//------------------------------// // Chapter 1: Crossfire and Knobs // Story: Trigger to Tomorrow Side Story: Crossfire // by thatguyvex //------------------------------// Chapter 1: Crossfire and Knobs Another day, another set of tolls to collect. Skinner didn’t think much of his work anymore, the ghoulish gray unicorn going about his weekly rounds up and down Highway 70 with all the interest and enthusiasm of the skeletons side-lining the road in tangled black mounds. The mostly intact highway stretched west from Skull City and was the shortest of the routes patrolled by the Skull Guild’s ghoul-wranglers, taking only two days to make the full route to the end of the road at the settlement of Bleeder’s Gap and back again to the shanty town outside Skull City’s west gate, the Outskirts. Though it was a short route it could get rough; the route tending to be thicker with feral ghoul packs than others. Packs Skinner would be tempted to ignore rather than wrangle off the route. But that was as much as part of his job as collecting the tolls. Strictly speaking it was the reason the Skull Guild collected tolls. They kept the roads safe from roaming feral ghouls, the settlements along the road paid their protection tolls. Simple, easy process. Except sometimes a settlement might get too big for its britches and think it didn’t need the Skull Guild’s protection. Might think they had enough guns of their own to handle the feral ghoul packs that perpetually wandered the dead, twisted forest of burned buildings that was the blasted suburbs surrounding the former city of Detrot. Sometimes such settlements needed subtle reminders of how bad the feral ghouls got when a ghoul-wrangler like Skinner didn’t do his job. None of that this time though; Skinner couldn’t afford to slack off. He had a newbie with him, learning the ropes. He had to act all respectable-like. “M-Mister Skinner, I hear another pack up ahead!” said the squeaky voice of Knobbly Knees. She was a young unicorn mare, with a healthy teal coat and a short red mane pulled back in a tail, her cutie mark, of all things, a white pillow. She wore a bright red leather jacket, with a tan leather collar and cuffs. Her name was apt, as she was gangly and tall. Skinner had seen some mares that made the tall look work beautifully, like certain fashion models of the pre-war era... but Knobbly Knees looked like an awkward giraffe. Skinner decided it was the fact her body just hadn’t caught up with her legs; perhaps if she lived long enough to fill out more she’d be a looker, but right now she was just all legs and not much else. Unlike some ghouls, Skinner liked to look, even at the smooth-hides. He was infinitely glad his pay-grade as a ghoul-wrangler was enough he could afford Madame Red’s rates at the Pleasure Tower. The mare’s there were expensive, but didn’t bat an eye at a ghoul. “Mister Skinner!?” Knobbly Knees said again, voice somehow breaching an even higher note than before. Skinner flinched. “Keep your damned voice down kid, I heard you!” he snapped, “Now do like I taught and get your mask on, and prep the grenades! Be quick about it!” For all the young mare’s excitability and fear she was fast in obeying his gruff commands. She hopped from the driver seat next to him into the back of the wagon. It was an old wood wagon of blackened boards, nailed together by thick iron bolts. It was drawn by a ghouled brahmin, the two headed cow’s pair of heads listlessly lolling from side to side as it pulled the wagon along. Skinner pulled back on the reins to get the brahmin to stop and shifted over on the seat to reach the long wooden pole attached to one corner of the wagon; a pole that held up a large iron lantern. He heard the ferals now too, their dry, rasping howls echoing through the hollow cracks between ruined buildings. They were close, and if Skinner hadn’t missed his guess, they were hunting something, or somepony. Skinner licked his dry lips and checked the load in the lantern, making sure it was filled with the right oil and incense. He didn’t like those howls. Ferals that were that close to snatching a meaty morsel were harder to wrangle; and when riled, ferals were as like to gnaw on another ghoul as they were the smooth-hides. “You ready Knobs!?” he growled, “We ain’t got more than a minute before they’re on us.” “Yes sir!” she chirped, voice somewhat muffled by the black gas mask she’d thrown on over her face, green eyes staring wide at him. Her horn was lit up with a soft green hue and a set of gas grenades floated by her head, ready to be thrown on the off chance something went wrong. “Good; keep steady and don’t toss unless I say so!” he said just as he saw movement burst from the edge of the road, a pony-shaped form tripping over the piles of skeletons lining the ditch along the road. Skinner frowned. That was no ghoul. That was a flesh and blood pony. He couldn’t get a good look, other than the pony had a black coat and blue mane, and was wearing some kind of brown form fitting leather uniform and red scarf. From the way the pony stumbled he or she was probably wounded... that or the ridiculously large rifle the pony carried slung over his or her back was weighing the pony down. That rifle... its got a bayonet on it bigger than my leg, Skinner realized, and grimaced at the implications. What was a Neighlesius soldier doing here? He pushed the question aside, however, and pulled out a small brass lighter he used to ignite the lantern. Blue fire, ghostly and putting off a cobalt screen of smoke filled the lantern, and with it a thick mint scent The fleeing pony stumbled to the middle of the road, looking about wildly, and Skinner caught a glimpse of bright yellow eyes before the pony, a unicorn he could see now, started for him and his wagon. At the same moment the ferals came; a pack of over a dozen rushing from beyond the ruins like a scampering mass of moaning jaws and rotting bones. Knobbly Knees made a quavering squeaking noise but Skinner noted with some pleasure that she held firm, keeping the grenades floating steady and didn’t run off or toss them prematurely. Already the wagon and a good ten yard space around it was getting surrounded by a blanket of ghostly blue vapors from the lit lantern. “H-hurry!” Knobbly Knees shouted, presumably to the fleeing black pony, “Over here! The gas won’t hurt you!” Skinner frowned. She shouldn’t go babbling about the gas, or any of the ghoul-wrangler’s trade secrets. Part of the Skull Guild’s power was its mystique. It lets ponies assume things about it. Just blabbing that the gas was harmless wasn’t something you went around doing, even if any well informed citizen of Skull City probably knew that. The black unicorn redoubled her (she did have some feminine curves to her now that she was close enough for Skinner to note them) speed, the ferals quickly catching up. Skinner waited another few seconds, until he was sure the ferals were close enough, before taking the lantern and its pole off the cart in the crook of one fore leg and, somewhat awkward, reared up on his hind legs. Skinner, like all ghoul-wranglers, wore a long black coat with the sigil of a white skull, blue flames in its eye sockets. The coat billowed out slightly as he stood on two legs, pole held high and swaying slightly. At the same time his horn lit up with a bright pink hue identical to the shade of his eyes. As the spell took effect a soft, haunting moaning issued from everywhere and nowhere at once; seeming to come with an unnatural wind that kicked up around the dusty road. The black unicorn mare faltered, tripping over herself and fell face first to the ground not more than ten feet from the wagon. Skinner saw blood matting her uniform; now clearly the brown leather coat of a Neighlesius soldier. The ferals had been right behind her. However the ghouls had halted in their tracks upon hearing the melody of whining moans summoned by Skinner’s spell, and the feral ghoul’s noses sniffed the air as the blue gas from his swaying lantern filled the street. Slowly, as if it was being drained right out of them, the ferals seemed to forget their hunger and their hunt. Their milky dead eyes followed the gentle swaying of Skinner’s lantern. Skinner frowned, though, as he saw one of the ferals in the back of the pack make a hissing noise and shake its head. If it kept that it up it’d break the spell for its fellows. “Knobs; we got a malcontent in back,” he whispered, “See to...” he paused, measuring the gender, “him.” Knobbly Knees gulped but set down one of the grenades so she could float up a small, scoped rifle; a low caliber affair used for little more than hunting radroaches or popping bottles, but also good enough for a ghoul’s head. It was fixed with a silencer, and while Skinner might’ve thought her little more than a kid, Knobbly Knees at least could shoot half straight. A quiet *pfft* sound and the ghoul who hadn’t fallen under the spell and gas’s trance dropped to the ground, now a truly dead pile of bones. He frowned. He could see Knobbly Knees showing her namesake, her legs shaking as she set the rifle aside, staring at the dead feral. Mare had to learn to stomach stuff like that if she was going to be a ghoul-wrangler one day. “Right then,” Skinner said, hopping down from the wagon, his horn still alight with a pink aura. He wove subtle alterations into the spell, changing the tone of the unearthly moans it summoned on the wind. He affixed the lantern pole to a hitch on his coat. He had the ferals attention now, no more need to swing it; those blank, dead eyes were focused on the lantern’s phantom blue light. As he walked off towards the side of the road the feral pack followed like obedient little ducklings following their mother. Once at the side of the road Skinner cast another spell and the blue flame of the lantern detached and floated out into the air, wafting through the air like a will-o-wisp. The feral ghouls followed the light at a steady, even trot, the procession of rotting ponies vanishing into the ruins after the blue flame. The spell would go on its own for some time, long enough that by the time the ferals fell out of their trance they’d be miles into the ruins, and well away from the road. Skinner let out a breath he’d been holding. No matter how often he did this, it still caused a little jitter in his gut. You never knew when something would go wrong, and controlling feral ghouls, that was the kind of thing that got messy when things went wrong. Returning to the wagon he slipped his lantern pole back to its place and hopped up to the driver’s seat. “M-mister Skinner?” Knobbly Knees asked in her high pitched voice, pulling off her gas mask as he took up the reins and got the brahmin going, “Where are we going!?” “Back to our rounds,” he said with a snort, “Where do you think?” “But... but what about her!?” Knobbly Knees said, pointing at the fallen black unicorn mare, who Skinner was steering the wagon around. Skinner narrowed his eyes, “What about her? She isn’t any of our business. We got a feral pack off the road, that’s it. Anypony else ain’t our concern.” Knobbly Knees gave him that wide eyed, pouting lipped look that he hated. It was the look that, against his better judgment, got him agreeing to take her on as an apprentice years ago. He was about to grit his teeth and tell her to knock it off when an idea popped into his head. The pay of a ghoul-wrangler was decent, but he could always do with a few more caps... “Alright, fine,” he said and pulled up the wagon short, “But she’s your baggage. Get her in the cart and don’t be sluggish about it!” He almost felt bad about what he planned to do, the way Knobbly Knees smiled brightly as the sun that was hidden behind the dense ocean of white and gray clouds above. She hopped out of the wagon and rushed to the fallen black unicorn, horn lighting up as she levitated out from her saddlebags a set of bandages and a healing potion. Skinner rolled his eyes. Wasting good medical supplies on a stranger. How had that mare survived to nearly being an adult, with an attitude like that? Oh well, she’d learn eventually. Or die. Skinner kept his hope for the former buried deep, because in his experience, the latter was the far more likely outcome. ---------- Knobbly Knees, or Knobs more often than not to those she knew, waited patiently by the mattress where the unicorn mare she and Skinner rescued from the Highway 70 slept. She’d been fearful when she’d first treated the mare, but the wounds on the other unicorn were not as bad as they’d first appeared. Most of them had just been cuts and scrapes, probably from running through the dangerous terrain of the ruined suburbs, usually just called the Deadburbs by the citizens of Skull City. The only real wound on the black unicorn had been a gunshot in her hindquarters from what had looked like a low caliber pistol. The bullet had passed clean through without breaking bone or doing a lot of damage. A lucky break, but from the condition of the mare, her clear exhaustion, it was apparent she’d been on the move for awhile, probably at least a day since getting shot. It was a good thing Knobs had a knack for medicine, and kept a decently supplied first aid kit on her. She’d been thorough, cleaning and dressing the black unicorn’s wounds before administering a healing potion to help the tissue repair itself. Now it was just a matter of waiting until her patient woke up. Skinner wouldn’t be needing her for a day or two. Between weekly rounds she usually had to help him with chores like preparing more incense for his lantern, and of course taking lessons on the ghoul-wrangler’s trade, but he usually let her have a couple of days off after they did the weekly rounds. Enough time to help this poor mare recovered and got her hooves under her... whoever she was. “Uuugh...” the black unicorn groaned and turned over on Knobs’ mattress, causing the teal mare to jump in surprise, letting out a little yelp. “Oh! You’re waking up! Um, what do I need... water! Yes, I’ll go get you some water!” Knobs shuffled across the room of her small shack, going to the cupboards hanging over her sink, her tall gangly form almost having her red mane brush the low ceiling. She managed to fish out a flask already filled with (mostly) clean water and turned to find the black unicorn mare slamming into her. Knobs squeaked in fright as strong black hooves shoved her hard against the wall, one of them pressing hard into her neck. Knobs cried out in pain as she felt the prick of a knife against her side and saw a red glow of magic around the black unicorn’s horn. Yellow eyes blazed intently into hers as the unicorn mare spoke; a young voice, but hard and edged with both fear and desperation. “Where am I?” “Urk... I...” Knobs couldn’t quite get any words past the pressure on her throat and she kicked her legs as the lack of air started to burn her lungs. The black unicorn blinked, frowned, and eased up on Knobs’ throat, if only just barely. Knobs sucked in air and spoke quickly. “Y-you’re in my shack...” The following seconds were the longest of Knobs’ life as the black unicorn kept the knife pressed firmly against her hide, right above her frantically beating heart. Knobs couldn’t keep her fear from showing, her knees shaking uncontrollably; the namesake that had followed her since foalhood. The black unicorn’s eyes didn’t blink as they slowly took in her surroundings, finally coming back on Knobs’ face. Then the mare took a calming breath, and Knobs’ realized the black unicorn had been shaking slightly as well as she pulled her hoof and the knife away and backed up from Knobs. Knobs slid to the ground, rubbing her throat and gulping in breath. She looked up as the black unicorn floated the knife back to a sheath hidden up her the sleeve of her leather uniform. Knobs’ made a mental note that, in the future, she’d check her ponies she treated for hidden weapons. Knobs floated up the water flask she’d retrieved and gave the black unicorn a weak smile. “It's, uh, a little irradiated, but its as clean as I can afford, and you need to rehydrate.” The black unicorn looked completely taken aback for a second, then nodded and took up the water flask in her own red magical aura, uncorking it and draining the flask quickly. When she finished she wiped her mouth and gave Knobs’ an embarrassed, “Thanks. Sorry about the rough treatment. I wasn’t expecting to wake up anywhere safe.” Knobs smiled and shook her head, getting up and waving a hoof, “No prob. Happens all the time.” At the other unicorn’s raised eyebrow Knobs’ rubbed the back of her head, “Okay, maybe not all the time. In fact I think this is the first time I’ve brought home a strange wounded mare and had her assault me! But, you know, no biggie! Oh, I’m Knobbly Knees. Pleased to meet you!” She extended her hoof and after a moment the other mare shook it. “Same to you. I’m...” the black mare hesitated, glancing away for a moment, ”Call me Crossfire.” Knobs was curious about why Crossfire had hesitated like that, but was too polite, and admittedly too scared, to question it. When Crossfire was done shaking Knobs’ hoof she looked around the room again, yellow eyes narrowing. “Where’s my rifle?” “Oh, um... about that,” Knobs chuckled nervously, “My uh, boss, Mister Skinner, held onto it. Said it’d be payment for transporting you from the road to here- h-hey!” The last was said hurriedly as Crossfire, without a word, stalked out of the shack, practically taking the door off the hinges. Knobs quickly followed Crossfire outside, but didn’t have to go far. Crossfire had stopped just outside, looking about in blinking surprise at her surroundings. Knobs supposed she couldn’t blame the blue maned mare. The Outskirts of Skull City could be overwhelming to ponies not used to it. Knobs’ shack was built among thick clusters of hundreds of similar shacks made from sheet metal and wood planks piled upon one another in a tangled forest of rust that spread in all directions. Like living boils of metal the “buildings” grew upon one another in a wild expanse of dull reds and browns. An ocean of dilapidated metal that lacked any semblance of order or structure. Between the dwellings streets of well beaten dirt roads twisted and intersected like streams, some so narrow a single pony could barely squeeze through, others wide avenues filled with clusters of passing ponies; half of which sported the rotting hides of ghouls. The scent of so many ponies living in close quarters made for an oppressive blanket of cloying smells that blended together into one overpowering stench of sweat, waste, and smoke. All was built upon a hill sloping on a steady incline to the east, leading to a distant wall, easily twenty meters tall, made from a densely woven patchwork of scrapped vehicles, piled concrete rubble, layers of sheet metal, and thick steel girders. This wall was marked by barbed wired bunkers and towers, the forms of armed guards moving along the wall like distant ants, machine gun emplacements looking like black matchsticks. From the top of the walls hung dozens upon dozens of iron cages, some empty, many others occupied. The occupants were living ponies, serving out sentences for crimes inside Skull City itself. Those guilty of sometimes petty crimes could look forward to the possibility of survival, if they could handle a few days in the “crows cages”. Those who had committed worse crimes... well they often became the unmoving corpses pecked upon by the black birds that gave the cages their name. Living in the Outskirts you didn’t need to fear such a fate. That was punishment for citizens of the actual city beyond the walls. No, justice in the Outskirts, such as it was, tended towards being much faster and more brutal. It paid to have friends; preferably among the gangs that carved out their territories amid the Outskirts like ants taking apart a pie. Beyond the wall were the towering forms of a dozen skyscrapers, though all but three of them were blackened, skeletal frameworks. The three intact towers were in remarkably good repair, though they failed to gleam and shine as they may have once done; their windows as often broken open as intact. The largest of these towers sported an odd feature, massive portions of the wall near its top removed, with blue flickering bonfires burning inside the black holes. It gave the impression of a skull like face, gazing out over the city. Indeed, if one thing unified the pathwork plague of shacks hugging the walls of Skull City it was the city’s namesake; the skulls. Whether old, blackened from the ancient balefire that scorched the world two hundred years ago, or fresh and still slightly bloody from some poor soul who’d run afoul of any hundreds of ways to meet an early end, skulls decorated many of the dwellings and streets. Whether nailed upon doors or set up upon poles with open tops where lanterns were set, or even just arranged in piles kicked off the side of the streets by passers by, skulls were a common sight everywhere one turned. Even Knobs’ shack had an old pony skull sitting atop the door, with a small red baseball cap atop it. The cap used to belong to one of the familyless foals that had sold scrap at the corner of her street. She’d gone to Skinner’s one morning to find the filly stabbed to death. Knobs had never found out by who, but had taken the cap after carrying the body to one of the dozens of graveyards occupying the edge of the shantytown. While outsiders would probably see this as strange at best, for those living in or around Skull City it was just normal. “Where in Tartarus am I?” asked Crossfire, face twisted up in disgust, probably at the smell, and earning a few odd looks from passing ponies. Knobs gulped. She didn’t recognize any gang colors upon the ponies passing by, but really anypony might take note of a clear outsider. Word would pass fast. Local thieves would be sizing up her shack before the evening was out, if only to see if the new mare had any good stuff to snatch. “Um, well, this is Skull City. Or just outside it. The east gate Outskirts,” Knobs said, shifting nervously on her hooves, eyes sharply watching the nearby alley entrances, “I figured all the skulls would kinda give it away.” Crossfire spat, muttering under her breath, “This is what I get for not paying attention to where I’m going. Why?” “Huh?” “Why did you help me?” Crossfire said, tugging at the red scarf she wore around her neck, then her leather uniform, specifically the collar, where there was a small iron pin in the shape of a feline creature’s profile, “You know what I am, right?” “Sorta?” Knobs said, laughing in nervous embarrassment, “Uh, we should go back inside. You hungry?” “I want my rifle,” said Crossfire darkly. “We can go see Skinner, my boss, after we eat. Please, your body is still recovering. And its safer to talk inside.” Crossfire frowned, but relented and they went back inside. Knobs latched the door this time, sliding an iron deadbolt across it before going to a corner of her shack that had her tiny, semi-functioning oven. It was mostly dead save for one barely functioning pilot light she could use to cook things on an old aluminum pot. As she fished out some mushrooms and after a moment of hesitation a box of Flim&Flam brand mac and cheese. The box of well preserved pre-war food was an expensive luxury she could usually only spring for once a month, but Crossfire looked like she could use some cheering up as far as Knobs was concerned. While Knobs got some water boiling in her aluminum pot Crossfire stalked back and forth in the limited space of the shack, her light blue tail twitching about in time with her steps and her face cast in a glower. Abruptly the black mare looked at Knobs sharply, “Well?” “Well what?” Knobs asked, smiling as she put the mac and cheese into the boiling water. “You haven’t answered my question; why did you help me?” “Why not? It’s not like it cost me anything to help out another pony in need. Or, well, okay it did because I had to use two healing potions and a bunch of bandages, then I had to pay Spiked Heels extra protection fees because I had another pony in my shack, and I guess the food I’m making now is also an extra cost, so I’m probably out about three hundred caps. Heheh.” Crossfire looked at Knobs with blinking eyes, and Knobs could only just keep smiling. Plenty of other ponies had given her that look before. The ‘are you stupid?’ look. Knobs wondered what it was about her that got so many ponies looking at her that way “So... you helped me just because you wanted to?” “Pretty much!” Golden yellow eyes regarded Knobs carefully, and Knobs saw the black unicorn mare gradually slow her pacing until she came to a stop and sat down on her haunches, seeming to finally relax a little. Crossfire then laughed, shaking her head. Knobs decided she liked that laugh. It was a little dry, like the other mare wasn’t used to laughing, but it had a good, full sound to it. “Then you’re a lot different than what I was led to expect from ponies in this city,” Crossfire said, still shaking her head, “I thought I’d have to fight my way out of here before a slave collar got put around my neck.” “Nah, that’d only happen if you somehow got on the Labor Guild’s bad side,” said Knobs, tossing in the mushrooms now that the cheese had gotten nice and creamy with the macaroni, “Or if one of the gangs decided to snatch you and sell you off, or if you ended up in debt to somepony so bad you had to sell yourself to pay the debt or end up getting hunted down by bounty hunters.” At the following silence Knobs glanced over her shoulder to see Crossfire staring at her. “What?” “... Nothing,” Crossfire said, giving the door a sidelong look and rubbing one foreleg with the other, not far, Knobs noted, from where she’d hidden her knife, “What’s with all the skulls anyway? Isn’t a tad-” “Tacky?” suggested Knobs with a smile. “I was going to say disturbing.” Knobs shrugged, giving the mac and cheese a quick taste test. Mmm, almost done! “I don’t know. Just the way it’s always been. Guess when ponies first settled around here we had a surplus of skeletons just laying around, so somepony probably decided to put them all to use. They’re just for decoration, though sometimes somepony will get creative with some other bones. My favorite bar has this really cool chandelier made entirely out of femurs and vertebrae! It makes this awesome rattling noise whenever there’s a breeze.” “That’s... insane.” Knobs chuckled, “So I take it they don’t use skulls as door knockers in Neighlesius?” Crossfire’s expression soured, “No. We don’t. So you do recognize the uniform I’m wearing.” “Well, no, I didn’t. Mister Skinner had to explain it to me. Hmm, weird, now that I think about it he was all ‘No, this isn’t any of our business’ one second, then was all ‘Oh, we should totally help this enemy soldier out’ the next. I never knew he was such a flip-flop. Meh, I guess ‘enemy soldier’ is an exaggeration though, because the war ended, right?” Crossfire was frowning at her, voice measured and level, “Officially hostilities between the Protectorate and Skull City have been suspended with an armistice... but technically the war never ended. We’re just licking our wounds and waiting, though the politicians spout a bunch of bull about ‘seeking a peaceful resolution’. Such a load of crap.” There was such a strong tone of bitterness in the other mare’s voice that Knobs felt an instinctive urge to go over and give her a hug. Knobs keenly remembered the feel of Crossfire’s hoof on her throat, but while there was an edge around this mare that scared her, Knobs just shoved the fear aside. Crossfire gave a little yelp of surprise as Knobs came over fast as a bullet and wrapped the black unicorn up in a big hug. Knobs’ long legs might be shaky, but when it came to hugs, their strength was unsurpassed. “Gah! W-what are you doing!? Get off me!” Crossfire shouted, shoving Knobs away, though not with much force. “Huh? You sounded like you needed a hug!” Knobs said happily, “Like you were really angry about something.” Crossfire had backed away from her, mane bristling. Knobs wondered if the mare had ever tried styling it. The light blue strands just hung in a unkempt mass. Knobs decided it’d look good if it was pulled back in a tail; but then she was probably just being biased. Ponytails were cool. “Right, hugs, fine. Look, I appreciate you helping me Knobbly-” “Oh, just call me Knobs.” “Knobs then. Like I was saying, appreciate the help, but let’s just not try not get all comfortable with each other, okay? I’m not sticking around or anything,” Crossfire said, though the hard look she was trying to put on was ruined somewhat by the way her nose twitched at the rich smell of fresh cooked mac and cheese that was now filling the shack, the black unicorn licking her lips and gulping as her eyes slid towards the pot. Knobs just bobbed her head in a cheerful nod, getting out a couple of clean, if chipped plates, and spooning the mac and cheese onto them. Crossfire looked at her plate, taking it gratefully in a red glow of her magic while Knobs took hers in her green magic aura. If Crossfire noticed that Knobs had given the greater portion to the black unicorn, she made no comment as they began to eat. Knobs made a pleased hum; mac and cheese, even two hundred years old, was sooooo good! As she ate she found herself glancing at Crossfire, her clothes, her form, even her cutie mark. Crossfire looked to be not much older than Knobs, maybe twenty, at most. She had a lean, rugged look about it, kind of tall but not like Knobs’ gangly form, but rather just naturally saturesque. Not quite pretty, but not hard on the eyes either. The shirt she wore was a light, thin leather, and the red scarf she wore was tied in a triangle down from her neck. “Is that what all Protectorate solides wear?” she found herself asking. Crossfire looked up from her meal, frowned, but answered, “No, each unit has slightly different uniforms and gear. Scarves we wear are universal, though, for showing we’re Neighlesius troops. Applehyde wears blue. Even if they’re in power armor. What about you? That red jacket the only clothes you have?” “Huh?” Knobs looked down at herself, then grinned and held herself up with a straight, proud stance, “Oh, this was my moms! She always wore it when she went out on a job. It was her lucky jacket!” Crossfire looked intrigued, “Was?” Knobs proud demeanor almost instantly deflated, her ears falling back, “I... yeah she-” “You don’t have to tell me,” Crossfire said quickly, “Wasn’t trying to dig up anything. Its a nice jacket. Let’s just, uh, change the subject.” Knobs smiled, glad Crossfire seemed to be relaxing a bit, and equally fine with not dredging up unpleasant memories, “Sure sure! So, what’s the story with your cutie mark? What is it? A gem?” Crossfire’s face screwed up in confusion, “Gem? What are you-?” the mare’s eyes went wide as she looked back at her flank. Her cutie mark, a bright blue shining gem in the shape of a tear, suddenly wavered like it was being obscured by mist. Knobs blinked in surprise, seeing the tell-tale red glow of magic around Crossfire’s horn as she cast a spell. The blue teardrop cutie mark was replaced by a different mark; that of three onions. “Why did-” Knobs began to ask but Crossfire looked at her and cut her off with a raised hoof. “Forget what you saw. Its not important, at least not to you.” “O... kay...” Knobs said, and the meal continued with a few more minutes of awkward silence. “So why were you running around the east Deadburbs anyway?” asked Knobs, breaking the silence when she could stand it no longer, and Crossfire grimaced. “Got lost,” was all she said. “Don’t you have friends that’d be looking for you then? A squad, or platoon, or whatever you were a part of?” Crossfire huffed, meeting Knobs’ eyes, “You’re a curious sort, aren’t you?” At Knobs’ enthusiastic nod and wagging of her tail Crossfire rolled her eyes. “No,” she answered, a desiccated note in her voice, “Nopony is going to be looking for me.” “Are you a deserter?” “No!” Crossfire hissed, her horn’s red glow intensifying suddenly and the plate she was floating in front of her cracked in half, splattering mac and cheese all over. Crossfire blinked, then sighed. “Sorry...” she said, looking at the broken plate with her ears drooped in shame. “Its okay! I, uh, let me find a rag or something,” Knobs said as she hastily went to get a cloth to give to Crossfire. As the black unicorn cleaned herself off Knobs put away the plate shards in a small waste bin and lamented the loss of the plate. “I didn’t desert,” said Crossfire, after they’d settled back down, “It’s... complicated. Complicated, and my own business. Bottom line is I can’t go back home.” “So what are you going to do then?” Crossfire finished wiping herself off, and looked away, one hoof tapping the ground, “Didn’t have much of a plan other than putting distance between myself and the Protectorate.“ “Well if you didn’t have any plans then why don’t you stay here for a bit, until you figure out what you’re going to do?” suggested Knobs, lips spread in a wide grin. Crossfire frowned, silent for a moment, but ultimately shook her head, “No, I don’t think so.” “Awww, why not?” pouted Knobs, “You just said you didn’t have any plans.” “Doesn’t mean I’m keen on making this city my home. I might not know what I’m going to do, but its not going to involve a place that considers the bones of the dead as good additions to their architecture. Also not a fan of crowds.” Knobs sighed, nodding, but still giving Crossfire a pout, “You should at least stay a few days though, until your wounds are fully healed. And you get the lay of the land. Like you just found out, traveling around the Skull City Wasteland is dangerous.” Crossfire snorted, “Just ran into some bad luck. Raiders were shit shots, but one of them got a lucky hit in. Bastards were thicker than fleas before I got too deep into the, what did you call them, Deadburbs? Could sneak past most bands, but that last one I just ran shit out of luck. What keeps the Raiders from hitting this city? I didn’t see any defenses for this shantytown, just that huge wall.” “Oh, the Raiders do hit us every now and then, but its really rare. The feral ghouls that roam the deeper Deadburbs keep them out, and when the Raiders do muster enough crazy or courage to attack, the gangs band together to drive them off. Nothing’s ever threatened the wall before. And don’t change the subject! Seriously, I’d like you to stay at least a day, to make sure that wound of yours doesn’t get infected. Don’t make me beg. I’m really good at it!” Crossfire held up her hooves, “Alright, alright, I’ll spare us both the embarrassment. But just a day. Long enough to get my rifle back from your boss and get my strength back. Come tomorrow, I’m gone.” Knobs pumped her own hoof in a victory pose, “Yes, sleepover time! Never had anypony over for the night before! This is going to be so much fun! I need to go get some cucumbers!” “Cu... cumbers?” Crossfire could not have sounded more bemused if Knobs had spontaneously grown an additional head. “Yup! And pillows! Can’t have a pillow fight without pillows. Hm I wonder if I could even find any at the bazaar? Well, nothing ventured nothing gained.” Crossfire watched her in bewilderment as Knobs trotted to the door. She opened it, her bouncy enthusiasm causing her to not even look as she went out, and she gave a gasp as she ran into something large and solid as a concrete wall. Rebounding and landing on her back, Knobs shook her head to clear the proverbial birdies and looked up at a dark purple earth pony mare with a straight black mane and flinty gray eyes. The mare wore metal armor and had a pair of double-barreled shotguns mounted on a battle saddle, alongside a sledgehammer slung across her back. The mare was easily taller than the doorframe of Knobs’ shack, and was almost too wide for the door as well. Behind this hulk of a mare Knobs could see a few other ponies, all stallions, and all wearing metal armor and carrying hammers of one sort or another. “Uh, heya Bruise!” Knobs said, still laying on her back, “What can I do for you? I, uh, already paid Spiked Heels, didn’t I?” She heard more than saw Crossfire shift, the black unicorn tensing. The purple mare, Bruise, lowered her head and poked it into the shack, not bothering to try and push her bulk through. When she spoke it was in a soft, feminine voice that was utterly at odds with her appearance. “What you can do, Knobs, is get in the corner, keep quiet, and stay out of the way.” Knobs had managed to shuffle onto her hooves, raising one of them questioningly, “Can I ask first why you-” Knobs was harshly cut off by a hoof that knocked her aside like a foal, the teal mare smashing into the wall of her shack hard enough that the entire thing shook slightly. Bruise, glowering, lowered herself and tried squeezing through the doorframe. When it became clear she couldn’t clear it she instead fixed Crossfire with a stone eyed glare. Crossfire met that glare with one of her own, “Knobs, you okay?” “Blarf.” “... I’ll take that as a yes,” Crossfire said, eyes narrowing at Bruise. Bruise for her part had extricated herself from the doorframe with a snort, then she proceeded to say in a commanding tone, “Come on out of there and don’t make this hard, Protectorate bitch.” Knobs, head still ringing, wobbled to her hooves, and blinked in shock, “W-wait! I paid your boss, Bruise, for the extra pony in my home! She’s got no reason to want Crossfire!” “You paid the rate for a fellow Outskirts pony. This bitch is from the Protectorate. Spiked Heels wants her, and she’s coming out here, or I’m sending the boys in to drag her out. Don’t make this tough on yourself Knobs; wouldn’t be hard for me to turn this shack into a pile of scrap! You got two minutes!” “No need for any of that,” Crossfire said, a calm edge to her tone, “I’ll come out.” “Crossfire, wait, we can talk this out,” said Knobs hurriedly, getting between the black unicorn and the door, “Spiked Heels she’s... she’s got ties to the Labor Guild.” Knobs voice lowered to a whisper, “They’ll probably sell you off! I got a little secret way out the back of the shack you can take, just move that board over there! Quick, I can distract Bruise for a bit while you run!” Crossfire shook her head and pushed past Knobs, “Not leaving you to deal with these ponies,” a small, cocky smile creased her features, “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine...” Crossfire then sighed and grumbled, “Even if I don’t have my rifle.” Coming out of the shack and onto the street, Crossfire was surrounded by Bruise and the other gang ponies. A few passers by paused to glance at the scene, but apparently this kind of thing was common enough that to many it was only worth the one glance before most ponies continued about their business. Bruise looked faintly surprised at Crossfire’s willingness to come out on her own and stood looming over the black unicorn while her fellow gangers took up flanking positions to either side, blocking any routes Crossfire might use to run. “So, the Protectorate bitch has enough brains to not fuck around with the Hammer Crusher Gang?” “Hammer Crusher Gang? Seriously?” Crossfire asked. “Because we crush things, with hammers!” offered one of the gang stallions helpfully, holding up one of his hammers, as if it were an example prop. He sounded quite proud. “Uh-huh... look, Bruise was it? I’m not interested in a fight.” Bruise leaned forward, as if she was trying to pose for a photoshoot for ‘Looming Dangerously Magazine’. She blasted out a intimidating snort of air that blew some of Crossfire’s mane back. Knobs was watching from behind the corner of her shack’s door, worry plastering her face. “Good, then don’t fight. Make both our lives easier.” Crossfire nodded, her face a mask of perfect calm, “Sure, sure. Not going to make this hard on myself. Let’s go meet your boss.” Bruise looked the black unicorn up and down, gray eyes suspicious, then nodded to one of her fellow gangers, “Fracture, check her for weapons.” As the rust colored stallion approached Bruise stepped back from Crossfire, aiming her shotguns at the unicorn and putting the firing bit on her mouth. Crossfire smiled. “Paranoid much?” Bruise snorted, “You smell like trouble. Spiked Heels wants you alive, but I like me and my boys being alive more, so if you so much as twitch your pretty little tail in a way I don’t like, your greymatter is decorating Knobs’ shack.” Crossfire’s smile thinned, “Smart mare.” As Fracture started to pat her down Crossfire looked Bruise up and down. “What?” the huge purple mare challenged, baring her teeth. “Nothing. Just noticing your battle saddle looks custom rigged. Make it yourself?” Bruise grunted, “Don’t try to get all buddy-buddy with me. Lost plenty of pals to you Protectorate bitches and your fancy power armor during the war!” “Power armor is Applehyde’s schtick, not Neighlesius, but whatever, guess all the Protectorate is the same to you, huh? Anyway, wasn’t trying to be friendly, was asking because I couldn’t help but notice you don’t have a reloader rig.” Bruise shrugged, “Yeah, so? Two double barrels of buckshot tends to end fights before reloading matters. Sure as shit is enough to end you if you try anything funny.” Crossfire closed her eyes, nodding sagely as if that went without saying, “Of course, of course. Big mare like you, probably doesn’t rely on guns that much anyway. Bet the sledgehammer is more your preference.” By now Fracture had done a very thorough job searching her, probably lingering far longer than he needed to on her flanks and the inside of her hind legs, to which Crossfire had stiffened but showed no other outward sign of discomfort. The rust colored stallion had found the knife hidden up her leather sleeve and was holding it in his mouth as he gave her one last pat down. “Shu luuks cluur buus,” Fracture said around the knife handle. “Alright, tie her up and let’s haul her to the boss,” said Bruise, then frowned as none of the other ganger’s moved, “Well?” A brown earth pony stallion with a mop of a dusty blond mane scratched the back of his head with a hoof, “I don’t think any of us brought any rope, boss.” Bruise groaned, “Did everypony decide to drink out of the fucking toilet today?” “I have some rope!” Knobs piped in, but then immediately gasped, “I mean, uh, no, of course I don’t have any rope. Why would I need something like that? Ahahaha!” Bruise glared at the teal mare, “Knobs, just get the damn rope.” “N-not if you’re going to use it to tie up my friend!” “Oh for fuck’s sake Knobs, she’s not your friend, she’s just some dumbass mare you and Skinner found on the road!” Knobs poked her head further out of her doorway, expression pondering, “Wait, how do you know me and Mister Skinner found her on the road?” “Because he sold us the info on where a Protectorate soldier was hiding out,” Bruise deadpanned, as if it should have been obvious. For Knobs it was in no way obvious. Her shock was clear in her dropped jaw and wide eyes, “He... he wouldn’t do that!” Bruise glared at the teal unicorn, “Just. Get. The. Rope!” Knobs was shaking, legs wobbling like they were in an earthquake, but she didn’t move. Bruise let out a loud groan of frustration and took a step forward, heading for the door. It was then Crossfire moved. Knobs couldn’t follow it clearly. Crossfire had been standing stock still next to the ganger, Fracture, one second, and the next Fracture was flying head over hooves into one of his companions, both gangers going down in a tangle of limbs. The very next instant Bruise, who’d just started to bite down on her firing bit, was suffused by a red glow and levitated up into the air. The shotguns went off in a quartet of ear splitting booms, but instead of pulping Crossfire, the buckshot tore up the roof of Knobs’ shack. Bruise was thrown into the shacks across the way like a giant purple battering ram, sheet metal tearing and collapsing like cardboard. By now the other gangers had recovered from their shock and moved in on Crossfire, whose horn’s glow was just fading with the black unicorn panting and sweating from the exertion of tossing a mare as big as Bruise. The first ganger, a lime green mare with a blue mohawk mane, came in with a carpenter's hammer in her mouth, swinging it for Crossfire’s head. Crossfire danced back, the hammer swishing through the empty air her head had just occupied. Another ganger rushed at her from the other side, swinging a hoof clad in a roughly fashioned gauntlet of scrap metal. Crossfire tried to juke away but her shoulder was clipped, sending her stumbling back into the side of Knobs’ shack. Knobs squeaked, every instinct she had telling her to close her door and hide. She hated violence. Surviving for her seventeen years of life in the Outskirts had necessitated dealing with it, of course, but that didn’t mean she ever got around to getting used to it like so many other ponies did. Now a pony she’d taken into her home was getting beat up by the largest gang this side of the Outskirts. Knobs gulped and headed towards the back of her shack as fast as she could, even as she heard Crossfire curse and the sounds of the fight intensify, a ganger crying out in pain after a snapping sound, then Crossfire yelping followed by the sound of a body hitting Knobs’ shack again. Knobs hastily overturned her mattress. Underneath was her little varmint rifle with its silencer and scope. Knobs horn lit up, the soft green glow enveloping the gun and the pair of loaded clips laying next to it. She loaded the weapon and slipped the extra clip onto a carrying pouch hanging off the rifle’s stock. By the time she got back to the door she could only wince at the scene. One ganger was laying on the ground, clutching a hoof twisted in a direction hooves were clearly not meant to twist. Another was on her back, unconscious (or at least Knobs hoped she was just unconscious) with her muzzle stained entirely red with blood. The other three gangers Bruise had brought with her were all piled on top of Crossfire, one atop the other. Crossfire, nose bleeding, eye bruised, was on the bottom of the pile, only her head stick out from the bulk of ponies. “Get off me you damned cheaters!” the black unicorn shouted as she swung her head back and forth, trying to pry her way out of the pile, “Ganging up on me like this, are you all a bunch of yellow bellied cowards!?” “Well, we are part of a gang,” said one ganger, the same stallion who’d been so helpful in explaining why their gang were called the Hammer Crushers, “So I think it's fair to gang up. It's part of the ganger hoofbook!” “When did we get a hoofbook? I never got a hoofbook!” “There is no hoofbook Grind! I was being facetious!” “I think they make a creme for that.” “Grraah, bitch just broke my leg!” "Heheh, or maybe she just ‘Fractured’ it?” “Oh fuck you Cutthroat! No, really, fuck you. You wouldn’t like it if I got to make a joke like that about your name, would ya!?” Crossfire had stopped struggling, partly because the gangers seemed more focused on arguing with each other and had seemed to forgotten about her, and partly because she noticed Knobs and the rifle the teal unicorn was floating next to her. Knobs looked frantic, sweat dripping along her cheeks as she raised her rifle, pointing it into the air, and pulled the trigger to get everypony’s attention. Of course the near silent small puff of air from the silencer did nothing to gain the attention of the arguing gangers. Crossfire gave Knobs a dry look. Knobs features heated in embarrassment as she slowly unscrewed the silencer from her rifle, aimed it up again, and fired off a now appropriately loud shot. The ganger’s squabble petered out as they all turned their heads to look at Knobs, even Facture with his broken (or possibly just ‘fractured’) leg. Knobs, despite her knees knocking together from shaking, managed a somewhat steady voice as she aimed her rifle at them. “Please, get off her, or, I’ll, um, shoot?” Before any of the gang ponies piled on Crossfire could respond the sound of grinding metal echoed across the street as Bruise pushed her way out of the shack she’d been tossed into. Another pony, probably the shack’s resident, crawled away with a limp and a bleeding cut on her head, vanishing into an alley. Bruise didn’t even glance at that pony, or at any of the small crowd that had slowly gathered a healthy distance away to watch the entertainment. Instead Bruise’s gray eyes took in the scene at a glance, seeing that Crossfire was in hoof, and that Knobs was armed. The hulking purple earth pony strode forward, gaze fixed on Knobs and her rifle. “Knobs, the fuck do you think you’re doing?” “I, I, uh...” “You’re pointing a gun us?” Bruise said with a stone hard tone, “You got any idea how stupid that is!? Won’t matter we grew up together if you keep fucking with the gang, Knobs. These are our streets, and this mare’s ours if we damned well want her.” “But... she... I just want to help her.” If only for a single small second Bruise’s flinty gray eyes softened, “Knobs, go back into your shack. Forget today happened. Some mare you don’t know ain’t worth what’ll happen if you don’t.” Knobs gulped, eyes darting between Bruise and Crossfire. The gangers still had the black unicorn firmly held to the ground, but Crossfire had stopped struggling and instead looked at Knobs... and shook her head. Knobs felt her heart sink along with her gun. Bruise let out a breath she’d been holding and came up to the pile, looking down at Crossfire. “Strong horn you got there,” she said coldly, flexing her neck with a few crackling pops, “First unicorn I’ve met that could toss me like that.” Crossfire glared up at the gang mare, face half snarl, half smirk, “Maybe sometime I can show you what else I can do when you don’t have your ‘boys’ holding me down.” Bruise shrugged, saying, “Not likely to happen,” and then smashed the other mare in the face with a hoof; knocking Crossfire out cold. Knobs watched as the gang ponies clambered off Crossfire, Bruise slinging the unconscious mare onto her back. Fracture stumbled on three legs, holding his broken limb close to his chest, while Grind and Cutthroat picked up their other wounded companion who was still down for the count. Bruise gave Knobs one last look over her shoulder as she led her gangers away, but didn’t say anything before leaving the frozen mare behind. Knobs stood there for a minute or two, mind locked, before she managed to shake herself out of her stupor. She quickly went back into her shack, casting a glance at her rifle as she floated it in front of her. “What do I do?” Shooting feral ghouls was one thing; it was like putting down a rabid animal. More mercy than anything. But she’d never been able to bring herself to shoot another pony. It’d been a desperate, foolish act, trying to intimidate actual gang members, especially with Bruise around, who knew her so well. Now Crossfire was being trundled off to be beaten, tortured, and probably sold off to the Labor Guild. Assuming Spiked Heels didn’t decide to just hold onto Crossfire for her own entertainment. Knobs had heard rumors of the gang leader’s sadistic tastes. Though Knobs couldn't quite get her knees to stop shaking she found she could force herself to move. Not that she had a plan yet, but she did have an idea.