Fallout: Equestria - Change

by MetalGearSamus

Chapter 6: Background Stirrings

“Fascinating,” Pitch said. She had said that a lot during my story. “You’re sure you remember nothing else?”

“Yes,” I said, “I know there’s more, it just won’t come back.”

We were seated on the floor, the both of us and Rolling Stone, in the side-room Pitch had first emerged from. It turned out to be a fusion of a kitchen and bedroom. Apparently she had been so involved in her research that it had been more efficient to live here rather than go back to a home in one of the nearby towns. It clearly had not been designed to house more than one pony, but though the space was tight we were not cramped.

Around us was Pitch's very... interesting collection of memorabilia.

Almost a dozen poster lined the walls, all depicting the same mare: Rainbow Dash. When I’d first seen them my reaction had almost been as violent as when I’d seen the one with Applejack, but I managed to control myself. They were all amazingly well preserved, still holding the bright colors of her hair and uniform. The Wonderbolt uniform. Pitch gushed for quite some time about them and the Shadowbolts, how impressive their stunts were, how amazing a flier Rainbow Dash had been. I got tired of it quickly. I did not want to hear about one of the ponies my instincts told me was responsible for the terribleness in this world. A few statuettes sat on a desk, depicting all the Bolt members Rainbow Dash had ever flown with, along with a chipped wooden model of the mare herself, frozen in a victorious pose. A dusty pin sat to the side of them. ‘Official Rainbow Dash Fan Club Member,’ it said. I had given the collection a spiteful glare.

Luckily, I managed to steer our conversation back to the questions I wanted answered. We had been talking for many hours now, and the only light that remained in the room was that of the dim lamps she had set up near the sink. I had learned much about the Wasteland. Finally.

I knew of Stables: bastions of pony kind, built hastily in the years before the apocalypse. I knew how they had saved a great number of ponies in those first hours after the balefire, and how not all had persevered through the ensuing decades. I thought of seeking one out and getting love there, but the more Rolling—through Pitch—told me about what he knew the less that idea appealed to me. They were places of stability, but also confinement. Most were either shut off, decayed, or already integrated into the Wasteland at large. I figured conditions for love stealing in them would be the same as elsewhere: bad.

I knew of the War—or at least as much as she had known—how Celestia had resigned and Luna and the Ministries had taken over. There had been a great deal of secrecy from then on, and Pitch had been so focused on her work that she could not recount much. Despite her admiration for Rainbow Dash, she had not been privy to the MoA’s work. She told me scraps and rumors, and, most notably, nothing about Changelings. It seemed we had been irrelevant outside of a few small efforts to copy our magic.

“What did you do here?” I asked at one point.

“Not much.” The Professor—as she preferred to be called—laughed ruefully. “I’m sure you saw the acronym on the entrance: ‘NEARS.’ That stands for the National Equestrian Aeronautics Research Facility. The NEA was a small subdivision of the Ministry of Wartime Technology that I, personally, got started during the early days of the war.” She had beamed with pride then, and I could feel a faint hint of happiness radiating out from her.

“Air-o... what?” I asked.

“Aeronautics. Literally, ‘air navigation.’ The study and development of artificial flight. This facility was established to develop new technology and research new frontiers in non-magical flight capabilities. We made some good progress too, before those damn bombs went off...”

Flight? I tilted my head in confusion. “Didn’t you... already have pegasi?” She gave me a dirty look.

“Yes, I know we had pegasi,” she grumbled, “But I am not a pegasus! I am not Rainbow Dash! I want to fly, I don’t care if others already can! Do you have any idea how hard I worked to get this off the ground?” Rolling snickered silently at that pun, though I don’t think she realized she’d made it. “It took all my effort to convince the higher ups that this sort of research might be valuable, and every year since then it was a struggle to even get adequate funding! It felt like the war was halfway done by the time they gave me this facility, and don’t get me started on how I got this place staffed—” She was ranting, waving a hoof through the air as she spoke. Rolling grabbed it with one of his own in an effort to stop her. She frowned at him, but it seemed to work. Begrudgingly, she calmed down.

“Sorry. It’s infuriating, how close we got to mechanical flight. Our models were working, and we’d even had a successful take off. A few more months and even Earth Ponies would be able to strap on their own pair of wings. I was sure of it...” She sighed, the decay in her expression giving a haunting edge to her sadness.

We slept on the floor that night, because there was no room anywhere else. The bed that Professor Pitch once used had long ago disintegrated. I drifted off, but in the silence that eerie breathing from before crept through the walls of the room. I knew what it was from now. That had been one of my first questions.

Zombies; the Professor’s old coworkers and friends, all still aimlessly stalking the halls around us. She had never been able to bring herself to put them down, she said, and they served as a second layer of security from any raiders who might wander by. But, unlike the mines, zombies were as good at keeping ponies in as they were at keeping ponies out. I shivered as I imagined them surrounding us, all of them as grotesque as Pitch, with none of her sanity and all of a raider's viciousness. I did not rest soundly that night.

“...and that’s all the news for today, my little ponies. Keep fighting the good fight, and have some Sapphire Shores to cheer you up!”

The radio squealed softly as Rolling Stone twisted the dial with his magic, cutting off the song at its first chord. He had been listening to it since I had awoken, waiting for the DJ’s voice to come on. The songs that played were slow and melancholy, despairing tunes that reflected the dying hope in the time of the war. Rolling’s eyes had been closed as he listened to them, and though I saw him move his mouth to their lyrics I felt no joy from him. As we sat there I stared at his Cutie Mark, and the weight of his loss began to occur to me. He’d had a special talent, a passion he’d embraced. He’d had it ripped away from him, and would never get it back. More than simple communication, he’d been robbed of the ability to express himself on a fundamental level. His songs would remain forever unsung.

We stood in silence for a moment. The DJ’s report had not said much. Raiders here, slavers there, other dangers everywhere. More and more the perilousness of this world was beginning to root itself in my conscious, especially after what I’d learned from Pitch. I was no longer shocked by the stories of horror.

“Buggie, are you up yet?” I groaned as she called for me, breaking the somber mood.

“Don’t call me that,” I whined, trotting out into the main lab.

“Well then you’d better figure out a real name for yourself because I’m not going to address you as just ‘Changeling.’ Much too impersonal.” She spoke with her back to me, words muffled by the chalk stub she held in her mouth. She was scratching some new drawing into an unused corner of the blackboard.

“Changeling is fine,” I asserted, “I don’t want a name that isn’t my real one.” I had thought quite a bit about this the night before, as I was telling my story. I hadn’t needed a name so far, but my memories implied that I did have one. Pitch insisted I think of one for myself, but I didn’t see the point. My dreams were feeding me trickles of my past, and I was confident I would remember everything, given enough time. Right now there were many things more important to me than my name.

“Well anyway, my chitinous friend, have you looked into that memory orb yet?” she asked.

“No,” I replied. I was unsure I wanted to. Pitch had explained to me what the sphere was when I showed it to her, and I knew that I’d gotten even luckier with Tulip than I’d first thought. If the memory had kept her out of it until that morning, that meant it was an unusually long one. I, however, didn’t want to spend half a day locked in the memory of somepony who was more than likely long dead.

“Did you like that book I gave you?” I asked. Her ears perked up at that.

“Oh! Yes, it was a fascinating read. Thank you so much for letting me have it.” She had nearly jumped at the Survival Guide when she first caught sight of it, and when I offered it to her she sent a tasty morsel of happyness my way. New reading material was a rarity, apparently. Even now I was able to catch a few whiffs of appreciation. I sighed happily. The book was well worth the trade.

“Well, now that you’re both awake,” she said sometime later, “Let’s get down to business: I have a job for you two.”

“A job?” I asked, glancing up at her. My savior was sitting next to me, fiddling with his rifle. I had been watching him work when Pitch approached us.

“Well, it’s more of quest, really. I want you two to investigate a few things for me. Specifically: New Canterlot. That army you saw yesterday has me and Rolling worried.”

“Worried? Why?” I asked.

“After what you saw yesterday... I think they might be moving against the Steel Rangers.”

“Isn’t that good? They fought off the Zebra...”

“Possibly... but the Steel Rangers are more powerful than a single tribe of rampaging Zebra. They have military organization backed by more technology and more horsepower than anypony else in the Wasteland. It’s bad enough they’re enforcing those taxes over the Fields, but if New Canterlot provokes them, I fear they might become worse. And if I remember correctly, the last time the NCs tried to invoke any change all they proved was that they have a fierce bark but a soft bite.” She glanced at Rolling, and he nodded in agreement, still focused on his weapon.

“Okay, but... why do you care?” And moreover, why should I care? Sure, New Canterlot the city might be a good thing to look into, but I didn’t have time to get involved in local politics. Garlic’s love would sustain me for a while, but I was not going to be living off it forever. I had planned to rest here maybe a day more, then I would need to leave. Though I did regret that I would not be able to spend more time with Rolling. I liked his presence, even if we didn’t speak much. It was nice not to be alone.

“Because, as much as I’ve shut myself off from the world, I still care about what happens to it. I’m not asking you to prevent a war, I’m just asking you to find out what exactly New Canterlot is up to. That they would suddenly be on the march, after doing almost nothing for all this time... it’s just weird. Weird and worrisome.”

I mulled over what she had told me. I guess I could help her? It wouldn’t be that hard to spy on them for a few hours, get some information. But I'd have to trek there and back, and that would be time spent not getting love. “What’s in it for me?” I asked.

She smiled. “Ah-h-h! I was waiting for that question. I wouldn’t have asked you to begin with, Changeling, if I hadn’t had some real incentive. Rolling—you heard that rumor in Bulbs, right?” She glanced at him, and he nodded his confirmation. “Yes, apparently there’s a rumor going around that New Canterlot’s crown prince is getting married. Or just got married. I don’t know how true it is, but any time you spend getting information for me will also be time spent getting information for you. You don’t even have to come back when you’re done. Just help Rolling out for a bit, and he can report back to me. Plus, he can teach you a few survival tricks, right?” Another nod. “Does that sound acceptable?”

My eyes went wide. A marriage? More time with Rolling? Forget my reservations, this was perfect! This was exactly the opportunity I had been seeking. I was overjoyed by the possibilities. “I’ll do it,” I said.

The crawl back out was not as bad as the first. I knew what to expect now, and though I still could barely breath I at least knew how to deal with it. The ghoulish whispers were gone this time, drowned out by the drumming of rain from outside. It has started just as we were about to leave.

It was raining so hard that when we emerged I thought for a moment it was still night. The torrent roared around us, muting our hoofsteps and the activating beeps of the mines as we trudged away from the station. I shivered uncomfortably, pressed close to Rolling's side as he lead me through the blinding water. I didn't like being this wet, but Professor Pitch had insisted this cover was "just what we needed." It would protect us from running into anypony unsavory, and keep the other monsters in their dens.

The Wasteland was a quiet rumble until the skies ran dry.

A mist hung over the land, obscuring our vision briefly until the weak yellow light of midday pushed through. We found ourself at the edge of another old town then, far off from the course we had set back toward the highway. Our plan was to go to Maize, the direction the NC’s army had marched from, and find out what they had done there and where they were going. Not to Bulbs, I hoped. I did not want to go back there, now that I was known.

We stepped through the mud between soggy buildings, looking around. I was just trying to get my bearings, but from the way Rolling's head snapped back and forth, I suspected he was checking for danger. I felt like I was passing through a shipwreck. Over the years this town had sunk into the unstable ground, all its buildings listing slightly to one side or another. The whole place stank of rot.

"Are we going the right way?" I asked. I was still disoriented from the downpour.

He nodded yes after a pause, and we continued on, water still dripping from our saddlebags. Rolling stopped us at one of the more stable looking buildings—Gallop Police Department, an engraving said—and I followed him inside. Immediately, he started snooping around, and I quickly followed suit. Scavenging time, I figured. The room we were in was a wide entrance way, but it was bare save for a few chairs. Three double doors split off from it, and we set out to investigate each. I took the left way while Rolling went straight.

There was a hallway here, and though it held many doors not much lay beyond them. Mostly desks or their remnants, a few filing cabinets full of dust from papers not significant enough to be magically preserved, and the occasional defunct terminal. All I could scrounge was a single bottle cap from a trash bin. At the end of the slanted hallway, however, was something far more interesting. A skeleton, propped against a bullet-riddled door. There were scraps of metal around the floor here, and a black crater in the ceiling above them. I frowned at the sight, but started looking through the dead pony's saddlebags. Jackpot. More caps than I had time to count, plus a pile of canned food. Rolling would be very happy about this. His stomach had been growling since we'd set out.

I pushed passed the skeleton into the last room. It was of similar layout to the other offices, but it was remarkably more preserved. The floor here was not yet waterlogged, and the paint on its walls still held a brightness. A terminal glowed in the corner, but I went for the desk first. I smiled. In its drawers was a knife. Not a weapon, just a letter opener, but it had gold trim on both its handle and sheath and was sharpened to perfection. It glinted, even in the dimness of this place. I put it carefully into my bags.

I found nothing else in the desk, so I went to the terminal. Its screen lit up when I tapped on it, but I was unsure of how to use it. I pressed a few buttons at random, and a small dialogue suddenly popped up.

>Play Recording baltimarecase02.wav?
>Y/N

I raised an eyebrow. The Y was blinking. I scanned the keys for a moment and found one that said "Enter." I pressed it, and after a burst of static the recording began.

“What is the difference between magic and science?” the voice of a mare spoke, it was proud, confident, and, judging by the background noises I picked out, presenting itself in front of a large audience, "I'll admit, I struggled with this question for quite some time before I came up with an answer. Now, I know you might think the answer's obvious: magic is magical. Mystic. Fantastic. While science is grounded. Real. Mundane.  But it's not that simple. We can study magic as we study science. We can test both and predict both. As our science advances to greater and greater levels so does our magic, and to most ponies,  including myself, the line between them has become increasingly blurred. Technologies have been made to imitate spells. Magic has been made to augment machines. The barriers between their uses have decayed to almost nothing. So I ask you again: what is the difference between magic and science?"

How trite. A dead mare discussing semantics. It paints you poorly, Twilight.

"The difference, my little ponies, is that while both are fundamentally knowable, only science is fundamentally explainable.” A few confused mumbles came from the audience, as well as a few grunts of annoyance. “What do I mean by that? I mean that in all our scientific endeavors, in every test we’ve ever done, we’ve been able to come up with an explanation for why things happen the way they do. Why do apples fall from trees? How does lightning work? We can answer those questions with empirical data—gravity, electromagnetism—and we can then explain how those things work as well. In short, science is the constant exploration and explanation of the measurable world, and there is no answer posed within its realm that it cannot in turn answer.”

There was a small bookshelf on the wall opposite the door, and I sifted through the available titles as I listened to the speech. The speaker’s voice set me on edge. It was a voice from before. Twilight Sparkle. One of them—Applejack and Pinkie Pie and Rainbow Dash—one of those who killed the world. Hate bubbled from the memories locked in my mind.

“With magic, however, we cannot answer why. Why can pegasi fly and stand on clouds? Why can unicorns learn spells? Why can earth ponies tame nature so easily? The ‘answers’ are simply statements: because that’s what they are. Pegasi can walk on clouds because they are pegasi. Spells can be cast by unicorns because they are spells, and spells are cast by unicorns. There is no deeper reason. We have no fundamental forces in magic. We only have the vague notion that it works this way and does these things because that is how it has always worked and what it has always done. That is what I mean by knowable but not explainable. We can know how it works, but never why. I—"

The recording ended then, cutting off suddenly with another static burst. I stepped away from the bookshelf, having found nothing interesting—legal theory and faded almanacs—to see what had happened.

>baltimarecase02.wav END
>Return to Main?
>Y/N

I clicked yes, but instead of a new menu the screen suddenly flickered and went black. I pressed on a few more buttons, but nothing happened. The thing was dead. Weird. I turned away with a shrug, glad at least that I didn’t have to listen to that voice anymore. So innocent; so filled with joy by the thing she talked about. It almost made me question why I hated her so much.

Rolling practically tackled me when I gave him the cans, and we wolfed down our respective meals, though he made far more noise than I did. I was definitely glad I could travel with him. He was more than a skilled warrior, I realized, he could be a renewable source of affection.

“Mmm...” I sighed. He glanced at me from behind the can he was currently tipping into his mouth, raising an eyebrow over one of those stunning indigo irides. Yes, I definitely wouldn’t mind getting more affection from him. “Nothing,” I replied, “Did you find anything?”

He shook his head, going back to focusing on his breakfast, and motioned for me to take one of the cans.

“No thanks,” I said, “I’m not hungry.”

He simply shrugged at that, and made a quick pair of gestures with a free hoof. Pitch had taught me a few basic signs in the short time before we'd left, and these meant “your” and “way,” if I recalled correctly. “Suit yourself,” in this context, I figured.

The third hallway was bloody. Four bodies lay strewn across the floor, all riddled with bullets. Their broken armor was that of raiders, and their deaths were so recent they had yet to start smelling. Rolling and I moved cautiously through the carnage, our weapons drawn. Above us, attached to the ceiling, was a large turret. It appeared dead, and stayed that way as we peeked into the rooms here.

We found nothing but a flickering terminal in one of the offices. Rolling made it to the main menu once, but after that it kept dying, forcing him to reset each time. After giving up, we stepped back out and began looting the bodies. They didn't have much but caps, some dried meat, and a pistol, but the gun had a side holster and I took it happily. As we started to walk toward the exit, the building shook, and the lights flickered briefly back on. Above us there was a mechanical whirr.

I felt a bullet fly past the back of my neck as I jumped through the nearest door. I crouched down behind the doorway as the stream of bullets turned to Rolling. He had moved a second later than I, and was taking cover as I was in the opposite room. The turret stopped firing, but I could still hear the small noise of its movements. Rolling tried to pop out and shoot it, but it fired faster than he could bring his rifle to bear. I gasped as wood splintered above his head. He retreated, blinking dust out of his eyes. I felt my heart pounding in my chest.

"What do we do?" I hissed. He glanced at me, thinking. I looked around. There was a window here, but it was covered by metal bars. I assumed Rolling’s room would have the same. Damn. We were trapped.

Rolling waved a hoof at me. He started to sign, but stopped quickly after I gave him enough confused looks. Instead, he mimed jumping and running, and then pointed between me and the turret. My eyes went wide.

“You want me to distract it!?” I hoped I was reading him wrong. I wasn’t. “That’s crazy!” He gave me a long, annoyed look, and hefted his rifle.

I trotted in place, biting my lip. He needed a clear shot, I knew, but I wasn’t that agile. I’d reacted the moment that turret had activated and I still barely managed to avoid a second’s worth of fire. There was no way I could dodge it for long enough... but there was no other way out of here. We might be able to wait it out and hope for another power fluctuation, but, knowing my luck, it would turn back on the moment we stepped into the killzone. I let my breath out in a long hiss.

“We don’t have any other options, do we?”

No? Yeah, that’s what I thought.

I crouched, and saw Rolling ready his rifle. I let out a scream as I ran back into the hallway. Immediately the turret began spitting. I charged it, leaping into the air and doing my best attempt at a barrel roll in this confined space. I felt bullets tear past me as I hit a wall and bounced off, keeping myself stable with a quick flap of my wings. I was almost underneath it now, and I was running out of maneuvers. I fell back to the ground, skidding and trying to stop and pull myself around as fast as I could. Mistake. The turret traced my movement perfectly, nullifying my attempt to juke it and giving me no time to regain my lost velocity. A cold splash of terror overwhelmed me the moment before Rolling got his shot off.

I collapsed to the floor as the turret exploded, hyperventilating. The last bullet had passed right through one of the holes in my left foreleg. I was dead next shot. Rolling Stone galloped toward me, checking me over with a worried look.

“I’m alive!” I gasped after a moment, “I’m alive.” He let out a deep sigh, smiling.

I pulled myself together, and we quickly exited into the town. No more delay, we headed straight for Maize.

The city was quiet.

Chard had greeted me with a gaping maw, Bulbs with the security of a fortress, but when we pushed open the gateway to Maize all we found was desolation. There were no lights in this facility. The whole place was cold, dark, and void of any activity. I had been hesitant to step in, not because of the darkness, but because of the utter silence that rested over the place.

“Is this normal?” I asked Rolling Stone.

He shook his head, a spooked look on his face. Cautiously, we ventured in, Rolling guiding me with a faint light from his horn. That spell brought back bad memories, but I pushed them down.

I had disguised as Boysenberry when we first approached the massive facility, but as we wandered through the place we encounter not a single soul. After exploring the first level for long enough we realized that it was abandoned, so we decided to look for a way up. Our search did not end quickly.

I imagined this place to have the same layout as Bulbs, but the more we explored the more that notion faded. There were too many corners here. Too many turns and short hallways and corridors that led nowhere. This facility made no sense, but what was more unnerving was what we found the deeper in we went. At first there were only scorch marks, barely visible as streaks in Rolling's grey light, but soon enough they became blackened craters on the walls and floor. Splashes of dried blood followed. No bodies. Wreckage from a collapsed ceiling led us onto the next floor, but the destruction only increased. Rubble everywhere. Spent casings. Broken guns. More blood, and finally the corpse of a Steel Ranger, his side incinerated along with the canon the must have been there. Rolling tried to pry its twin from the mix of gore and molten metal, but it was far too heavy. He salvaged what else he could as I kept watch in the near darkness. Still the place was deathly silent.

After that body, the destruction dwindled to almost nothing. There were traces that the battle had continued—nicks in the walls, scattered bullet casings—but we found no more bodies.

It must have been an hour or so before we managed to work our way to the top floor. Each level was connected by a stairwell, but their positions were never consistent. One was at the south edge, another in the center, another in wide open room that held nothing else... the whole place felt thrown together. Like it had been built without any kind of plan.

We had still to find a single living pony. We found evidence aplenty: beds, tables, drinks, bowls of food, and a dozen other trinkets and possessions, all scattered and abandoned—but no hint as to where their owners had fled. A glint caught my eye, and I stepped over the leg of a smashed chair to probe through the inside of metal box that had been left open. I found caps, a few bullets, and some tools I didn’t recognize. I stuffed the caps into my bag and showed the box to Rolling. He was beside me, providing light as we scavenged.

“Are these useful?” I asked. My voice—Boysenberry’s voice—was soft and alto, I liked it much better than Tulip’s.

Rolling looked over the odd implements. He nodded enthusiastically at me, smiling. I smiled too, savoring every little bit of good emotion he gave me. I wondered briefly if he knew what he was providing. Should I tell him I was feeding off him? Surely he must know. He had been right there with Pitch as I told my story. I hadn’t been shy with the details... well, most of them. I hadn’t told them about what I’d done to Garlic, but that was an extreme case. I hadn’t known what I was doing... No, I decided, I wouldn’t bring it up. I didn’t want to risk it. I didn’t want to risk ruining this... companionship? Acquaintanceship? Friendship?

“Rolling,” I said suddenly, “are we friends?”

Rolling tilted his head at me quizzically. The faint light from his horn paled the rich color of his face, but caused his eyes to shimmer when he moved them. What was it with those eyes, anyway? They were such a pretty color... It suddenly dawned on me how secluded we were. The whole vastness of Maize, abandoned, and here we were, my savior and I, completely alone together... in the dark...

No. Don’t you dare start thinking that way.

For a moment all I could do was gaze blankly into his eyes, until the rational part of my brain kicked me back to reality. “I-I was just wondering,” I sputtered, “I mean, I know we just met, but you did save me...” I flicked my vision downward, feeling a flush come to my cheeks. By the Queen, what was wrong with me? Why was I so jittery all of a sudden?

When I looked back up, Rolling was staring at me. I couldn’t quite place the look on his face. It was... quiet. An expression held in neutrality. It disappeared in a blink, replaced by a wide smile. He placed a hoof on my shoulder before I could react, pulling me closer and sending a jolt through me. He nodded his response, giving me a quick squeeze, and I was flooded with relief. I could feel that he was genuine.

“Thanks,” I said.

A friend. I like that notion.

We reached the roof. Nothing.

“Where is everypony?” I asked, baffled. Pitch had said this was a city. Another sanctuary of civilization like Bulbs and Chard. Even Cathode had spoken of it as if it were still active. “Did New Canterlot do this?”

Rolling gave a shrug. He was near one of the city’s edges, scanning the horizon. There was quite a view from here; miles of dull, broken Wasteland. I trotted to Rolling’s side to see what he was looking at. Ah. That answered one of my questions. Maize’s plantation was north of us, and I could see activity swarming around it.

“I think we have to go back down,” I said, “Somepony down there can tell us what happened.” Rolling turned away from the sight, looking back at the roof entrance with a grimace. My expression mirrored his. I was not looking forward to the return journey either. “Let’s go.” Streaks of sunlight were making their way onto the underside of the cloud cover. Already the day was nearing its end.

“In that desolation I went to die, my life now purposeless. But there, instead of a lonely death, I found a great new future for the world. Before me, like the blinding sun, stood the figure of the Goddess—an alicorn! I beheld Her, and into my mind poured the truth of Unity. Celestia! Luna! Our beloved Goddesses were not slain by balefire, but transformed—rising anew like the Phoenix. This new Goddess has show me that we too can be purified by that holy fire; we too can ascend our mortal existence and become a greater power; we too can become Unity!”

The pony, a small buck wearing a pair of cracked glasses, preached before a circle of ragged onlookers. Their gazes varied from dull to evangelical; the few in the front looked up at the speaker with reverent expressions. One scowled at the voices behind them.

“What? What the hell is he talking about?”

“Goddesses? But they’re...”

 “Dead? Do you believe deities can truly die?” the preacher challenged, “Do you believe that our beloved Celestia and Luna would abandon us to this hell for eternity?”

“Well, I don’t believe they’re dead, but they sure ain’t helpin’ us out any more...”

”Bah! Listen to me, my friends, you have too long been under the shadow of these clouds—the shadow of lies!” he proclaimed, “Listen to me! I have been blessed with this vision of truth: I have seen them, the Goddess's holy warriors, and they have told me of Her holy mission—of Unity! Listen close, and let me speak of it.”

This crowd was the first thing to greet us at the edge of the plantation. Whatever had happened here, it had caused most of the city to exodus and relocate. Tarps and metal scraps made up most of the newly erected shanty town, and a good majority of ponies, I could see, sat around doused fire pits with no shelter at all. Rolling and I stepped closer to the preacher as he kept speaking.

“Do you know what he’s talking about?” I asked.

I got a firm shake.

He... is he speaking of that Abomination?

“I have told you of the glory of Unity, but allow me to show it! As things are now, our lives are short, painful, and devoid of purpose. How many of you have lost your friends, your family? How many of you have had to kill to survive? How many of you have survived what you wish had killed? Think hard about your burdens, now. I know we all carry them." At his words the crowd to stirred. I saw ears perked up and a few sighs of genuine hurt. Beside me Rolling blinked rapidly, a shocked look on his face. A few flashes of pain from my week of life slipped into my mind. I shut them out as fast as they came.  “As ponies we are divided and hateful of each other, and we have forgotten so many of the morals from Before. We have all felt pain and loss, and we all long for something better. I am here to offer it to you.” He paused then, and I saw his eyes sweep across the crowd. He measured his impact. Calculating behind those shattered spectacles. I stepped forward just a pace, eager to hear his next words.

“I am here to offer you salvation,” he repeated, licking his lips, “And the salvation I offer is Unity! It is not a place nor a people, but a state of existence. In it you will have no need to fear this world; your life will have meaning, a purpose beyond survival. The Goddess whom I saw commands you there, but you need not fear tyranny nor death, for in Unity you are Her children, and She your mother. She will alleviate you of pain, purge you of fear, and grant you power the likes of which this world has long ago forgotten. She will bear all your weight, and the only thing She asks is that you wish her to. Please, my friends, I offer you only a peace with this world."

The crowd was silent. Shortly, a mare spoke up. She was pale yellow with murky white hair, and her voice quavered. “Where is she? Where is the Goddess?”

“Ah, I’m glad you asked that, my sister. The Goddess lives in the perilous ruins of an ancient fortress far in the north. Monstrosities and horrors plague the journey there, but do not fear—I have spread Her word here, and if I have convinced you, join me—join Unity! As we make our way toward her domain, She will send Her holy warriors to protect us, this She has promised me. All we need do is set off, and soon enough they will guide us home. We will fear no evil, for She will shepherd us—for now and forever. Thank you my little ponies, for hearing my words. We leave tomorrow morning, to seek a world of more glorious dawns.”

He stepped down from the rusted metal bucket he had been using as a pedestal, and I heard the mud squish beneath his hooves. The crowd dissipated slowly, many ponies lingering to speak with the preacher in person. A look passed between Rolling and I, but I was not sure what it meant. I felt a pang of desperation as I wondered what was going through his mind; had that pony evoked the pain of his loss? What did he think of all that? I asked him, but all I could make out were the signs ‘good’ and ‘bad.’ A mixed reaction, I guess, but that didn’t say much.

“He’s lying," I blurted.

Rolling raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t know,” I admitted, “I just feel like... I’ve heard of the Goddess before. She’s not good.”

She is an Abomination. That thing should not exist.

A whisper passed through my mind, but I was not surprised this time when it vanished as soon as I concentrated on it.

"The NCs? Boy, do I have a story for you!”

Our quest for information was going smoother than I could have hoped. New Canterlot was the only thing the ponies of Maize could talk about!

"They came down two days ago, right as I was finishing my shift—I work real early in th' mornings,  ya see, so I can get done by lunch—and they just came marching down from the horizon, wavin' that flag of theirs." The stallion we were interviewing was a farmhand on Maize's Plantation. Farmhand. Not slave. I had yet to see a single bomb collar, and though there were similar defenses around their corn crops, the guards were not looking down on us with malice. A few did seem annoyed at the influx of ponies however. "I didn't see what they did after that, on account of lunch, but about a half hour later I heard some small explosions and then next thing I know everypony from Maize is stampeding toward us. As I heard it, the NCs picked a fight with the Rangers and knocked out the lighting system. Not sure why they haven't fixed it yet, though. Its not like its Bulbs, y’know. Complex. Reliable."

"Yes, that does seem odd..." I said. The story matched what we'd heard from everypony else so far, which was unfortunate. We'd yet to hear any first person accounts. "You wouldn't happen to know anypony who saw them fighting, or where they went would you?"

"Who saw? Nah, nopony I know saw 'em. And I have no idea where they ran off to. One of the mayors might know, I think."

"Oh, where could I find them?" Mayors? Plural?

"I... don't rightly know. He might, though." He pointed a hoof to someplace behind me, and I turned to follow it. There was a dark yellow unicorn, with long, knotty green hair wading lazily through the townspeople's camp. His Cutie Mark was an eyeball peeking out from behind a large corn husk. "That's Cobb, my boss. He probably knows."

Ah, another plantation owner. His operation, at least seemed far less vicious than Garlic's, but that said little about the pony himself. I noticed most others were giving him space as he walked by. "Thanks for the information," I said.

"No problem. Anything for a pretty lady," the farmhand replied, winking.

"Oh." I giggled despite myself, trying to hide a smile with a hoof. "Um... well, thank you. Come on Rolling, let's go catch up." Pretty? Well, I couldn't say the same for him, but a compliment is a compliment. Especially when it's true. I giggled again, and beside me I saw Rolling facehoof.

I have been doing almost nothing but that for the last four days. You're going to drive me as crazy as these guards think I am.

We caught up with Cobb shortly, and I coughed to get his attention. "Excuse me, sir, I was told you might know where the, uh, mayors are."

He turned slowly at my voice, almost a delayed reaction, and stared at me for a moment. I took a step back instinctively, recalling my experience with Garlic. I stole a glance at Rolling. He shared my reservations through the expression on his face.

“Which city did you come from?” Cobb finally asked.

“Which... why?”

“I overheard some of your talk with Mold. You just arrived, correct? Did you run into the NCs on your way here? And again, where did you come from?” He spoke in bursts, pausing briefly between each sentence, as if he had to think very hard on each word in them.

“We, um... just came from Bulbs. We saw the NCs... from a distance... heading south yesterday. Why?”

“Yesterday...” he repeated the word slowly, his gaze distant. “Thank you. Twist and Turn are in my office, in the center of the Plantation. Knock before you enter. If my guards give you trouble the password is ‘blueberries.’”

“Thank you—” I started.

“Are you going back to Bulbs soon? Sorry. This is important.”

“Um, maybe...” I said, “We want to... get more details from the mayors here before we leave. I’ll... I might stop by Bulbs after that.” That was a lie. I had no plans to ever go back, but I wanted to know what this stallion wanted. He was so different from anypony I’d met so far.

“Hmm. Talk to them first, then if you know whether you’ll go to Bulbs find me. I have a message for Garlic, and nopony is willing to follow in the NCs’ path right now. I need it to be delivered.”

“Uh...” Rolling and I shared a look. Cobb caught it.

“What? Tell me.”

“It’s nothing—”

“Tell me.” He took a step closer, and a coldness shot through me. The look on his face... it was still calculating, but it had turned its measurements from those unknown thoughts to me. Rolling tensed. “Tell me,” Cobb repeated, “Something happened. What?”

“Garlic... Garlic’s dead.” I gulped.

“Truly?” Cobb backed off, his face questioning.

“Y-yes. Happened the day we left. There was a... fight between him and one of the townsfolk.”

Cobb stared at us for a long second, his eyes flicked to Rolling and back. Mine followed. “I see,” he said. “That changes things. I assume you two were not there when someone became his successor?” He might have raised an eyebrow, but it was such a little gesture that it looked like only a twitch.

“No... we didn’t catch their name.”

“Hmm. Well, thank you. After you visit the mayors, my request still holds. I have a larger job for you now. Goodbye.” With that he turned on a dime and strode away, his disheveled hair flapping from one side of his neck to the other. I breathed a sigh of relief.

“You ever met a pony like that before?” I asked Rolling.

He shook his head.

“Boysen? Boysen is that you!?” We were almost to the plantation’s gate when the voice called out to me. A temporary market had formed around here, it seemed, and I looked over to see a lavender mare waving at me from one of the booths that had been set up. Well, ‘booth’ gave too much credit to its construction. It was a small square fenced off by metal scraps with a table as its front. On it was another ‘Berry Wears’ sign, and as I approached the mare who called out to me I saw several boxes of its advertised medicine.

“Oh hello,” I said, forcing a smile, “Nice to see you again!"

I heard Rolling follow me with hesitant footsteps. I didn’t want to get distracted by this either, but if I didn’t respond I would look suspicious. Of all the ponies to be recognized here, why did it have to be some other town’s drunk?

“It’s been so long, what are you doing here?” the mare chirped, “I thought you were still in Chard!” She leaned over the table with open arms, and I gave her a quick hug, laughing nervously. At least I was getting some love off her.

“Oh, you know, that place just got too dreary. I decided to see if one of these other facilities had it any better. How have you been?” I tried to shift the subject to her. That familiar panic of working on zero information was gripping at my chest. I breathed in, trying to steady myself. I could do this. This was easy. She wasn’t brutal or suspicious—we were just friends, catching up. I had nothing to fear, so long as I didn’t say anything stupid. Just talk friendly. Be normal.

“Oh, same old same old,” she replied, “just trying to keep the trade going. It was getting pretty hard after the Rangers moved in, but it looks like we won’t have to be dealing with them for much longer, huh? Those NCs whipped ‘em something good.” She punch a hoof through the air to emphasize her words. “But anyway, let’s hear about you! Anything interesting happen lately? I see you’ve got a colt friend."

Colt friend? I glanced at who she motioned to. Oh, she meant Rolling?

Yeah, I could go with that.

I grinned at him, even as he gave me a weary look. “Ah yes,” I said, sliding to his side and wrapping a hoof around him like he had done to me earlier, “We met just a few weeks ago. He saved me from a group of vicious slavers!” I felt him tense a bit at the sudden act, but he reciprocated the gesture after he understood what I was doing. I felt him enjoying this.

"Slavers? Celestia, girl, they didn't do anything, did they?"

"Oh no, no, nothing... terrible,” I lied, “I managed to get myself free at first actually, but they had me cornered. I so afraid that... that it felt like the fear itself would kill me! Luckily Rolling, my savior, showed up ar that very moment. He shot all of them without taking a scratch, and we freed everypony else! I'm so grateful to have met him, he's so, well..." I laughed, nuzzling Rolling. I couldn't think of a way to finish that sentence.  It was easy enough to sew together a story from my experiences, but that last line had spilled out without much thought. I felt my cheeks burning again. Rolling was nuzzling back; really enjoying this.

"How romantic," said a voice that stopped me cold, "But that's not how I remember things."

I swung around, my eyes wide. Boss. Boss was standing right in front of me.

“Hello Changeling.” His horn flared with magic.

I tried to jump away. I tried to yell at Rolling to run. All I could do was grunt as I was forced to the ground. Pressure. Pressure filled my ears. My body was like lead submerged at the bottom of the ocean. It was a struggle to even breath. The top of my body pushed painfully down on the rest. Every inch of me felt like it was being crushed. I heard Boysenberry’s friend scream something. I heard more commotion. I heard another grunt next to me, and Rolling’s rifle clatter to the ground.

“Show them, Changeling.” From where I was I could see ponies gathering around us. Some shouted in our defense. Some raised weapons. Boss flared his horn, and the guns fell to the ground with a collective ‘THUNK,’ too heavy to be lifted, even with magic. How did he know? How could he know it was me?

“Show them, Changeling. I don’t have all day.” He was standing above me now, a sickly green light flashing on the corner of his PipBuck. As he spoke the aura around his horn increased steadily, as did the weight on my chest. I couldn’t even gasp now. I managed to breathe in once, but it took more energy to move my chest than the oxygen I took in was able to restore. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t move. Air. Air!

Survive!

I triggered my magic, and the pressure faded completely. I lay on the ground, gasping for breath, exposed and defeated. I could probably move again, but I hurt to much try. Already ponies were recoiling in confusion.

"B-Boysen? What..."

"What the hell is that thing?"

"The fuck? Was that just a pony?"

"Hairpins!" Boss shouted, ignoring the commotion around him. "Get a pair of collars, and tell everyone else we're done here."

Collars. A spark ran through me. I was on my feet, ignoring the splintering ache in my body. I charged the red stallion, my jaw open, my new pistol floating weakly at my side. I wasn't able to even get an unaimed shot off before I collapsed again, my muscles unable to support the weight of a mountain. My head smacked into the ground. A burst of dizziness. Darkness.

Survive.

Canterlot. We returned to a city in ruin.

Clouds swirled above that mountain now, their omnipotent shadows spread a bleakness over the once golden tops of the capital’s towers and roofs. Buildings that once represented the pinnacle of those ponies’ power were now in collapse, scattered with the skeletons of those who had once built them up. A foul pink mist spread throughout its streets, oozing across the stone like the smoke from a dying dragon. Shattered glass and a thousand other broken things littered the place, evidence of those last panicked moments after the bomb unleashed its plague.

The Queen smiled at this terrible sight.

“Not even Celestia could escape this death!” We quivered with sick pleasure, relishing the fate of our most hated enemy. But it was a short-lasted happiness, for we knew that with her death so too had love died. Not all love, not love as a concept, certainly, but love in abundance. Balefire had torn Equestria asunder, and love could no longer flourish here. This wretched sight was the conclusion to the long, arduous decline that War had brought to the world, and we suffered in its fallout.

Though we had dodged the first flames, the balefire was just as devastating to us as it had been to all the others. Our land was poisoned with foul air. The Hive grew thin and we hateful, and there was no choice but to flee. Those we had sent to the north were lost when the bombs fell, and the Empire along with them. Our last source of love, gone. For years we starved, eeking out only the barest existence as the realization of our doom dawned on us. Love had long since dwindled, and the world was turning curel. The Zebra tribes were too scattered and too close knit too fool. The Griffins were too cold. The Stables were shut to us, and the ponies that had survived outside had become either too brutal or too broken to feed from en masses. The pegasi we didn’t dare approach. Their eyes were too keen. Their skies too tightly closed.

We had nothing to eat. So now we were here.

“Careful,” the Queen hissed as we flew into the city, “I don’t know what new dangers might be here.” None of us did. None of us could have known. The first death was the most painful.

        I was searching through a tower then, when we felt him die. There was a room here, in its pinnacle, a suite for important ponies. The stairs that led up to it had been blown away by some unknown blast. That was what had attracted me here. It was the only one to have been damaged in such a way.

This place was barren, having been striped by time and that pink gas. A skeleton still rested on the bed, but I ignored it. It was not what we came for. There was a chest here, and a dimly glowing terminal. They attracted my attention. I went for the chest first. I understood its workings better. I had to blast the lock off. The spell was difficult to cast. I had never been very good with this sort of magic, not like the Queen. I was much better at crafting the traps; maintaining our buildings; healing, if need be. My horn smoked equally with the ruined metal.

The chest was full of many things, and there was a note at the very top. I tossed it aside, and began rummaging through the chest, looking for something. I did not find it. What I did find, though, confused me greatly. There was a small red figurine made out of springs and wood, several abstract portraits of what I assumed to be the same stallion, and a stuffed pink pony doll with a giant head. Along with all this was a plethora of photographs and news clippings, all about the same red stallion.

A bizarre shrine, but an unimportant one. What I was looking for was not here. I had not really expected it to be. It would be an odd place to find a crystal.

Next, I went to the terminal. Sometimes they had useful information, if we could get them to work. It flickered to life. There was no security. I flipped through its screens quickly, seeing only personal data. Records. Memories. Photos. Nothing relevant. Nothing important.

It was then Formi died. The noise ripped through our minds like lightning through water, a shriek that faded as quickly as it had come, leaving us crippled in shock. Emptiness. He was simply gone. Gone in a burst of pain from nowhere. Another strike of lightning followed, and I gasped—we saw an image of those monsters, gnashing madly at one of our own. Vespula. She was torn to shreds an instant later. Another emptiness. The sudden gaps filled our minds with despair, and our Queen’s heart with fury and ache.

Not another—not another of my children! We heard her scream, both in our minds and through our ears, and we felt her pain. Too many had died already.

“Celestia! Luna! Twilight Sparkle!” she spat, “I will not share in your ruin, I will remake this world—I will make it my world! I will foster love from this place again, but we will be the ones to enjoy it this time. Not you wasteful beings. We will rule this world, my dearly departed princesses. We will rule it, and feed off the love of its ponies. Forever!” With another cry of rage she dove upon a pack of zombies, blasting them in a fit of spite.

It was not a wise move. It wasted too much energy.

“Find it!” she commanded, “I know there is one here.”

On we went, still searching, driven faster by rage and grief, looking, looking... but finding nothing. Not until we entered the throne room. The Queen ventured there herself, fearing one us of fall to another trap, or more monsters.

There! We felt relief swell up in her mind. There is one, I have it. Now let us leave this terrible place. We’ve found what we need. With a blast of magic that drained more of our precious energy she teleported out, hovering above us as we crawled into open space to join her. Beside her hovered our prize, refracting the light of her magic in all directions. We did not smile at the sight.

We had lost five more of ourselves. We now numbered less than fifty. We had found what we came for, but we had paid too much for it. And there were still so many more shards to find. A great blackness consumed our minds. We began to wonder if there was any hope at all. Our Queen’s plan was formed on a rumor, a legend from before the war, and already it was starting to fail.

“No no, it will work... it will work... we just need all of them. All of the crystal shards... yes... it will work..."

It will work. It can still work. Just survive. Survive. Feed. It will work. I will escape. It will work...

Footnote: Level up.
New Perk: Empathy of the Mind  - With understanding comes friendship. New dialogue options available when successfully disguised. +5 Speech.