more of them!” He blubbered. If it wasn’t for the fact I was his father I wouldn’t have understood a single word of that.


“Alright, you win.” I said in defeat, patting the spot between me and my wife. She was facing away, and had yet to wake up. “She can sleep through almost anything.” I commented with a roll of my eyes. “Try not to wake her up, she’ll get grumpy.”


Soon, we were all cozy in the bed, my son curled between us, and with every crack of thunder the small foal would shake and sob. Soon, he was pestering his mother, prodding her with his hoof. “M-momma...I’m still scared...” He whimpered. 


She had work in the morning, the museum was going to be opening a new exhibit, so she really needed her rest. For as genteel as she usually was, the mare was exceptionally bothered when woken in the dead of night. Rowdy never did follow our in-house rule of let mommy and daddy have their first cup of coffee in the morning before begging us to play, and he never listened when I told him not to wake mommy either. I guess I wasn’t the best at calming him down though, that was her expertise. 


She shifted and gave a soft sigh, “Don’t worry, sweety, momma will make you into an angel.” She answered in a voice that did not belong to my wife. Her giggle filled me with dread. “Sweetheart, do you like...Cupcakes?”


My blood was ice in my veins, and the figure that pushed herself up and slowly turned to us was  not the beautiful mare I loved, but a sadistic monster. Her leering grin split her lips as blazing yellow eyes pierced through us. She brandished a knife in her telekinetic grasp and lunged for my son.



//CMD: Boot_Sequence\\
*Backup Systems Online*


        The world returned in a brilliant flash of light, the nerves in the back of my left eye burned with the pain of fire, my unshielded eye making me reel in pain. My convulsions and twists caused my body to stir to full wakefulness, filling my vision with the imagery of my brief nightmare.


        A grey mare was leering over an injured powder blue earth pony foal, she was running her hoof along his spiked, red streaked black mane and cooing gently to him. A dozen small tombstones jutted from the ground around me, unfocused and blurry. No, they were knives, knives sticking into the ground. As my senses took hold, things connected, symbols had meaning and memories referenced past events. 
        

        “You didn’t want to play, that’s no fun. It’s okay to lose. It only hurts once.” The mare was speaking in short fragments, disconnected and broken, stuttering. Or that was just how I perceived them. 


        The grey mare was an enemy, and that child was in trouble. I scraped the ground with my forehooves, curling my digits into the cobblestone. I tried to speak, but no sound came out, just a rattling, broken cough and black ichor.


        Both ears on the mare’s head perked, “Do I hear it? An angel breathing still? Lucky little tart.” She pushed the foal’s face into the floor and moved away from him, slinking up to me, only her front hooves were in view when she was right in front of me.


        “Black tears, there is nothing to break. You fight against the king. Painful truth in a beautiful lie.” She hummed pleasantly, leering down and pushing her face into mine. She dragged the dull edge of a blade over my cheek, “Pretty eyes, might I take what you see?” She aligned the blade against one of my eyes and drew it back, stomping on one of my legs to hold me in place.


        I couldn’t fight back, my flaccid body refused to listen. I couldn’t even wince as the blade twitched, turning in the air like a key. My eye socket was going to be the lock.


        She stopped for a moment and listened, taking a breath and holding it. Faint, heavy metallic hoof falls broke the silence. “Lucky little tart.” She muttered. “Maybe they’ll break you. Yes. Lucky little tart.” She leaned in, offering me a single smile and withdrew, tossing the blade away. I could hear the sound of her retreating off into the darkness.


“Ma’am, I’m picking up two Non-Com on EFS, wounded.” A distant, tinny voice spoke.


“Isn’t this where the hippogriff said there was trouble?” Rumbled another deep voice.


“It looks like a tornado came through here.” Observed another. “A flaming shit tornado. So glad my rebreather filter’s working.”


“Steelgraft!” A screen popped up in my display, making me want to shield my eye from the glare, my limp limbs did not respond. “I managed to boot your secondary systems,” Head-Case cheered, his crab-claw manipulators fidgeting with something on his screen. “One problem though, you’ve got a knife stuck in between c5 and c6 of your cervical vertebrae. I’m working on bypassing the damaged sector, but it’ll take me time. It’d be really nice if you listened to me next time, and avoid these tired cliches of a stubborn would-be hero.”


“It’d be really nice if I could even talk right now!” I thought bitterly, the brow over my right eye twitching angrily. Getting my ass kicked by a crazy psychic pastry chef and paralyzed, even temporarily wasn’t doing my mood any favors. That, and it sounded like those Steel Rangers Keena had spotted earlier were finally showing up. Here I was, my ass unprotected. Yup, I was served up on a silver bucking platter for those ‘good ole boys’. And girls. I could only fret and enjoy my own internal monologue of how bucked I was as those thundering hoof steps drew near.


“Plant me and call me an apple tree, because I am BUCKED!” I screamed mentally. The rest of my thoughts fell in line with trying to urge my body to move.


“Look at what we have here!” Exclaimed a booming voice, very close now. “Look familiar, Silver Tongue?”


“Holy blazing pubes, that’s that stupid fucking cyberghoul!” The spastic mare cried out, she stomped over to me prodding my unresponsive body with a hoof. “Serves you fucking right, you trash heap, I hope you suffered!”


“Stop screwing with him!” Barked a militant, authoritative voice from nearby, another Steel Ranger that was out of my range of vision. “Somepony check on the kid, make sure he’s alright.”


“Yes ma’am!” Replied a rather plucky Steel Ranger subordinate that rushed to follow that order. After a few moments of checking the kid over, the ranger called out, “He’s alright, he’s just stunned, looks like he got whacked on the dome pretty hard.”


A mixture of relief and anger washed over me. Relief because Rebel Riot was okay, and anger because one of the Super Asinine Tactical Squad was going through my belongings. 


        “Hey, this corpse has some decent swag! Looka this kit!” Chuckled one of the rangers, “Finders keepers?”


        “The only thing you’ll find is a court martial if you keep screwing with that thing.” Rumbled the deep voice again. 


“Hey, it’s not like that thing’ll be using that gear anytime soon. I was kinda hoping we’d get to send more of those bakery banditos to dirt naps.” chuckled a mare, she was kicking the knives that were firmly stuck in the ground. “Though I ain’t the least bit curious about what did this. Probably some psycher, think there could be Fallen somewhere?” 


“Unlikely,” interjected another Steel Ranger, “The Fallen don’t leave the Pitfall, there must be some Baker Barbarian running around with freak juice.”


“Speaking of freaks, what are we going to do with that thing? Is it still alive?” 


“It wasn’t alive to begin with, Silver Tongue, it’s a machine. But no, I think it’s just disabled.” Rumbled the deep voiced stallion again. I rolled my eyes up and through the dim light of some interior lights I could make out the decal ‘Stand Tall’ on his armored flank. These were the same Steel Rangers from the checkpoint outside the town.


“You’re kidding, that thing looks like it’s a pin cushion! It’s still...you know, ticking?” the mare asked, moving over to me to prod me with a hoof. I twitched, causing her to leap back with fright, she trained her shotgun on me. “Holy flaming suns, it moved!”


The expletives I wanted to shout at the mare were as numerous as they were creative, many revolving around how brazenly stupid she was even when compared to pond algae and sky barnacles. Probably for the best that I still couldn’t find my voice, all that rose from me was a brief, fitful gurgle. 


“We’re going to fix him up.” Stated  the authoritative Steel Ranger, limping passed my view. She wore heavily damaged armor, and half her helmet was fractured badly, revealing a part of her grease stained face underneath. She was a unicorn, that was odd, I’d never seen a unicorn Steel Ranger before. “That there’s my VIP. You best take your weapon off him before I shove it up your ass and rename you Latrine Licker!”


“Ma’am, this monster is your VIP?” Stand Tall questioned. I was just as confused as he was, I had no idea what was going on. 


“I didn’t stutter, long shank.” The saucy Ranger barked. She limped over to supervise the medic treating Rebel Riot and looked the dazed foal over. She ran a hoof over his mane dotingly like a mother would, speaking with gravely sweetness,“Tough spud, you’ll pull through.” 


The mare claimed to be an acquaintance of mine, and she seemed familiar. Was this Steel Ranger somepony from my past? That would mean she was a ghoul, there was no other way she could still be alive for me to know her otherwise. 


It wouldn’t do me any good if I spooked the trigger happy retards into finishing me off, so there I lay, flaccid and useless. The burning pain of the light hitting my left eye was turning seconds into an eternity of excruciating discomfort. My focus weaned in and out, parts of my body giving spaztic, uncoordinated jerks. Head-Case was trying to get me moving.


The mare with the cracked helmet filled my vision, one eye was exposed through the shattered half of her helm. Her eye was an earthy, warm brown, the glint of a sterling silver piercing shined on her brow. She scooped up my chin with a hoof and tilted my head up. “Hey there, assbiter. Looks like you took a few for the team, huh?” She said to me calmly, “Piercing’s are all the rage, Dead-head, but you went a little overboard. Don’t worry, you’re going to be fine.”


“Gangrene?” I thought in disbelief, it couldn’t be her! Gangrene hated Steel Rangers! My mind was projecting things into the world again, that had to be it. My memories were mingling with reality again, that was the only explanation. I curled my digits, taking in a fistfull of stone and tried to push myself up, “Kreegh?” A gurgle came out in place of words.


“Hold still, you got a nice sized knife in your neck. Really, Steel-daft, this fashion statement’s in poor taste. I’m going to start calling you the one-boot wonder.” The mare taunted me playfully. Her horn ignited in magic. “This’ll take me a few minutes...”


Laying there was all I could do as blade after blade was carefully extracted from my battered coat. According to the mare operating on me, I was lucky that my armor had saved me from some of the worse damage. She commented that most of the blades had left only superficial wounds. A small mountain of serrated cutlery ranging from forks to knives, to a single sharpened spoon grew next to me with every tug of magical force. The only serious damage I had suffered, according to her, was the blade that had slipped under my bomb collar, through my neck, cutting off my airway. Had I been alive, I would not have survived such an injury.


“Tough as a tank, your name suits you more than you know,” The mare huffed, working delicately on the next pair of knives. “This one’s a bit deeper.”


“Ma’am, we need to get going. It’s 17:40, curfew in twenty. We can’t afford to get locked in for the night, we’re in hostile territory with no knowledge on enemy numbers.” Stand Tall said  stoically, surveying his surroundings diligently. 


“Do you feel like carrying him?” The mare asked him while she worked on carefully extracting the knife from my neck.


“N-no, ma’am.” He stuttered.


“Then shut the fuck up and bring me a plummy, he lost a ton of fluid and I don’t need him passing out while we get the survivors the fuck outta here.” She ordered.


“Plummy, ma’am?” He parroted, the use of her words leaving him dumbfounded.


“A blood pack, you steel brained git! A blood pack!” She roared. The large stallion nodded quickly to her and trotted over to the medic, fulfilling her request and delivering her a red gel pack full of rich red blood. The mare snatched it from the air with her magic and struggled to find a vein on me. “Fuck, all collapsed! No pulse either. Fuck it!” She just jabbed the needle in somewhere and held the packet overhead in her magical grasp. 


A final tug and the blade in my neck came out with a juicy squirting geyser of black, a rolling gag from my throat spewed a thick, stringy mess of goo and undigested donuts all over the ground. After a coughing fit, my airway was completely clear, and I could feel a warm sensation rattled through me, starting at the side of my neck and spreading like a small fire just under my skin. The blood bag drained, sucked dry as if my body was drinking it in. Mobility returned after a few more seconds and the cracks in my flesh from the magical energy weapons filled in, though the worst of them remained visibly deep. I saw my integrity jump up a total of 8% by the time the blood pack was drained, but my condition was still poor, hovering under 40% efficiency. I really wanted to shut off my display, it was as useless as it was annoying.


The first thing I did when I could move was cover my left eye with one of my gauntlet hands, the second was push myself up. I had to lean on the Steel Ranger with the cracked helmet to keep from tipping over.


“Woah there, not so fast. You’re gonna land on the pile of knives and make me start all over on you.” She scolded, holding me steady in a grip of magic. “Feeling better?”


“I don’t feel much.” I replied gravely, “Thanks for the save, but why’re you helping me?”


“Don’t look a gift horse in the snatch, coffin breath. Lets just say nopony kisses my ass like you do. Your memory is about as good as that fashion sense of yours, one boot willy.” she said with cryptic inflection. I really didn’t know what she was talking about, but she was dropping hints of who she was. 


“Gan--Mphhhmp?!” I tried to ask her if she was Gangrene, but she quickly held my trap shut with both hooves.


“Loose lips sink ships, bucko. No talking about classified intel in front of another chapter.” She chimed airily, the one eye I could see was staring me down. 


“Secret mission?” Stand Tall interjected, trotting up alongside the mare holding my jaws. “Is that why you’re so far from Phillydelphia?” 


“Yeah, but that’s on a need to know basis. Steelgraft here’s a bit loose with his lips though. Normally he keeps quiet as long as he has something to suck on. We call him the guzzler back on base.” She hinted, adding insult to injury on my behalf. This was Gangrene alright.  She pulled her hooves free from my snout and wrapped a foreleg around my shoulder. “Me and this guy go way back. Been with our chapter for fifty or so years, ever since we found him in a shitty bunker. Literally, the latrines in the facility were all backed up. Isn’t that right, shit breath?”


Awkward situation made worse by being expected to play along. I knew for a fact this was Gangrene. I sighed, deadpanning, “Right. Poop everywhere. How’s the brat?”


“He’s just unconscious,” the Steel Ranger medic spoke, scooping the child up and draping him over his own back. “He’ll be in good hooves with me. Now that we’re done waking the dead, shall we move out, ma’am?”


What sorcery had Gangrene used to bewitch a squad of Steel Ranger goons? I would ask later, for now, I pulled away from the incognito punk of a mare. 


“That halfbreed said there were a buncha kids over here. Where are they?” Silver Tongue asked. The mare wisely kept her distance from me, her weapon pointed at the ground at my hooves. She could easily raise the weapon in a fraction of a second. 


“Keena, the hippogriff,” I said, stressing the part where I mentioned she was a hippogriff,  “Lead them off to the Cinemane Cinema, there’s a whole group of survivors holed up there.”


“So they’re all safe?” The mare with the cracked helmet probed, worry heavy in her voice. “They all made it?”


“Not all of them.” I admitted, feeling my latest failure heavy on my shoulders. I slumped slightly, hanging my head. “It was hard enough getting the kid out of that mess. Lost one of them.”


“Damnit! Those filthy cake munchers are gonna pay! Everyone form up, we’re moving out!” She barked, every ranger answered her with their actions. They formed up into two lines of three, with Stand Tall at the front. 


I gathered up my gear and piled my belongings into my torn saddlebag, which spilled my contents again. After another minute or two of wasted time, one of the rangers that briefly broke formation helped me duct tape my bags back together. A quick, ugly, and very poor job, but at least my bags would hold my belongings. 


“Thanks. I’ll meet you guys at the cinema. I wonder what’s playing.” I muttered, making my way down the cobblestone street, heading for the plaza.


“The buck’re you going, Steelgraft?” The disguised Gangrene called to me.


“The Plaza.” I answered, my pace speeding up to a quick trot. There was still something I had to do.




“You’re stupid, you know that?” Gangrene said to my as she followed along. She had told the Steel Rangers to head on without her, and without question they followed that order. It was just me and her, trotting along the burnt out streets littered with shell casings and dead bodies. The Misfits certainly put up a fight before losing ground, that was certain. The metal encased mare had a slight limp, grunting every few steps.


“This stupid pony is not about to leave anypony behind.” I replied, a bit sore with the mare. “You never told me you were a Steel Ranger. What’s Phillydelphia like?” I tightened the bindings around my left eye again, making sure the bandages Gangrene had given me were staying in place over my left eye. It did a nice job filtering the light cast off by the shops that were ablaze.


“Ex-Steel Ranger, never been to Phillydelphia,” She corrected me. “And you never told me you weren’t a real doctor.”  Gangrene accused slyly. 


“Wait, you knew?” I asked, bewildered. I thought my acting was rather decent, then again, her real skills as a medic helped her see through my deceit. 


“What doctor needs a road map to their own workplace? It was so damn obvious.” She trilled, levitating my side arm in the air. I had let her borrow it, not that I really had a choice, given Gangrene was rather insistent she needed a ranged weapon. “It was so cute, seeing you pretend to be a doctor! Acting all important so I wouldn’t just shoot yah!~” She aimed my pistol at me and made a ‘Bang bang~’ noise.


She was closer to the truth than I felt comfortable with, her assumptions were a bit too precise. “If you think my plan is stupid, why’re you coming along?” I asked, pushing a body out of my way.


“I’m just hoping I get to put down more of the bad cookies. It’s a bit personal.” She chimed.


“Personal enough to ask the Steel Rangers for help?”


“Those raiders burnt down my house and killed most my gang, what do you think?” The mare snarled, the wounded predator was far more deadly when agitated. She brought a hoof down on one of the corpses and crushed it under the weight of her metal clad hoof. “Right now, they’re a means to an end. Just like you are.”   


“I thought you just liked me.” I replied, feeling a bit nervous to be around her. She was as resourceful as she was unpredictable. It was a good thing she was on my side.


“Oh, I do. It’s just that you’re useful. All morons have their uses.”


“I’ll pretend that was a compliment.” I replied glumly, brushing my bangs out of my eyes again. I needed a hair pin or ribbon, it might be easier if my hair was tied back.


“Whatever helps yah sleep at night, sweetheart.” She playfully jabbed. She was pretty chipper for somepony that lost her home and most of her comrades. That worried me. “What’s with the one boot fashion statement?”


“A raider ran off with my other one.” I replied with a sigh, “No idea why. I should have hit him harder with it...”


“Ah, and do I wanna know why there were piles of flaming shit everywhere back there?”


“It was just a shit storm.” I replied, making the mare snicker.


“Right. The shit really hit the fan,” She jested.


“We’re horrible ponies.” I affirmed. “I’m really sick of this crap.”


“I’ve run out of poop jokes.” Gangrene snickered. “You really know how to take the edge off.” She added gratefully. “Just stay down wind of me, my respirator is busted and you stink.”


Cradle Robber’s broadcasts still continued over the speakers lining the empty streets. His insults and threats punctuated by the cheers of his audience and the screams of the dying. “Oh, looks like round four is over! The winner is Mister Melon! Good job, enjoy your freedom!” A gunshot was heard, followed by a soft chuckle, “Oh, sorry, guess someone in the audience wasn’t too impressed with his performance. Guess nobody wins!” 


We were nearing the plaza, and our plan was fairly simple at this point. We were going to rush down there and free any captives, shoot Cradle Robber on the fly and run as fast as we could for the Cinema, regroup, and leave this place before the curfew hit, locking us inside. We had a little over ten minutes to pull something like this off, it was crazy, good thing Gangrene liked my brand of crazy. 


Smoke rose over the Plaza, funneled out gaping holes in the razor wire net overhead. Something was amiss, not right, and Gangrene was the first to notice. There was no sound coming from the pit, but the broadcasts continued. We slunk quickly over to the escalator and peered down the decline into the ruined hub of the outdoor mall. Gangrene gasped, taking a step back while I stared, my mouth falling open.


There were no captives, nor was there some gladiator champion called Tauros. In the place of what was expected there were large pods, shaped like giant iron stars. They were open, smoke billowing from inside their chamber. I knew instinctively what they were, it was hard wired into me to recognize them.


“W-what are those things?” Gangrene broke the silence, confused.


“Drop pods.” I answered, climbing down the broken escalator. A hesitant Gangrene followed me. Every single pod was barren, it’s dark womb staring out. They were empty. 


“I really don’t wanna know what was inside them.” Gangrene muttered, keeping her distance from them. The speakers continued to blare threats and insults, declaring Tauros the victor of another round. 


I made my way for the fountain at the center. There had to be a reason for this, the misdirection, the pods, and the involvement of the Baker Barbarians. This seemed too grand for the Muffincakes alone, they had crushed all resistance far too easily.


“No survivors. No raiders either.” She mused thoughtfully. She tossed a rock into the fountain, a soft splash of blood lapping over the side. The reservoir was freshly filled. There were bodies in the pool, cut to pieces. “Steelgraft, we should leave. Now. This is all kinds of bad.” She called to me, acting the voice of reason.


“Why would you leave? You just got here...” Spoke a cloaked stallion that appeared next to the guillotine.  “Don’t you want to stay a while? We have plenty to talk about, Captain. Do you like history? Let me give you a little less--”


Gangrene lifted her sidearm and fired two shots rapidly at the cloaked figure, both struck, leaving a steaming trail of ichor to trickle down his brow from under his hood. The figure stumbled back and collapsed, slumped over the edge of the fountain’s raised platform. 


“Why did you do that?!” I cried, astonished as to why she just blew some random pony away. Sure, he was ominous, and what he said was nerve wracking, but she just shot someone with very little provocation. 


“He was going to monologue! We don’t have time to listen to bullshit.” She retorted, using her telekinesis to lift the hood on the body. She shot me a glance then covered up the body. “Fucking weird...” She hissed. She began to trot back to the escalator. “Come on Steelgraft, before some other whack job shows up.”


“Gangrene, who was that?” I demanded. I hadn’t gotten a good look at the body. I was going to have to climb over the edge of the fountain and leap to the center to check.


“Steelgraft, lets just go! You don’t want to look, he’s ass ugly.” She urged me to leave. “He’s dead, mission accomplished!”
 

“I wouldn’t go congratulating yourselves just yet~” The voice of Cradle Robber cheerfully sang over the speakers scattered around the plaza. “You just shot the messenger. Poor guy, he was this close to getting that promotion too.”


While he spoke, movement shifted along the edges of the plaza. Soft metallic tings of metal tapping over the ground, and long gashes began appearing in the stone around the edges of my vision. One of the pods was cleaved in two, collapsing over the escalator.


 Cradle Robber chuckled, “In less than ten minutes, it won’t matter how far you run. You’ll be trapped inside with these things. And don’t you worry, your friends won’t be bored to death--Tauros will keep them entertained.”


“Oh shit!” Gangrene grunted, flinching at the impact of the pod crashing into the escalator. “What the fuck’s down here with us?! I can’t see them!” She scanned the area, detecting something nearby. “My EFS is littered with hostiles. They’re everywhere now!”


A plethora of hisses came from everywhere, blades tapping over the ground as they drew closer. A ripple of light bent as a sizzling blade launched towards us. I took Gangrene to the ground to avoid the blow. 


Gangrene was very pissed, firing off several rounds in the direction of the attack. She hit something, and a static break in the light revealed one of our assailants.


The pony shaped creature flickered into reality, it’s body covered in shiny black latex. A sensory deprivation mask covered it’s face, a an armored white protrusion like a skull resting over it’s face. Instead of a hoof at the end of each leg, there were bladed fixtures with glowing blue edges. Even their tail had been replaced with a blade. Tubing ran around their body, attaching to a strange domed backpack that socketed into it’s torso. In the place of a cutie mark, the beast had an identification number on it’s haunches, this one read as 0453-E.   


“Fucking fuck! We’re fucked!” Gangrene growled, pushing me off of her. “Striders, fucking Striders!” She raised the revolver and unloaded the weapon at the creature that charged. It didn’t slow, leaping over her and somersaulting, planting it’s bladed legs into the carapace of one of the nearby drop pods.


Hissing creatures, each the same began to uncloak from hiding. Their rattling, hissing threats homing in on us. They were everywhere, hanging from the ceiling, running along walls, and climbing over the ruins of the escalator.


“Feel free to struggle before you die, it’ll be more fun that way.” The voice over the intercom laughed cruelly. “Traitors always die so beautifully.”


“You know what I’m going to say, don’t you, Steelgraft?” Gangrene huffed.


“Go ahead and say it.” I replied, drawing back from the horde.


“You’re a fucking moron!”




        “Steelgraft, good news! I figured out how to bypass your damaged sector and--Oh, you’re already ambulatory.” Head-Case droned on for a moment. When he heard the hissing and the shrieks in the background, he spoke up again.“I suppose you want me to leave you alone right now? Is this a bad time?”


        “Very bad time, doc!”




        Oh, are we taking a break again? Goodness, this whole thing is taking quite some time. Still, it is pretty eventful. Your sub par intelligence has lead you to not only get beaten by a mini boss, but gotten you to run right into a trap. Seems to me you really aren’t that lucky, Steelgraft. At least you get to level up, that’s a plus. Those few extra hit points will help you last a few moments longer against those Striders. I agree, as Gangrene has so eloquently put it, you are FUCKED.


        King Hades must really want you dead to pull out all the stops like this, I think it’s funny, honestly. It certainly is an unexpected change of pace!

        And yes, Gangrene shot the guy that was going to give a long winded explanation of what was going on in the Plaza. Don’t worry, you’ll get to know what is going on next chapter. Also, plenty of things are going to die. 


LEVEL UP--Level 6!--
New Perk!
Toughness(1)!
Character Progress Review

==Stay tuned!==

Oh, look, more art

From Ask18Carrot!
A piece by Inkwell
Oh, look, Striders
Steelgraft by Beowulf