//------------------------------//
// Chapter Six - Blood Money 
// Story: Fallout Equestria: Natural Selection 
// by Zedrei 
//------------------------------//


Chapter Six



Blood Money






Bored.




Bored. Bored. Bored.




One should never be bored at the prospect of going clubbing. Even if it was for business I should have liked to soak up the atmosphere and just possibly some drinks. But, sadly, this was the case. I found the very thought positively tedious. This worried me, as before the wars I had lived for the night, the pulse and shake of the dance. But then I already knew the reason for my jadedness.

I stood in the corridor before the glowing sign of the club, the violin case chafing my back, and read the curling neon.

Elysium.

The name pulsed a deep purple, while a neon red filly perched atop it winked suggestively at passers-by in an endless cycle.

Some things never change.

I approached the doors, the throbbing bass filtering tantalisingly through the walls, and flashed the identity card at the looming bouncer.  I tugged down the peak of the grey work cap to hide my features, but the earth pony scanned the card without much interest and waved me through. He didn’t seem to wonder why a workpony three hooves taller than him with a hidden face was taking a violin case into his club. Oh well. My employer had said he had allies.

The doors swung inward, releasing a pounding beat and the stench of sweat, cheap perfume and alcohol. I walked into the semi-circular foyer, all shiny granite and plush red drapes, with portraits of the favourite dancers lining the walls. From the semi-darkness a sky-blue mare emerged, dressed in just enough clinging leather to make a bootlace.

“Hey hun…” she lilted, sidling close in a gust of perfume and fluttering ridiculously long eyelashes. “And just what can I do for you this evening?” A sneaky hoof caressed my leg. Perhaps tonight wasn’t so bad after all.

I groaned in theatrical despair. “I’m so sorry sweetheart but I’m actually here on business. Do you happen to know where a mister Slingshot is please? I have a delivery.”

She backed off, eyes narrowing. “Not a friend of yours is he?” she asked suspiciously.

“Not at all, exactly the opposite in fact.”

“Good. He’s a prick, too thick to take no for an answer. But anyway fuck him…” she resumed her tactile assault, breathing heavily in my ear, “why don’t you spend some time with me instead? I’m much better company...”

At this rate I wouldn’t make it past the damn foyer! Quashing my interest I gently pushed her away, with a light peck on the cheek by way of apology.

“I really am devastated but I just can’t right now, perhaps some other time,” I said courteously, laying on the politeness with a trowel.

She sighed. “Too bad sweetie, it’s nice to have a gentlecolt around for a change. Follow me then…”

I followed her swaying haunches through an arch behind the desk. We walked through a darkened tunnel of plush but ragged velvet, listening to the music getting progressively louder as we approached.

A curtain was brushed aside, and I was struck by a tangible wall of light and sound.

The tunnel opened up into a huge chamber, as if Luna herself had hollowed a tower block and filled it with all the brilliance of a meteor shower. The towering walls were covered with magic that changed shape and colour in response to the rhythm, throbbing lines of light in eye watering colours. In the centre, stretching all the way to the distant ceiling was a single column of power. A palpitating pillar of vermillion luminescence within which could be seen the shadowy mile high ghost of a dancer, her mane eddying with her movements and body pulsing to the beat.

I stopped before things got too loud for speech, and touched my escort on the shoulder.

“Listen… ah… this is awkward but… I meant what I said about not being Slingshot’s friend. I’m serious here, things are and will be the opposite of friendly. You understand? So get somewhere safe okay?”

She took a moment to digest this. Then then her eyes widened. She made to leave, then turned uncertainly.

“Um… thanks? I guess… ”

She pointed, and scuttled away. I stood for a moment, feeling slightly better about what I was about to do. Then I sighed, and strode to where I was about to ruin an otherwise clement evening.

Around the edge of the cavernous atrium there were walkways where ponies could dance, relax and drink and drug themselves into a stupor, preferably all at once. I had emerged onto one such walkway about halfway up the tower. I walked along for about a minute in the technicolor strobe, swaying around the lurching patrons, and there inside a padded booth was Slingshot, surrounded by his entourage.

Typical trash. Dash-eyed clan gangbangers who couldn’t hit an ursa if it was humping their leg. There was about ten of them around the table, a ragged mixture of diseases wearing blue neckerchiefs and spouting crudities and vomit. Slingshot sat in the centre, in barding he’d made himself out of cart tires. His blue coat was stained, and his spiked up mane, also blue, was shining wetly with unidentifiable effluences. He reeled in his seat, and noticed me standing in the light. My shadow was cast long upon the whole herd of them by the club lights. A nice effect.

“Ere… wh… what d’ you want?” he slurred, slobbering profusely.

“Are you Slingshot? Leader of the Blue Streak?”

He spat sluggishly. “Well ‘course th’ fuck I am, bitch! Whut th’ fuck’s it t’ you?” His cronies snickered, or just frothed, depending on their state of inebriation.

Buzzkill. Whatever enjoyment I had recovered from my earlier lethargy dropped like a stone. It’s no fun slaughtering morons.

“That’s all I needed to know. I’ve got a present for you” I said flatly.

I levitated the violin case, then switched the spell’s effect to the object inside it. The case snapped open and dropped away. Hovering mortally in its place was a Coltson M1ACP, Manehattan model with optional foregrip and drum magazine. Theatrical, and lethal.

I savoured the moment, and fired.

The gun shouted and bucked, the harsh bark of its voice audible beyond the bass as I held the trigger down and watched them dance through the jumping sights. The muzzle flash was a strobe in itself, the sound a virtuoso melody to the beat of the club, the recoil a shuddering exhilaration. I laughed quietly to myself, and panned left and right, mowing them down. They jerked and twitched, elegant sprays of red visible through the flickering light. For that moment, I was content.

The gun clicked empty. The music was layered with screams now. The club lights flashed over a mortuary, the smell of sweat and vice competing with the fresh, biting scent of gunsmoke. I grinned at the bloodbath.

“Well gentlecolts, it’s been a lovely evening… ” I said, sighing again as the thrill faded far more quickly than it should have. Morons. No fun at all.

I snagged a bottle from the blood-soaked table, and made my exit.


*** *** ***


By the time I made it back to my lodgings I was in a foul mood, the journey back to the upper levels of Haydes taking tediously longer as I avoided pursuit. The normally apathetic bouncers didn’t appreciate patrons being killed on their home turf, and I suspected I wouldn’t be welcome in their club for a while, at least until they got the stains out. Lawbreaking was tolerated to an extent, at least against non-employees, but unless you cleared out swiftly it was down the drains for ghoul fodder.

One foul, stinking tunnel after another. Rotten walls slimy with damp and mildew scrolled past my vision as I strode along, hardly paying attention to where I was going. Buzzing neon signs provided a bright but somehow fake luminescence, highlighting the slumped figures of those who, even in this hellhole, were down and out. Nightmare's teeth I hated this place!

Trotting through the dripping corridors I finally reached the bar where I was staying. The flickering neon sign announced it to be The Gatehouse, which was exactly what it was. Perched unsteadily above the main gates it served as the first resting place for exhausted travellers less interested in the debauchery below.

I impatiently kicked the door open. Ragged ponies started in fear, clutching their meagre belongings, but I ignored them and strode to my favourite seat by a window, overlooking the sewer terminal that led to the underground town.

I leaned back in the battered armchair, and sighed.

There was a weight on my shoulders, and it had been gathering mass for some time. I had parted ways with my erstwhile companions some weeks ago, and I missed them, despite their faults. Killing ponies for money, that was the issue. I enjoyed it, hell I loved it! The din of battle, the screams of the dying, and a fat stack of caps to boot. I could even choose my own jobs, and take out those who had actually done something to deserve my ire. I fitted in. I had been made for this.

But they had rejected me. Cog, damn his pious hide, had refused to accompany somepony who sold death in such a callous manner, although I knew it was also because he had something against the “differently evolved”. Zapper had no moral objection, just an obligation to protect his own skin, and he couldn’t do so if I was leaving a breadcrumb trail of bodies. And Rusty, well, he was just a total pussy.

And yet still I missed them.

I had no one.

Some emotions I couldn’t quite identify clamoured for attention, and I took out the bottle. Tearing off the cap with my teeth I took a draught, the pretty amber liquid burning my lips, tongue and throat as it seared its way down, tasting of cinnamon and napalm. I watched the bottle with detached interest as it emptied itself before my eyes, filling my stomach with heat.

Suddenly there was a grey pinstriped suit at my side, appearing from nowhere in a faint whiff of cologne. I didn’t look up.

“You really must tell me how to do that, it’s fascinating,” I said to the empty bottle in front of me.

“Ah well, there are some things I’ll keep to myself,” said a silky voice by my ear.

“I solved that problem. The toolbox is under the table.”

The suit withdrew the violin case. “Oh, excellent! Truly excellent. It’s so good to know a pony with a modicum of civility, and common sense.”

I nodded politely. “Likewise. But, and I hope I’m not intruding on your personal business here…why did they have to die? They were just some useless punks, not worth the ammo expenditure. I find it hard to believe somepony of your refinement would associate himself with such vulgar individuals.”

The voice exhaled wearily. The suit rustled. He slid into the seat opposite, a slender grey stallion in a brown pre-war hat, eyes hidden behind dark, tinted lenses.

“In all honesty…I made a mistake. They were hired to perform a very specific task, something even those putrescent creatures couldn’t fail to comprehend. They succeeded, but I underestimated the true level of their degeneracy. They tried to blackmail me, and thus my employer. A truly foolish mistake…”

He toyed with the glasses, and smiled wickedly. “Thank the goddesses for thoughtful and intelligent ponies like you and me.”

“Indeed…” I leaned forward “But currently, and I hate to bring up so crass a matter, I am mindful of the promised reward.”

His predatory grin widened in amusement.

“But of course, you are impatient for your recompense.”

A briefcase was slid across the table, clinking provocatively. I snapped the clasps, and strings of caps smiled up at me.

I smirked half-heartedly at my reward. The thousand caps, once so shiny and alluring, were now as dull as the rest of life.

“All seems to be in order,” I said, holding out a hoof. “Thank you Mister Umbra, it’s been a pleasure.”

We shook. He stood to leave.

“Likewise, Mister Outmode. And here, I want you to have this…”

He withdrew a data stick from his breast pocket and set it silently on the table.

“This is my frequency. I shall contact you if I should require your services again.”

He smiled again. Like a snake with all the aces.

“Good evening Mister Outmode…”

"Just a thought, but why a violin ca...?" I began.

And then he was gone, leaving nothing but a briefcase of blood money and the smell of cologne.

I watched the space where he had been, lost in thought.

It wasn’t enough. Death after death, life after life, shot after shot it wasn’t enough! My life had been taken, and I felt I had earned the right to take what I was owed. Too much time had passed while I slept, dreaming in the halls of my enemies. There was nothing for me here save death. What else was I fit for? They had made me a killer. Every life I took flooded me with narcotic joy, and the taste of blood gave me life in turn.

I had drunk blood. I was a mutant, a stereotypical freak. I had imbibed the ichor of another pony to preserve my own vitality. The taste, so thick, so heady, so…right. 

Horror and self-loathing fought for dominance. Nausea won, and I choked back a snarl, fighting to hide the turmoil.

I was nothing.

Before I knew it the inhaler was before me, my magic crackling around it. I must have levitated it from my saddlebags. The little glass reservoir, with brown, brackish liquid swilling around within. The poisoned chalice, my enabler, the only thing that kept the dreams at bay.

I looked at the grey world, with its rusty walls, sputtering lanterns and drab, dull ponies. They huddled morosely around the tables, drinking away their worries, preserving sanity for one more day on the path of their meaningless lives. 

The inhaler was at my mouth, a tingling, tantalising sweetness at my lips.

I pressed. I breathed. The taste of sugared cherries and sunshine.

The world swam into focus.

I exhaled slowly, feeling it sink in. The calmness, like a warm, comforting shroud settling over me. I watched the smoke in fascination. It changed colour, leaving a trail of rainbows, swirling up and up. The troubles were still there but they were muted, like noisy neighbours beyond a wall. All things were beautiful now, surrounded by a halo of primary colours. All the dullness transformed. All the ponies who were so tedious before now floated gently through the soothing haze; every movement followed by light, voices a soft, gentle murmur.

I listened to the slow beat of my heart, and smiled at the wonder of it all. I was content. All was well in the world.

I lay back, and drifted.


*** *** ***


Weeks flew by.

The money rolled in, crooked money from twisted ponies. Rivers of blood swept past my hooves, the deaths blurred, but I didn’t care. I cared for nothing anymore.

Bottles came and went. I began to acquire something of a reputation, overriding the initial antipathy of the locals at having a mutant in their midst. Ponies knew me now, at least in the pits of Haydes, as one of the better hired guns in this seething hellhole. Discrete, reliable, and lethal. My name was whispered in the tunnels, and ponies got out of my way.

I gained little pride from this. The dreadful, creeping apathy still held my heart in an iron grip. Nothing excited anymore. There were only the days blurring past, and the sweet smoke of soporific paradise.



*** *** ***


“Um…”



“Hello?”



“Is anypony there? Please? Only…I think there’s something out there, so…”



I stirred in my chair. So warm, so comfortable. Cherry blossom, the gravel driveway crunching beneath my hooves, Mother and Father welcoming me home.

“Hello? Anypony?”

I frowned in irritation. Where was that annoying voice coming from? I looked, and Stellar was by my side, smiling her cunning smile, alive and beautiful. Then the house was burning, flames billowing from every window. Glass broke, the trees fell in clouds of sparks, my parents crumbled to ash. Celestia and Luna laughed wickedly to each other in the sky, encircling the world in smothering wings. Stellar turned, looking directly into my dreaming eyes, and spoke.

“Please…help me…”

“Please…help me!”

I gasped and snapped awake, cold sweat, heart pounding fit to burst. I looked around wildly, this wasn’t my room! This was a dark place, reeking of dampness and bile. The sound of laughter and the occasional gunshot in the distance. A weight pinning my legs in place. Panic rising.

Recollection hit. I had passed out in my chair. I looked down, and saw an unconscious mare snoring softly in my lap. I couldn’t recall her name. There was no hangover, I didn’t get them anymore, but still my tongue felt freshly carpeted.

“I know somepony’s there! Let me in! Please! I can hear it coming!”

The voice!

“Hey you! No pony gets in after nightfall! Get lost!”

They came from beyond the window. I gently dislodged the sleeping mare and struggled upright, my curiosity and a faint, hopeless kind of hope burning through the cobwebs in my mind. I reached the window, and desperately ripped it open.

From my lofty perch I could see directly down the tunnel leading to Haydes. The main gates were directly below my window. There was a tiny figure down there, illuminated in a harsh spotlight. A filly, a foal, shielding her eyes from the white glare, casting a long, sable shadow into the dark. A sentry leaned from a hatchway in the wall beside the gates.

Bitter disappointment crashed down upon me. Now that I was properly awake I could hear the voice was different, the high falsetto of a foal, with some foreign sounding accent I couldn't identify. In my drug addled state I had mistaken her for her. My dreams had colluded to break me down. I turned to go.

“I can pay!” she yelled, her foalish voice shrill with desperation. “I have caps! Just please let me in!”

“I don’t give a damn how many caps you might have, you ain’t gettin’ in!” spat the sentry. “I ain’t lettin’ you in an riskin’ a ghoul infestation!”

I stopped. I needed to walk away, I needed another hit, I needed…

Crap. She was just a foal. Nightmare damn it but I couldn’t just let this go.

I leaned out the window.

“Hey arsehole! She’s just a filly, let her in already!”

They both looked up. I couldn’t make her out in the halogen beam, but the guard was the typical slab-featured thug Haydes liked to employ.

“I don’t’ see what business it is of yours, killer!” he bellowed, face twisting in rage. “You’re mutie trash an’ can go fuck yourself!”

I began to get impatient.

“So you know me then? Tell you what, I’ll go down the bounty office and see exactly how much your head is worth! How about that dickhead?”

“You wouldn’t dare!”

“Oh so you are worth something!” I sneered scathingly. “Just you wait there and I’ll come right down…”

The hatchway slammed shut.

We looked at each other, the little filly and I. There was an embarrassed pause.

“Um…thank you?” she quavered.

“Don’t mention it…” I said, and raised my voice slightly. “And I’m sure somepony just happened to be testing the mechanism as you came along...?”

Silence.

There was a metallic grinding noise, yellow warning lights flashed and the gates groaned and shuddered as they ponderously slid open.

Something stepped into the light. A pony, flesh ragged and decaying, yellowed bone protruding at impossible angles. Crooked teeth gleamed in the white revealing light. The filly screamed.

Then S.A.T.S. highlighted the tunnel in a comforting green glow. I drew my revolver, and shot it in the face. Rotten meat plumed in the air. Shards of skull pinwheeled away. The body hit the floor with a very final splat.

I drew a hoof across my face, angry with myself and tired to the bone. The elegant six-shooter hung beside me in a field of magic.

“And there we go, welcome to Shithole-Upon-Refuse. Good evening to you, and may Luna guide you in whatever you choose to waste your life on.”

I withdrew, dropped some caps on the unconscious mare, and made for bed.



*** *** ***


“Um…excuse me?

I blinked in surprise. Was that the Lick talking? It had sounded real, but then again there were a lot of rainbows about today.

“Um…they told me you’re for hire?”

I turned my head, the movement taking an age and causing the world to spin uneasily. There was nopony there. A polite cough drew my attention downwards.

It was the little filly from last night. Up close she looked even smaller, an earth pony foal in the tattered remnants of a blue jumpsuit, with a Pip-Buck encasing her right foreleg. Both unkempt mane and tail were a shimmering raven black, contrasting with a coat of pure scarlet. Or at least they probably would have been if they weren't filthy with ingrained dirt. She looked up at me, her little button muzzle twitching nervously, and I was startled by her eyes. A flinty, steel blue, determined, fragile. Those icy orbs scanned me, for a moment piercing the chemical haze, and I experienced the horrible feeling of being read like an open book. She had seen terrible things in her young life.

I shook my head, sending a wave of distortion through the music in my skull. The drugs were messing me up. I was far too wasted.

“Sorry, what did you want?” I said, not unkindly.

She gulped, gaze flickering nervously. “I want to hire you. You’re a mercenary right?”

Well this was a surprise.

I grinned in amusement, swaying on my seat. “Aren’t you a bit young to be hiring scum like yours truly?”

“I can pay!” she said indignantly, chin lifting stubbornly.

I very nearly laughed out loud as she plonked one of her saddlebags on the bar top, the crash of caps clearly audible.

“Two thousand, and another five later. Is that enough?”

I considered her, head on one side. She was serious. Very serious. To have the guts to trot up to the gates of Haydes, at night, with ghouls on your tail, and carrying that amount of loot across the wastes. That took something. I was genuinely impressed, and the price she offered was more than enough to buy the heads of an entire town.

“Fine, who do you want dead?” I gave a mirthless snigger. “I almost feel sorry for the poor shmuck if he’s got enemies like you.”

“That’s not why I need you. I want you to take me…” she glanced at her Pip-Buck “…to the Skyhook Control Station in Nizhny-Ponygova.”

My augmented brain clicked and whirred, a green map template winking into existence with a little shock of pain. It zoomed out, and further out, until finally the entire continent of Equestria flickered in my eyes. A dotted line originated from the tiny square labelled Haydes, bypassing all the unnamed coordinates that had been downloaded into my head, and drew a perfectly straight line right to the edge of the map.

She wanted to go beyond Equestrian borders. North-East, to somewhere in the frozen wastes beyond.

“Well aren’t you just full of surprises,” I murmured, looking down at her worried face through the green scripts. A thousand questions begged to be answered, and my natural paranoia was screaming to itself in impatience. That accent for one. A front of the muzzle way of speaking, with the T and H sounds strangely pronounced. Definitely not from Equestria that's for certain. Then why was she here? She was obviously desperate. Running away? Certainly. Running to something? Definitely. From what and why however would have to wait. She was determined to give nothing away. I could see it in her face, in the foalish expression of defiance, tight lips, jutting chin, ears flat back against her head. But her gaze flickered nervously, around and behind her, across me, hoping and fearing. She was worried, desperately so. Desperate enough to hire the ugliest, meanest mercenary she could find. Of course I wouldn’t say I was ugly as such but…whatever.

My train of thought derailed. Things were too blurry, too colorful, too…rainbow-y. Concentrating hard, I managed to put one hoof after another on the unaccountably mobile floor.

“Less’ go…” I mumbled through numbed lips, “Less’ go b’for I sober up…”

Snagging the saddlebags on the third try I swam through the bar, the little one trying to lurk close to my legs without actually touching, unwilling to go near the other patrons but equally unnerved by me. I stumbled a few times, other drinkers magically melting away from my erratically weaving route, but still politeness maintained its strength.

“S’rry…s’rry…s’rry old thing…”

My head was so heavy it was all I could do to find the corridor leading to the rooms. The door opened when I fell against it, and the remaining momentum carried me through the stacks of salvaged junk and onto the threadbare couch in the middle of the cramped apartment. From my recumbent position I could just see her standing on the threshold, staring in horror at the lounge area filled with guns, ammunition and nice clothes I had picked up from my more stylish victims.

“This is…where you live?” she asked, aghast, as if hoping I would deny it.

I grinned at her and spread my forelegs, encompassing the small, square room.

“Yup! This ‘s my abode, my chamber, my…what’sit…” I stared in askance at the ceiling lamp. “Castle! That’s it! This ‘s my castle,” I finished, beaming triumphantly.

My vision began to darken around the edges, and my eyelids were like lead. "Don' worry, you c'n have th' bedroom. It's clean. I'll have th' couch thing..."

I heard her hooves click gently past and the door to the bedroom creak open and closed. The room was silent again. Deathly, horrible, lonely silence. But...there was someone else wasn't there. A little soul in the other room. I hadn't even asked her name. My squelching brain, for some bizarre reason, threw up some words, and a song.

"Goodnight...sweetheart...well it's time to go..."

I heard the soft murmur of voices in the bar below. Laughter. The clink of glasses. A series of gunshots and a scream in the city below.

"Goodnight...sweetheart...well it's time to go..."

The soft noises next door. The noises of another pony living through their own troubles.

"I hate to leave you...but I really must say..."

What a stupid song.

"Goodnight...sweetheart..."

Unconsciousness dropped like a ton of bricks.


*** *** ***


Arrgh.

No hangover. That's cool. Just cold sweat, jelly limbs and the taste of...paint thinner? Perhaps with a hint of chemical waste? A sprinkling of iron filings maybe?

The couch was far from comfortable. But I was too fuzzy, too tired. The ceiling was interesting enough for the moment. Sagging plaster with cracks grinning down at me, gibbering mouths that my battered brain filled with spiteful whisperings.

The dreams. Wisps, flickers, splintered nothings that gave the promise of fear. I couldn't remember them, but I knew I had been afraid. Very afraid. My coat was soaked in chill perspiration, and I felt the distinct exhaustion of a troubled night's sleep.

A gentle breeze...

The smell of cherry blossom...

And from the sky...

Hardly worth sleeping at all.

"They will pay..."

I shifted my weight, and rolled from the couch and onto my hooves, wincing as I felt last night's indulgences sloshing around my body. Too much booze, too many stranger chemicals. And they were still not entirely working to drown out the nightmares.

No matter, a more urgent message was being transmitted via the bladder regions. Trying to focus through the cotton wool in my head was difficult, but manageable, as I staggered blearily through the piles of clothes that was my stolen wardrobe and into the tiny bathroom, barely five hooves across, stinking of inaccuracy and green stains seeping through the cracked tiling. Staring fixedly at the graffiti on the walls, I divulged myself, mentally correcting the grammar and some of the more impossible anatomical descriptions. The toilet wheezed and gurgled like an old stallion as it flushed. It reminded me of Skillet's laugh, and for some reason this struck me as incredibly funny. A little hiccup escaped my muzzle, startling me. Then I realized it had been a long time since I had laughed at something properly funny before.

When had that been? Oh yes, when I strangled that raider a while ago. But when had that been? A few days ago? Weeks? A month? Nightmare only knew.

There was a mirror bolted to the wall. An old fly-specked thing, with a large splintered star in the corner from another careless tenant. I looked into it, like I looked into it every single day, considering the long, elegant muzzle, the wide yellow eyes that glittered in the lamplight, running a hoof along my slender jawline. Perhaps I'd gotten used to the face inside that mirror...perhaps I even liked it.

"Who's the prettiest freak in Equestria?"

I gave an exaggerated wink. The reflection returned it roguishly.

"You are..."

The words rang a little hollow.

"What are you doing?"

How did I not notice her? She was standing right there. There was a little yellow spike at the bottom of my vision, alerting me to her nearby presence. I could even see her in the edge of the damn mirror!  A pale blue eye watched me from the corner of the mirror glass, sullen, maybe even accusing? I swiveled with all the dignity I could muster.

"Preening. What does it look like?" I replied casually. She shrugged noncommittally in response. Yes, she was definitely hostile, a foalish scowl marring her otherwise angelic features. Her mane was all stuck up along one side, ingrained dirt having solidified overnight. She looked like she'd been crying.

There was no point in asking what was up, she obviously wasn't feeling talkative, but that jumpsuit was telling tales in her place. I'd been too plastered yesterday to comprehend what I was seeing, but now I recognized that ragged blue fabric, yellow trim faded to a sickly off-white. I had seen it shining grandly on the towers of the past, dominating the billboards of a tall and unspoiled Manehatten. Reserve Your Spot Today! Where Will You Be When The Holocaust Comes? Oh of course I wasn't selected for a place in a Stable, being completely off the official statistics at the time, at least from the ones not to do with law enforcement. The official stance had been that Stable residency was randomly decided among the population, but it had always seemed to be the well-groomed ponies from the better side of town that made the lucky draw. At least the shiny suits from Stable-Tec never showed their muzzles around my neighborhood anyway.

"Bathroom's all yours sweetheart," I said, bowing theatrically. "If I was you I'd take a shower, you look like you've been dragged through a hedge sideways."

She glared, and swept past with all the dignity of a queen, muzzle skywards in indignation. I stifled a snigger as the door slammed shut.

So...a little Stable dweller comes all the way from another land with a sackful of money and something on her mind. Something on her tail as well, something that she required immediate and possibly violent protection from.

I stood among my collection of weapons, and smiled again. Perhaps this would be an interesting diversion.

Suddenly I whipped around, the lights in my eyes blinking a warning. Among the crowd of peaceful yellow spikes indicating the bar's patrons a group of other markers winked into existence, getting steadily closer and glowing a threatening orange. No doubt about it, they were coming here.

"Miss!" I called over my shoulder, focusing on the front door in anticipation, "I should hurry! We may have company!"

There was a crash from the bathroom and the door snapped open again, the filly emerging with mane dripping wet. She was also terrified.

"What! No! They can't have..."

Her eyes were wide with fear, ears plastered back, and she had begun to shake. She stood frozen in the doorway, small, gazing at me with terrified pleading. "We have to go!"

I was startled. She really was afraid. That noble filly from earlier was gone, replaced with a simple frightened foal.

The orange spikes grew closer. The bar sounds had quietened, the patrons knew trouble when they saw it. I could hear hooves in the corridor, and the clink of metal.

Fuck it. Time to go to work.

I strode for the window, grabbing my machete on the way and slinging it around my shoulders. Ripping the shutters open and leaning out I considered the drop. The ground was about twenty hooves down, not too far for what I had in mind. Turning, I gazed blankly at the little filly standing bemused in the center of my room.

"Ladies first," I said, gesturing gallantly.

The door shook to thunderous knocking, the kind which says to the listener that the knocker is on a thin thread between knocking and battering. She scuttled forward, looking up at me for reassurance. I grinned back, and gestured again. She could barely reach the windowsill, standing on tip-hooves to peer over at the drop below.

"But...how can I...?"

"Hold on sweetheart," I said gleefully, and summoned the magic. My horn sparked, a tendril of crimson force reaching out and seizing her around the middle. With a gentle tug she was lifted out, struggling and bleating in distress, hanging over the abyss in a slender red rope of force. She weighed far less than I expected.

"Haydes City Watch! Open this door! Now!" bellowed a voice, the door rattling in its frame once more. I ignored it, concentrating on lowering my tiny employer to the ground far below. Watch personnel eh? Perhaps they'd finally had enough of me.

The still nameless filly touched down on the concrete just as the door burst open, lock tearing away. I hastily dropped my saddlebags through the window, turned, and was unimpressed. Haydes City Watch, another name for ponies with more brawn than brain cells, more cousins than functioning contraception. Five of them were arranged in a semicircle, two others taking up station in the corridor. They were a ragged bunch, dressed in a mildewed mixture of clothing and armour, the only uniformity about their persons being the stained shields pinned to their barding. Oh, and the eclectic array of large, intimidating firearms.

Let's see. Well armed, but clearly somewhat stupid. Time for some misdirection.

I let my face slide into a lopsided rictus of inebriation, slouching slightly to one side.

"S'rry lads, wuz sleepin' when you knocked." I slurred, smiling, and made a wide, drunken gesture of apology.

I laughed inwardly as they visibly relaxed. It was much easier to arrest a happy drunk, and judging by their appearance some of them were clearly regular customers down below. A glance at all the empty bottles I'd never got round to clearing out sealed the deal.

One of them stepped forward, ragged greatcoat swishing and shotgun barrel lowering to point at the floor.

"You Outmode?" he asked gruffly, looking me up and down.

Honestly, how stupid could one inbred be? Not like there's many other skinny freaks with electronic manes!

"Yep!" I said happily, swaying gently. "I'm Outmode, biggest, meanest..." I tottered, deliberately knocking some bottles to the floor, "...bugger!"

Some of them chuckled. That's right, go ahead and laugh. Laugh at the funny drunken freak.

"Kill them all..."

"Well, yer te' come with us," said the lead Watchpony impassively, laying a hoof firmly on my shoulder and gently lifting my machete away, "Melody wants te' see ye'."

I carefully maintained my expression of imbecility. This was...interesting. Nopony had ever seen the elusive manager of Elysium. She didn't get out much apparently, but that didn't matter, because she employed numerous unintelligent but frustratingly loyal bouncers to go out for her. Haydes belonged to Elysium. The club supplied all the resources the city needed, and thus the club was the city. There had been a mayor, once, before Melody had his brains plastered to the dance floor in a tragic accident. It did not do to upset her. She tended to spread that upset around. And she wanted to see me.

What could it be? I'd killed in her club before, and there had only been a vague, half-hearted pursuit of justice before the deed was forgotten. So it must be something else. Something important, as her goons hadn't simply killed me yet. Perhaps it was time to get out of the city for a while.

"Jus' a sec," I mumbled, and looked around vaguely. Damn, so many nice things. I didn't need much food, I could easily scavenge that out in the wastes, but so many lovely clothes I loathed to leave behind.

Ah. But there was only one thing that was truly irreplaceable right?

I looked beside the ruined door, and there it was. Tossed carelessly aside in a crumpled heap but still absolutely gorgeous. I walked over, picked it up, and stroked it lovingly, breathing in the scent of premium synth-leather and stale gunsmoke. A beautiful, slim-fitting black jacket, with chrome-spiked epaulets, razor-sharp lapels and a slender, gleaming chain across the breast. It had been expensive, normally impossibly so, but the mare at the counter had been ever so grateful for the mysterious disappearance of her husband that she had given me a sizable discount. Still, worth every. Single. Cap.

I shucked it on, relishing the sensation, and grabbed a bottle of Steelbit vodka from my overflowing drinks table.

"Aright, less' go."

They closed in, creating an impenetrable ring around me as we filed out into the corridor. I was still a head taller than all of them, and I made sure to stagger drunkenly as I looked about, calculating. So, time for an escape plan then. I patted my breast pocket, and found my cigarillos. I didn't smoke, it being a filthy habit with no discernible benefits, chemical or otherwise, but the slim cylinders of fragrant tobacco were a good way of impressing potential employers. Withdrawing one I fit it comfortably between my teeth, and leaned over to the nearest of my escort.

"Got a light?"

He blinked in surprise, then shrugged and drew a lighter from within his coat. The bar ahead was packed, and my escort was having trouble forging a path through the throng, and in the temporary lull the stallion held the flame steady as I lit up. The cigarillo glowed like a banked fire and I inhaled, tasting the complex flavors of decadence.

The crowd began to move, parting like a sea before the Watchponies. We crossed the room. The lead stallion had my machete at his side. The door was getting closer.

I checked the area around us. Crowded with nervous ponies, yes, but the guards probably wouldn't think twice about collateral damage. Damn. Couldn't be helped. I smoothly slipped the cigarillo from my muzzle and dropped it into the vodka bottle, glowing tip an inch above the clear, volatile liquid. Tables. Left and right. Five paces from the door.

Perfect.

I ducked, kicked, and the lead guard was on the floor. A burst of magic, and my machete was beside me as I leapt, vaulting from the back of another guard, forward and over one of the tables, turning it over. I thumped to the floor as gunfire boomed and hoof-sized holes appeared in table's underside, lined with blood. 

Absolutely...perfect.

Screams, splintering glass. My elation was somewhat dampened at the thought of the civilians, but still the thrill was there. The sound, oh the sound! Every shot an adrenaline rush! And the smells! Cordite, alcohol, blood, so many fascinating scents.

No time to enjoy it. I looked mournfully at the cigarillo in the bottle. Such a waste, but again, necessary. With a sigh of regret, I tossed it lightly over the fallen table. With a dignified tinkle of glass and a throaty foom a tongue of yellow flame leapt up, joining with the pools of spilt booze on the floor to create an impenetrable wall. The smell of smoke joined my nasal orchestra of war.

Standing, I brushed some burning spirit from my sleeve, not wanting it to leave a mark, and walked out, closing the door behind me out of politeness. Okay, stock check. Blade? Check. Gorgeous jacket? Check. General awesomeness? No, no that's going too far, don't get too fond of yourself you moron, it's unseemly.

The damp concrete steps clattered coldly beneath my hooves as I hurried down them at as dignified a pace as I could muster, and turning the corner I saw the main gates to the city, with one bored-looking stallion slouched in the guard hut beside them. The road was sparsely populated, most of the population either still in bed or carrying on last night's revelries. Slowing to a more casual pace, I strolled up and knocked on the window, causing him to jerk upright and snap off a smart salute to thin air, before he focused on me. He relaxed, and grinned in a friendly manner.

"Ah shit it's you Outmode, 'sup buddy?"

I smiled back. I genuinely liked Spike Shield. He was one of the nicer guards, and I felt bad about the trouble this was going to bring him. "No time to chat my friend, I've got business outside. I know it's not strictly protocol to let folks through this early, but do you think...?"

He waved a hoof in dismissal, and pressed a key on his terminal. "Naw don't worry 'bout it, I owe you after that shit with the escaped prisoner. I swear after you brought 'er back she wus' eager to hole up in a nice warm cell!"

I grinned and nodded in thanks as the gates shrieked and began to open.

"Don't matter anyway, I'm off soon," he continued, "Wus' thinkin' of headin' up to the Gatehouse." He cocked his head, and I also heard the noise emanating from the bar upstairs. "But per'aps it's a little busy at the moment."

Oh damn, should I? It's so terribly crass, but this was just perfect.

Still smiling, I nodded. "Yeah, it's packed. Practically cooking in there."

The gap between the doors widened, revealing a tiny, sad little filly, forlornly sitting alone in the middle of the tunnel beside my bulging saddlebags, illuminated in the yellow light, looking up in hope and not a little dread. She looked so sad, so afraid, I immediately trotted up to her, and offered her an apologetic hoof.

"I'm sorry sweetheart." I whispered, meaning every word. "I'm so, so sorry..."

She looked up, and studied me. Blue eyes. Like steel, like diamond cutters. A long moment passed. Then she took my hoof without a word, and rose to her hooves.

Absurd relief filled me to the brim, and I felt my muzzle curve into the first genuine smile of the day. I picked up the saddlebags, the susurration of many caps emanating from within as I buckled them over my back. The doors closed behind us, cutting off the light. The yellow glow was replaced with green as we both flicked our Pip-Buck's to lamp setting. Ahead, a familiar tunnel stretched into the dark, and as we forged through the shadows and clouds of steam I felt the pressure decreasing, the sensation of huge, oppressive weight above getting lighter. Higher and higher, further and further the steps led, my mood lightening with every step, until there was one last door ahead. Stained, rusted metal, the last barrier. I reached out, pushed down on the handle, and stepped forward, into the light.



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