//------------------------------// // Chapter 3: Crossfire and Nightbane // Story: Trigger to Tomorrow Side Story: Crossfire // by thatguyvex //------------------------------// Chapter 3: Crossfire and Nightbane “Ow... ow... ow...” Crossfire’s words dripped as quiet, subdued punctuations to every twitch of the needle Knobs worked through Crossfire’s lacerated hide. Knobs wiped sweat from her teal brow, bits of her red mane sticking there no matter how many times she brushed the strands aside. Nearby Wellspring poked her muzzle past a faded, moth eaten blanket that covered the only entrance to the tiny shack they’d taken refuge in. “Any- ow - anypony out - ow - there?” Crossfire asked between stitches. Wellspring pulled her head back, licking her lips nervously as she settled down next to where Knobs worked on Crossfire, “Aside from the normal crowds I’m having trouble seeing any of the Hammer Crusher’s, but that griffin is still in the air. I can see her circling. I doubt we can afford to hide here much longer. Heheh, I’m not used to having to do this kind of thing, I’m just not built for it. Whew... head’s still swimming.” Wellspring had lost a fair bit of blood from her leg wound, and Knobs had helped dull the pain the other mare was feeling by giving her a diluted bit of sleeping potion; not enough to knock Wellspring out, just enough to ease the pain. They’d crawled into the shack after a mad scramble following their escape from the gang’s stronghold. Darting and ducking through alley after twisting ally the three mares had taken refuge in this small, seemingly abandoned shack to catch their breath and lick their wounds. Knobs had used the last of her medical bandages to make some makeshift thread to start stitching up the worst of Crossfire and Wellspring’s wounds. Wellspring had been first, getting her leg wound cleaned and stitched, though Knobs had insisted that it wouldn’t be enough and the mare would need a healing potion to help keep the leg from getting infected. Skinner’s home, as it happened, was well stocked with supplies, including healing potions, at least according to Knobs. Getting to the ghoul wrangler’s place was already their objective, but now it was paramount for their health. “Knobs, how far is this Skinner’s place anywa-aarrgh! You did that on purpose!” Knobbly Knees’ eyes fluttered in a look of surprise that Crossfire couldn’t tell if it was sincere or not. From what little she’d seen of the mare so far Knobs didn’t seem to have a dishonest hair on her coat. Knobs’ surprise soon turned to a subdued frown, her ears drooping as she muttered, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you. Just thinking. What was the question?” “How far to Skinner’s? Assuming we’re keeping to the narrower streets with more cover and trying to move as fast as we can, wounds considered,” Crossfire said, wondering what was eating at Knobs. Was it the gang pony that’d died in front of her? Crossfire was no more fond of killing than the next pony, but she was a trained soldier. It was part of the job. She hadn’t taken any pleasure in watching that ganger bleed out, but she imagined she’d feel more guilty about it if the Hammer Crusher’s hadn’t been planning to sell her into slavery. Crossfire felt worse for just having to put Knobs through watching a pony die. The mare had a softness to her that just didn’t seem to fit the nature of Skull City. Knobs thought about the question for a second, finishing up the stitches as she did so, “With your injuries, taking back alleys, it would take, I don’t know, half an hour maybe? He lives close to the edge of the Outskirts, just south of the river.” “That’s a lot of time to be spotted,” muttered Crossfire, “But its not like we have much choice.” “Everything would’ve been so much simpler if your friend had not crashed the party, so to speak,” said Wellspring, blinking, her eyes drooping from the sleep potion as she looked at Knobs, “I still don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced. Wellspring Whistles, Skull City Radio Guild. Now, who are you, how do you know Miss Crossfire, and really more importantly, what were you doing in the ceiling?” Knobs cringed a bit at the pointed tone of Wellspring’s questions, saying “I’m Knobbly Knees, apprentice ghoul-wrangler. Its, um, nice to meet you? I didn’t mean to fall through the ceiling like that! I was trying to find Crossfire. After I got into the camp I went to the biggest building I could see. I thought that would be the best place to keep prisoners, so it made sense Crossfire would be there too. Only I’m not good at sneaking, I had to move quickly before anypony noticed me! Once I was inside I just went to the top floor, thinking that would be where they’d keep Crossfire-” “Why?” Crossfire interrupted, cocking her head. “Huh? I don’t know, that’s how it is in the comics? The bad guys always lock up the prisoner in the tallest tower of the castle. Besides, when I first came in I was almost spotted and the only place for me to run was up the stairs, so I figured ‘well I’m up here already, so I’ll start my search here’! Anyway, I was just trotting along, looking for you, Crossfire, when I felt the floor creak really loudly and start to shift under me. So of course I decided to take a closer look.” Crossfire blinked, “Wait, so you feel the floor shift under you and you decide to take a closer look?” “Well... yes! How else would I learn why the floor was shifting and creaking?” Crossfire decided not to question that any further, and instead tried standing up. Her stitches ached in pain, little pulling stinging pains that covered her back, but she could move. Her thin leather uniform was shredded on back, however, and had been sitting in a pile in the corner after Knobs had removed them to work on the stitches. Crossfire looked at the torn up leathers with a solemn frown. The uniform was probably beyond repair, at least in their current circumstances, and it’d just give her away. Her hoof went to the red scarf she wore. Wellspring was giving her an odd look, but Knobs came up next to her, searching Crossfire’s face with concern, “Um, you okay?” Crossfire smiled slightly, trying to keep her real emotions off her face, “Fine. How about you? Holding up alright?” Knobs swallowed dryly, looking at the ground that she scuffed with a hoof as she floated her rifle, which she’d set aside to work on treating Wellspring and Crossfire, to sling over her back, “I... I guess I am? I didn’t know the mare who died. Its not like I’m friends, exactly, with any of the gang. Even Bruise, we don’t spend much time together anymore. I see ponies die a lot. But I just... I never get used to it. I’ve heard others say it gets easier over time, dealing with death.” Knobs wiped at her face, clearing a few tears she was holding back, “For me though, it never does. It just doesn’t.” “Is that why you learned medical skills?” asked Wellspring suddenly, having floated out a small notebook and pen. Crossfire gave the gray mare a look that seemed to say ‘Seriously?’. “Huh?” Knobs blinked, “Oh, not really. My parents taught me about alchemy because we pushed chems. After they died, and I started running with some local foals, my chem knowledge just sort of made me the group healer. I learned from there by trial and error. Lots, and lots of error.” “But did you not just claim to be an apprentice ghoul wrangler?” pressed Wellspring, seeming to not notice her injuries now that her eyes were alight with the desire to ask questions; Crossfire could see how this mare could make a living on gossip and stories, “It is an odd choice of vocation for a mare with knowledge of medicine and chems. You could have joined the Healer’s Guild. Combat oriented Guilds like the Security Guild would pay well for trained medical ponies. So why the Skull Guild itself?” Knobs cringed even more at the line of questioning and Crossfire stepped in, giving Wellspring a stern look, “Okay that’s enough. You can get your stories after we’re in the clear. We hit Skinner’s, then you take us to the gate and get us inside the city. I’m assuming the Hammer Crusher’s won’t be able to follow us in there, right?” Wellspring sighed, but nodded, putting away her notebook and running a hoof through her mane, “Yes, if we can get past the gates, the gang will not be a problem. Gangs rarely have the clout needed to send ponies into the inner city, except on very special business, as passage without Guild authorization is expensive. Certainly they could, but the investment of caps would hardly be worth it; even for revenge. Besides, once inside we can rely on my Guild to protect us. I think.” “You think?” Crossfire asked. “Nothing in life is ever guaranteed,” Wellspring said with a shrug, “You’d be quite foalish to expect 100% safety, even within the inner city. Still, better than taking our chances out here, no?” Crossfire couldn’t argue with that logic. Before they left she went to her shredded uniform and retrieved the red scarf, folding it and tying it around her neck with her magic. I can keep this much to remind myself of where I came from. Heh, that and my rifle, if I ever get the bloody thing back. This Skinner buck has got some things to answer for. Wellspring had to hobble slightly, though Knobs had created a splint from some sheet metal and torn bits of the cloth door to the shack. Fortunately, moving fast wasn’t the goal, but rather going slow and keeping to cover. The layout of the Outskirts aided this desire, offering dozens of overhangs and winding pathways between its mounds of cobbled together metal structures. The wider, more open areas were usually crowded with ponies and other species, griffins and even a hoof full of bipedal canine creatures Crossfire had never seen before. Knobs identified those creatures as Diamond Dogs. Apparently there was a few small dens in the sewers beneath the city. Crossfire found the big limbed canines with their thick claws and squat faces interesting, but paid them little mind, her eye more focused on watching the sky. There were enough griffins and pegasi around that it was hard to tell if any of those flying were from the Hammer Crusher’s. She didn’t see the one with the machine gun, but that hardly mattered. With her limited field of view, beyond the stacks of metal shanties criss-crossed with makeshift bridges and railings, that griffin could come into view instantly and lay into them before they had much time to react. That, along with keeping a constant watch out for pursuing gang members, made for a gut churning and tense trot through the streets. Crossfire found it particularly harrowing due to being unarmed. If they were caught, her only weapon was her horn. She took it as an object lesson; she needed to expand her spell knowledge. Right now all she knew was telekinesis, like any other unicorn. Learning to sling some arcane attacks seemed like a fantastic idea, now that she was bereft of any weapons. Crossing one busy market square, Crossfire started as she saw four ponies from the Hammer Crusher gang coming out of a side alley. She pushed Knobs and Wellspring towards the opposite alley, saying, “Move!” The gangers gave chase as both groups wove through the crowd of the market, the shoppers and passers by quickly getting out of the way or throwing themselves into cover. Two of the Hammer Crusher’s had guns, and were sending hastily aimed shots at the fleeing trio. Crossfire winced as she saw a nearby market vendor get hit in the chest, the mare letting out a gurgling scream as she fell behind her junk stall. Knobs spun on her hooves. Crossfire presumed the teal unicorn wanted to go help the vendor, but Crossfire pushed Knobs along with a growl of, “No time! Keep running!” Knobs gave her a pained look, but didn’t argue, continuing to flee. Crossfire could hear the other mare sob at doing so. Crossfire suppressed a pang of guilt. They couldn’t stop. Knobs wouldn’t be able to help anypony if she got killed. Getting into the alley, Wellspring leading the way, they turned left, then right as the dizzying maze of tightly packed buildings forced them down a narrowing path. The high pitched twang of bullets striking metal accompanied them. Crossfire hated this. She wanted to stand and fight, but without a weapon, she was left with her hooves and magic. If cornered, she’d fight with what she could grab, but as long as they had a path to retreat, it made far more sense, much as it went against her grain to do so. The alley led out into a broader street finally, with a thicker crowd of ponies, and soon the trio lost themselves in it. Wellspring slowed, and Knobs and Crossfire followed suit, keeping their movements in pace with the street traffic. Long, slow seconds passed. Crossfire could hear the yelling of the gangers behind them, wondering where their quarry went. Being a pony had both benefits and drawback when it came to trying to hide. On one hoof, a colorful coat and mane color made one stand out in the wrong circumstances. On the other hoof, if you were surrounded by other colorful pastel ponies, you blended in remarkably well. The gangers didn’t find them and soon they made their way out of the crowd, and with Knobs taking the lead followed her towards Skinner’s place. Fortunately there were no other surprise encounters, for which Crossfire was grateful. She didn’t like having to push Knobs ahead when she’d wanted to go back and help the shot vendor, but it’d needed to be done. Still, she seethed at the fact that those gang ponies had fired into a crowd, not caring about who they hit. This was why armed gangs were not tolerated in the Protectorate! Ponies who cared so little about the lives of their fellow pony were booted across the border at best, or put to work in the mines. Like civilized ponies. Before much longer they found themselves at the domicile of the ghoul-wrangler, Skinner. Much as Knobs had explained, it was just a little south to the river that cut across the Wasteland north of Skull City; a muddy brown band of water several hundred meters across. The shanty town was a little thinner here towards its edge, with the inhabited metal shacks gradually replaced by the scorched walls of old houses and piles of rubble from the pre-war suburbs of Detrot. There was no fence, wall, or clearly marked border between the tangled forest of burned pre-war ruins and the inhabited shanty town, just a gradual bleed from one to the other, like bruised flesh mixing into infected flesh; all ugly, just different shades of it. Skinner’s home was a mostly intact former convenience store, a metal pole with a oblong faded sign with unreadable letters sticking up from a small parking lot that was enclosed with a batch of razor wire topped with a tangle of bones and skulls, all well maintained and relatively fresh; the ghoul wrangler's never lacked for having materials of that kind. A simple gate in the razor wire fence was already open. Skinner usually left it that way when he was home. Said the occasional attempted theft kept his shooting skills sharp. As they went through the gate Crossfire was stopped by Knobs, the teal mare looking at her worriedly. “You’ll get your rifle back, but please, don’t be upset with him.” “Why would I be upset?” asked Crossfire with a low, too-even tone. “He only stole my property and set that gang on me by telling them I was a Protectorate soldier.” “Crossfire, please?” “I just want what’s mine. I’ll play nice if he doesn’t give us any trouble.” Wellspring, who was having trouble maintaining a smooth, graceful walk with her leg causing her to hobble, pain straining her otherwise composed features, said “I can probably smooth things over. I find most stallions react well to a mare who knows how to... act in a certain way.” Crossfire gave the other mare a look, as did Knobs. “Let’s just get this over with,” growled Crossfire as they got to the door, Knobs reaching up with a hoof and giving the door a soft knock. There was a short wait before the doors swung open in a glow of magic, showing the molted, scabby gray unicorn ghoul. Skinner looked at Knobs and started to say, “Knobs, girl, what are you doing here? I don’t need you unti-” then he caught sight of Crossfire and his eyes shot wide, the door instantly slamming to close. However Crossfire caught the door with her own magic and shoved it back open, pressing past a surprised Knobs and into the building as Skinner backed up. The ghoul started to float out a semi-automatic pistol from the fold of his cloak but Crossfire was faster, smacking the gun to the floor and stepping on it before Skinner could get a shot off. She then wrapped Skinner in a field of red magic, holding the ghoul aloft. Knobs was shouting, “You promised not to hurt him!” “Okay, first; no, I promised nothing. Second; he pulled a gun,” said Crossfire, “Besides I’m not going to hurt him, I’m just keeping him from hurting us.” “G-grr, let go of me!” said Skinner as he looked between Crossfire, Knobs, and now Wellspring who’d stepped inside, “Knobs, what have you done girl!? This mare’s on the Hammer Crusher’s chopping block.” Knobs heaved a saddened sigh, lowering her head, “So it's true, you sold info on her to the gang? Mister Skinner, I... how could you do that!? You knew I was trying to help her, that I took her under my care!” The ghoul grimaced, a brief look of shame crossing his gnarled, decomposed features before he held his head up, “Ain’t got to justify it to you girl, I saw an opportunity for caps, and I took it. Not my problem you wanted to take in a stray.” His milky eyes narrowed, focused now on Crossfire, “Seeing you all shot up, going to guess you’re on the run now. Well whatever you think you’re going to get out of me, forget it! Nightbane, the hell you doing, taking a crap!? Help me!” At the mention of a new name it suddenly occurred to Crossfire she hadn’t really looked to see that Skinner was alone in his home. The main room was a wide, mostly open space, the main floor of the former convenience store converted in equal parts lounge, kitchen, and bedroom, with the requisite furniture for such spread across the area where once there would have been shelves for junk food and sodas. There wasn’t anywhere for anypony to hide, and indeed the moment Crossfire looked over she saw there was another occupant in the room. Not that he was bothering to try and hide. “Skinner, Skinner, Skinner, if you have issues with these lovely ladies,” said the griffin as he took a long drag on a cigar he held between his blackened beak and blew out a stream of smoke a moment later, “I’m not terribly inclined to interfere. Show’s too good to not watch.” The griffin was a well muscled male in his middle years. Shades of chestnut brown tinged the tips of his crest feathers and he wore a thick black jacket and underneath that a green shirt that covered his chest, along with a red tie. He didn’t appear armed, but he carried himself with a steady confidence of someone accustomed to violence, even as he sucked on the cigar and grinned at the scene before him as he lounged on a large plush couch. “Damnit it all Nightbane, don’t leave me hanging here!” shouted Skinner. Nightbane laughed, a sound like rough sandpaper grinding over wood as he blew out another stream of smoke. “You’re a riot Skinner, that’s why I like these little visits to your place. That and you have some of the best hooch this side of our craptastic fair city,” the griffin said, as he held aside his cigar just long enough to take a long drink from a bottle of clear liquid. Crossfire suspected the liquid was some kind of home-brew moonshine. Nightbane let out a satisfied grunt after draining a good fourth of the bottle and looked at the gathered mares, his beady eyes cold and calculating as opposed to the mirth on his beak. “Suppose since that ghoul you’re colt-handling is a kind-sorta friend I’ll ask what your beef with him is.” “Weren't’ you listening?” asked Crossfire, trying to gauge how dangerous this griffin was and coming up with nothing, though Wellspring and Knobs both had gone oddly silently and still and it put Crossfire on edge, “He told a local gang that I was with Knobs, me being from the Protectorate apparently being something someponies around here don’t take kindly to. Oh, and he has my damn gun and I want it back!” Nightbane nodded slowly, “Hmm, hmm, yeah, plenty of folk around here aren’t at all fond of Protectorate folk. You blame them? You started a war, tried to steal our only farmable land, and killed thousands before we got you to run on back home. Even if its been a few years, you can’t be expecting everyone who lives here to forget the loved ones they lost to that fight.” Crossfire let out a long, slow sigh, “Yeah, well, I don’t see how that justified beating me unconscious and trying to make a slave of me,” then she blinked, “Wait, what? What do you mean ‘started the war’!? It was Skull City that started the war by invading our farmland, not the other way around!” “I’m afraid that just isn’t accurate,” broke in Wellspring, still giving Nightbane a strange look, both fascinated and fearful at the same time, “We did not start the fight until our farmsteads to the north were occupied by Protectorate forces.” Crossfire shook her head, “That’s not how... no, it was Skull City gangers that started burning farms on our land! Then we moved troops onto your territory to secure our border!” “Not to interrupt the conversation but could you put me down already!?” Skinner said with a frantic look in his eyes. Crossfire glared at the ghoul, but relented and dropped him. When Skinner looked from her, to his gun that she was still standing on, then back to her, Crossfire snorted. “You get your gun back when I get mine back,” she said, then glanced at Nightbane, “Who are you anyway and why are my companions staring at you like your Princess Celestia reborn?” Nightbane threw back his head and started to laugh heartily while Knobs squeaked in fright and Wellspring stared with wide eyes at Crossfire. Skinner just shook his head, muttering something unintelligible under his breath. “You... I guess you wouldn’t know, not being from around here,” said Wellspring slowly, “Though it is a little surprising. I thought all the Protectorate military would know the names of the Drifter Guild’s S-Rank members.” Crossfire twitched, ears flicking as Wellsprings words slowly sank in. Of all the losses the Protectorate suffered during the war, the worst incidents were when Skull City got its Drifter Guild involved. The Drifter Guild, from what she understood, was some kind of mercenary organization that sold the skills of its members for any random job they were paid for. She’d heard stories that, during the war, the Drifter Guild was contracted by the whole of Skull City to participate, including using some of its strongest members. She didn’t know any of their names, but she knew that any battle one of these top Drifters got involved in, the Skull City forces invariably took victory. She didn’t believe any of the rumors though, as they had all sounded so ridiculous. A swordsmare who could cut through power armor with ease? A cybernetic monster that fired rockets from its arms? A... griffin who couldn’t be hit in battle, no matter how surrounded and outnumbered he was? “So you’re a Drifter?” Crossfire asked, suddenly feeling naked without a weapon. Granted, scarf aside, she was naked, but now she felt it. Nightbane grinned at her. “Top gun of the Skull City Drifter Guild, Nightbane Auckland, at your service. Well, not really, don’t think you could afford my fees, but you get the idea.” Wellspring Whistles suddenly had her notebook and pen out, scribbling something down furiously, muttering, “... so juicy...” Nightbane frowned and in a single eyeblink there was a flare of wings, a flash of movement, a gunshot, and the notebook went flying from Wellspring’s hoof, causing the mare to make a nicker of fright and duck. Nightbane was holding in one talon a gun that looked like an oversized sub-machine gun, sporting both a grenade launcher and small serrated knife as a bayonet attachment. Crossfire could appreciate the fine guncraft of the weapon, the thing looking clean and well maintained, unlike most of the rusty deathtraps she’d seen ponies carrying while crossing through the Outskirts. From the sound of the guns’ report she’d estimate the SMG was of the 12mm variety, but she couldn’t be sure. The muzzle flash had been... silver? She’d never seen a muzzle flash that color before. Nightbane smiled grimly, “Kindly prefer you didn’t write anything down about me visiting my old friend Skinner her, Miss Whistles.” “Y-you know my name!? You recognize me!?” Wellspring gushed, seeming more engaged than horrified, but she quickly composed herself from her apparent fanfillying and coughed, “Ahem, may I ask how you are familiar with me Mister Auckland.” “Just Nightbane. Really not fond of the last name, but not going to toss it aside either. I know you from the radio, of course. When is your next song coming out anyway?” Wellspring gulped, “I… well, soon, I hope. I only have two out, and they don’t get played often. I’m surprised a gentleman of your... means, actually paid them any mind. They’re just amateur works.” “Hardly,” said the griffin, putting away his weapon, snugly hidden in a holster within the inside lining of his jacket, “In any case, didn’t mean to give you a fright there, but I don’t want it common knowledge I come out here to visit a friend. Guy in my line of work, his friends can be liabilities. No offense Skinner.” The ghouls shrugged, “None taken, I know how it is, and find it honestly warming to the cockles of this old dead heart of mine you even bother these days, what with the kind of caps you make. You can afford better friends.” Nightbane shook as he laughed again, holding up the bottle of booze, “But none that brew better brain-killer than you. So, you giving the lady back her property?” “Technically its your property now,” said Skinner, and Crossfire narrowed her eyes at him. “What?” she asked, taking a half step towards the ghoul, ears flattened. Skinner gave her a dry look, not backing away from her, and pointed a hoof a Nightbane, “I sold your rifle to him.” Nightbane tapped a talon to the underside of his beak, “Right, Protectorate soldier. Thought I recognized that ridiculously large bayonet. Always wondered who came up with that design. Has to be tough to swing that thing around. Makes a good addition to my collection though; especially to the tune of just two hundred caps.” Crossfire’s jaw tightened. Two hundred caps!? She didn’t know the exact exchange rate between Wasteland caps and Protectorate minted bits, but she knew her Sniper Shark XR was worth at least a thousand bits! The rifles were of fine manufacture, built in the capital’s own foundry! And this walking rotting corpse sold it for that cheap? Nightbane noticed her look and waved a talon at her. “Whoa, don’t be too hard on old Skinner. For him, two hundred caps is a nice night under the tail of any number of professional working mares. Or stallions. Can’t remember your preference, Skinner.” “Mares, not that that’s important,” said the ghoul with a grumbling tone, “Besides, I originally wanted, four, but your cheapskate griffin flank talked me down to two. Still don’t know how.” “The fine art of barter, and getting you plenty buzzed before we struck the deal,” said Nightbane. “I don’t care who sold it for what!” growled Crossfire, “Its my rifle and I’m getting it back.” “Um, Crossfire, could you please stop choking my mentor?” asked Knobs as she put a hoof on Crossfire’s leg, giving her a bit of a shake, and making Crossfire blink and realize she had wrapped the ghoul's throat with telekinesis and had been putting pressure on it. She took a deep breath, calming herself, and loosening her magic's grip, but not quite letting Skinner's throat go. The ghoul glared at her hard, his cracked flesh peeling a little more at his scowl, “How about you let go of me and maybe I won’t call every feral ghoul in a half mile radius down on our heads.” Wellspring gave Skinner an incredulous look, though Crossfire just raised an eyebrow as she had no idea just what the ghoul was babbling about. Knobs looked scared, knees shaking as she said, “D-don’t even joke about that Mister Skinner.” “Who’s joking? Nightbane can fly, and I got safe ways out of this house. One spell from me and I can call all the wandering ferals in hearing range, and they’ll come hungry. Don’t want to deal with that? Then let me the fuck go!” the ghoul roared. Crossfire looked at him, considering. Really it wouldn’t be that hard just to shove his head through the ceiling or batter him against the wall, probably before he could do his little ghoul calling spell. However that wouldn’t get her rifle back any faster, and besides, he’d just said something that interested her. She let go of the magic she had around his throat and said, “You said you had ways out of this place. What ways?” “Why in the holy bloody Goddesses clenched plots should I tell you that!?” asked Skinner with a growl of his own that reminded Crossfire too much of the ferals that had chased her, “Far as I’m concerned you three can park your plots anywhere outside my door until Spiked Heels and her gang shows up to deal with you!” “Mister Skinner, please, we need help!” Knobs said, “I’m sorry my friend was treating you rough, but we really, really need her to get her gun back, and if you have a secret way out of the house, that’d help too!” Crossfire twitched a little at hearing the word ‘friend’ leave Knobs lips. Were they really friends? Shit, Crossfire, she put her own hide on the line to pull you out of that ganger’s camp, and is in the frying pan with you now because of it. If you can’t call her a friend, what can you call her? Crossfire didn’t have an answer for her own question, and put it out of her mind as she watched Skinner’s leathery face contort with conflicting hesitation and frustration at his apprentice. The unicorn ghoul, stringy remnants of his mane falling across his eyes, lowered his head. “Blast it mare, that pouty look won’t work on a bullet! It ain’t my problem you got a bleeding heart. Thought you’d grow out of it, but guess that was a pipe dream. It ain’t worth my trouble to cross a gang the size of Heels’!” “What if I were willing to make it worth your trouble, Mister Skinner?” interjected Wellspring as she gave the ghoul a bright smile and taking a step towards him. Nightbane let out a guffaw, and Crossfire shot him a sharp glance. The griffin was still just watching the proceedings, seeming content to enjoy his cigar and lounge. Crossfire wondered where he was keeping her rifle; she didn’t see it from where she was standing. Skinner looked Wellspring over, eyes lingering over her hind legs and flanks for a moment, but his cracked half rotted lips were still pressed in a thin frown, “Mare, if I want what you got, I’d just go pay a good, honest whore for the privilege, and get a better lay out of it.” Wellspring looked like she’d been slapped, but quickly composed herself, a small tremor of anger in her otherwise pleasant voice, “You misunderstand me. I mean I am willing to pay for both Miss Crossfire to have her weapon returned to her and to have access to any secret way out of your domicile.” “Pay? Doubt you got enough caps to make it even remotely worth considering having Spiked Heels as an enemy,” Skinner said with a snort. “As a sanctioned ghoul-wrangler of the Skull Guild surely you’re not afraid of a simple Outskirts gang?” asked Wellspring with a bat of her eyelashes, continuing on quickly as Skinner scowled, “Who controls Skull City, after all, the Guilds or the gangs? If Spiked Heels gives you trouble, why, isn’t that interfering with Guild business? Surely the Skull Guild would not tolerate one of its own suffering the indignities of a mere gang’s whims.” “Now listen here, that’s all well and good in theory,” said Skinner, “But my Guild can’t help me if one of the gangs decides to torch my house and string me up by the neck from the nearest second storey window and leave my guts hanging in the wind! Which is exactly what Spiked Heels will do to me if she knows I helped out ponies she’s got a mind to kill.” Wellspring laughed, waving a dismissive hoof, “Were you not just saying how easily you could summon local packs of feral ghouls while escaping to safety? Even the Hammer Crushers should feel some concern when facing a member of the Skull Guild, and with Miss Knobbly Knees here as your apprentice, why, they’re technically facing two such members. And there is a member of the Drifter’s Guild here as well, their highest ranking member no less! Plus I myself am a member of the Radio Guild, which while not having the same reputation as the Skull or Drifter’s Guild, remains a Guild nonetheless. Between the three of us, Spiked Heels would be crossing three Guilds by trying to harm you, so you should be safe.” The old unicorn ghoul’s face was a bunched up frayed mask of thought, bits of flesh hanging off his jaw as he rubbed it. At length he said, “Still ain’t hearing how you’re going to pay me though.” Crossfire was wondering that herself. Wellspring wasn’t carrying much on her and Crossfire didn’t imagine Wellspring had many caps stuffed in her dainty little saddlebag. During the conversation Crossfire had floated up Skinner’s gun and held it steady in her red magical aura, then slipped over to one of the windows to peek out onto the streets. A wind was kicking up outside, blowing swirling dust devils through the graveyard of broken walls and half intact buildings. Crossfire’s yellow eyes narrowed. There, perched atop the roof of a mostly collapsed house was the griffin from the Hammer Crusher’s gang, the one with the massive machine gun. The griffin was looking directly at Skinner’s convenience store turned home, and as Crossfire watched her the griffin spread her wings and took off, flying east deeper into the Outskirts. “Shit,” Crossfire swore quietly, turning to Knobs, who’d come up next to her, “We don’t have a lot of time.” Knobs looked at Crossfire worriedly, biting her lip. Meanwhile Wellspring kept negotiating with Skinner. “I can pay you two hundred caps now,” Wellspring said, and at Skinner’s scoff she added, “Plus another eight hundred once we reach the safety of the inner city gate.” “I’m not dumb enough to take an I.O.U, mare, you ain’t got the caps now, in full, I ain’t helping,” Skinner said, then blinked as Wellspring’s happy smile. “So one thousand is enough then? Good!” the mare said, golden mane bobbing as she reached back into her small saddlebag and pulled out hoof full of small steel coins. Crossfire could see the coins were stamped with two symbols, though she couldn’t quite make out what they were. Skinner looked at the slates, letting out a small whistle. “How’s some gutter snoop like you got that much Gella on her?” Wellspring’s smile turned wry, “A professional doesn’t share her secrets. Now, Mister Skinner, will this be enough for us to reach an accord?” The ghoul took a moment, staring at the coins and licking his lips, “You’re a sly one aren’t you? Throwing some hypothetical number at me, pretending you’d pay me later, but had the damn money all along? Can’t throw money at every problem though, mare... but yeah, this’ll work for me. I’ll show you my route out of here, but you got to work your own deal with Nightbane over the rifle.” At that Nightbane stretched and rolled smoothly off the couch, cracking his neck and striding over to the group, “Got an offer of my own on that matter.” All eyes turned to the griffin in the dark coat as he walked with strong, confident steps right up to Crossfire. He was practically beak to snout with her, and this close the griffin’s greater bulk and height was apparent as he looked down at her with an eager twist to his features. Crossfire didn’t back away, looking up at Nightbane without flinching. “You want your rifle back? I’ll give it back to you. On the condition that you do me a favor.” Cigar smoke stung her eyes and made her nose itch, but she didn’t cough and kept meeting the griffin’s gaze, “Quit staring at me and just spit out what you want.” “Simple; when you get into the inner city, you and me, we have ourselves a little friendly bout at the Gunner’s Heaven.” Crossfire frowned, “Gunner’s Heaven?” “Its Skull City’s sanctioned combat arena,” said Wellspring, looking between Crossfire and Nightbane with surprise, “Its not some low class fight club either, but the highest profile venue for violence in the city. Thousands of Gella exchange hooves on the bets taking place on the events there.” Crossfire had guessed by now that Gella was some kind of Guild related currency, and imagined it had to be worth a lot given the few Wellspring had flashed at Skinner had been enough to secure the ornery ghoul’s cooperation. So Nightbane wanted to fight her in some kind of betting arena? What was he going to get out of it? Crossfire looked at the griffin suspiciously, wanting to question him, but they didn’t have any more time to waste. The Hammer Crushers could be arriving at any minute. “Fine, you got your fight,” she told Nightbane, “Now where’s my rifle?” “Sitting behind the couch.” The words were barely out of Nightbane’s beak before Crossfire was darting over, practically flipping the couch over, eliciting an annoyed “Hey!” from Skinner. Crossfire ignored it and instead looked down at the weapon laying on the floor before her, a strange tremble coming over her body as she ran a hoof along it. “Hey, did you miss me?” Crossfire said as she lovingly caressed the wood finish of the large bolt action rifle with the massive bayonet blade. She floated the weapon up, discarding Skinner’s gun, to which the ghoul swore and caught it with his own telekinesis before the gun could hit the floor. Crossfire examined her rifle, opening the breech. Satisfied the rifle was undamaged she smiled to herself and turned to the others, enjoying the feeling of her magic over the weapon’s surface. Holding it she finally felt like herself again. Knobs was hiding a giggle, “You look so happy Crossfire. You really like that gun so much?” Crossfire shook her head, “Don’t make fun. Bayonet Corps pounds it into our heads to care for our rifles like they’re out damned lovers. Hey! Don’t laugh, I’m being serious!” Knobs was still giggling and Wellspring was giving Crossfire a coy look, “I’ve heard some ponies get attached to their weapons, but that seems a bit extreme.” Crossfire snorted and looked away, “Whatever. Let’s just get going. Skinner, where’s this way out?” The ghoul led them with a grumpy grumbling through a back hallway past a bathroom and bedroom, Nightbane following behind them, filling the hallway with cigar smoke. We went through a door into a backroom that was darkly lit, filled with tables and shelves lined with chemicals and equipment that reminded Crossfire of some kind of old achelmic lab. Everything from jars of strangely colored powder to a small botany bed growing a strange blue leafed plant underneath a flickering equally blue light filled the room. Skinner unceremoniously flipped over a well kept rug on the floor, exposing a trapdoor in the tiled floor that the shoul opened with his magic. The door exposed a dark, widely dug hole in the ground that led straight down, the shaft too cloaked with shadow to see where it led. “Where does this go?” Crossfire asked, shining red light from her horn down into the hole, seeing it only went down about five hooflengths before opening into some kind of shaft. “It leads into the Detrot sewers,” Skinner said, and Crossfire wrinkled her nose. That would explain the unpleasant smell assaulting her. “That tunnel’ll take you straight to the sewer system. From there you got hundreds of ways to get to ground level again, or you can just stay down there and try and make it all the way to the wall.” Wellspring looked at the hole with a slight nervousness and distaste, “No small number of dangers down there. Feral ghouls, the Diamond Dog dens, mutated animals, not to mention the Gobs.” “Gobs?” Crossfire asked. “Unpleasant little bipedal creatures,” Wellspring said, “They war with the Diamond Dog dens for control of the best drainage points, and make trouble on the surface, occasionally raiding food stores, or just murdering ponies in their homes for fun.” “Joy,” Crossfire said, then laughed, “Well, its this, or take on the gang.” Wellspring sighed, “I suppose you’re correct. I like our chances in the sewers better than trying to deal with being shot at up here. I do hope you’re as good with that rifle as your love for it seems to indicate.” Crossfire grinned, patting the rifle, “I’ll keep your pretty little mane safe, don’t fret.” Knobs, trotting over to one of the tables lined with alchemy supplies, floated up a few bottles, "Mister Skinner, is it okay if we take a few of these?" The ghoul let out an irritated snort, "I ain't a free health-care clinic! You mares paying for those too?" Knobs made a low whining sound, and Skinner shuddered, "Girl, you just can't keep... stop that! Stop with the whining and the giant doe eyes and wagging your tail! No, I'm not... gah! Nightbane, make her stop!" "You make her stop. I'm enjoying this," Nightbane said, leaning back against one of the other tables with a content smirk. Skinner slapped a hoof to his cracked, rotted face and groaned in frustration, "Fine! Fine! Just take the damn healing potions. I'll make more later." "Yay! Thank you Mister Skinner!" Knobs went up and hugged the ghoul, who made a grimacing face. Soon Knobs was distributing the healing potions between herself, Crossfire, and Wellspring. Crossfire took one and immediately felt the cool wash of the healing magic working on her stitched up back and bruised up body. Knobs had given her two, but she saved the other for an emergency, having a distinct feeling she'd need it. Wellspring downed both of her potions, shuddering as she did so, and notably limping less after she'd taken them. Knobs held onto her potions, which didn't surprise Crossfire. She had a hunch the teal mare intended to save her potions in case she had to heal others, and wasn't even thinking of using them on herself. "Alright," said Crossfire, approaching the trap door, "Time to go." “Remember,” said Nightbane as Crossfire began to clamber into the hole, “Gunner’s Heaven. You don’t show, I’ll come looking for you, and we’ll have ourselves a little discussion about the importance of sticking to one’s contract.” The griffin pulled back his black coat and patted his huge SMG with a meaningful, wry smirk. Crossfire gave him a hard look, “You’ll find I stick to my word. You’ll see me there, count on it.” As she and Wellspring headed into the tunnel, Knobs stayed just a moment longer, looking at Skinner with a worried crease to her features, “I’m sorry for all the trouble Mister Skinner. I’ll be back as soon as this all blows over-” “Don’t bother, girl, just go,” Skinner said with a tightness to his old eyes, “Don’t get dead. Damned soft hearted sop.” Knobs smiled at him, throwing her forelegs around him in a quick hug that the ghoul was fast to fend off with an annoyed look. “I’ll be okay! You stay safe too!” With that she hopped down into the hole, leaving a muttering Skinner as he closed the trap door and replaced the rug atop it. The ghoul gave Nightbane a glare as he noticed the griffin grinning at him. “What are you looking at!?” “Nothing, just didn’t take you for liking them that young.” “Go fuck yourself, you old bird.” “Ha! Let’s get back to the hooch, old corpse, before those gangers show up asking about where your friends went.” Skinner groaned, “Don’t remind me. What was that filly thinking, getting mixed up with that Protectorate mare?” “Ain’t much for reading folk are you Skinner?” said Nightbane as the went back into the living room, “You weren’t seeing the way that little apprentice of yours was looking at that mare?” Skinner’s face went thoughtful, then screwed up, “You saying Knobs is a filly fooler? That she’s all moist beneath the tail for that bitch?” “Let’s just say if I was laying bets on it, my money would be on there being more to that cute little filly’s motivations than just the kindness of her heart,” said Nightbane as he took a swig from the bottle he’d retrieved, and tossed it towards Skinner, who grabbed it in a field of magic and took a long pull from the bottle himself. “Well, not my damned business,” said Skinner, then glanced over as there was a knock at his door. He tossed the bottle back to Nightbane, “Guess its time to say hi to my friendly local gang.” Nightbane chuckled, “You gonna sell those three out?” Skinner paused, glancing back at the griffin, then huffed out a tired sigh, “I’m an old ghoul, who likes his caps. You blaming me, Auckland?” Nightbane laughed, “No, caps are the most honest motivation in this world. Just surprised. You seemed pretty choked up a second ago, didn’t think you were faking caring about that filly.” “Care about her just fine... just not so much I’ll turn down caps. Spiked Heels will hem, haw, and threaten, but she’ll pay me to know where they went just the same. I’ll draw out the negotiation some, give those three time to get a head start... “ Skinner left the rest unsaid. It was nothing personal against Knobs, Wellspring, or even Crossfire, who Skinner really didn’t like nor have any reason to care about. He liked Knobs, thought she was a good pony with a lot of potential. But she was just too naive and had too big of a heart. Wasn’t personal at all. Skinner just liked his caps. ---------- The sewers beneath the Skull City Outskirts were not small. The short tunnel they’d entered from Skinner’s place led quickly into wide, cavernous sewer tunnels that were in remarkable working order, given the dilapidated state of most the surface. “Thousands of ponies live in Skull City,” said Wellspring, her nose twitching at the smells of the hoof high water they trotted through, “All that waste is still disposed of down here, for the most part. The Sewer Guild keeps the sewer functioning, though most of its work takes place beneath the inner city, with the Outskirts taking a lower priority.” “We going to run into any of this Sewer Guild down here?” Crossfire asked. “Not likely, not until we get closer to the wall,” Wellspring replied, grimacing as she stepped in something, shuffling uncomfortably, “In any case we should keep our voices down. Oh, and don’t touch anything.” Crossfire snorted, “I’m not stupid.” She was providing most of the light they traveled by, bathing the tunnel ahead in a blood red glow. She kept her bayonet rifle out before her, poised to strike at anything slimy that might rear from the darkness ahead. “Be careful about firing that thing down here,” Wellspring said, “I’d prefer not to go deaf.” “No chance of that,” Crossfire said, “I don’t have any ammunition for it.” “Oh...” the earth pony mare blinked, “Well... I guess you’re right. Will that weapon by of any use, without ammo?” “The bayonet isn’t for show,” Crossfire replied. For a long time the three mares had nothing but the soft echoing splashes of their own hoof falls and the old cloying smell of mold, rot, and waste to accompany them. Knobs and Crossfire followed Wellspring’s advice and kept quiet, what little conversation that passed between them said in whispers. Crossfire noticed Knobs casting concerned looks back the way they’d come, and having gotten to know a bit about how the teal unicorn mare thought, Crossfire could guess what Knobs was worried about. “Doubt they’d hurt him,” she whispered to Knobs, “Wellspring’s right, if these Guilds are so powerful, doesn’t figure that the gangs would get much out of hurting member of one.” “Gangs don’t always do what’s sensible,” said Knobs, ears dipped against the side of her head, “Their blood gets up, they’ll do crazy things. A lot of them aren’t fond of the Guild’s either. The might hurt Mister Skinner anyway.” “Unlikely,” said Wellspring, “Not with Nightbane there.” “He really that good?” asked Crossfire. Wellspring gave her a look, “You’ll find out yourself, once we reach the inner city.” Crossfire frowned as they reached a series of branching tunnels, taking a moment to glance down them as she replied, “Don’t know why he wants to fight me. What would he gain from us having a fight anyway?” “Who knows?” said Wellspring as she examined some faded lettering and numerals etched into the stone walls along each branching path, “Boredom, or perhaps he intends to make money off of a side bet on the fights outcome? Or its part of another, unrelated job? Really, with Drifter’s, it could be anything, but my bet would be that he wants competition.” “Huh?” Crossfire cocked her head, while Wellspring kept looking over the lines of letters and numbers... “This is just my hunch, but I think he wants to just have a good fight. It was small, but I noticed a glint in his eye, when he looked at you. Um, how to put this? A predatory gleam, if you will? He may just be looking for an evening of entertainment” Crossfire grunted, running a hoof over her mane, then making a face as she realized all that did was get sewer gunk in it. “Fun. So what are you doing there?” “Just trying to recall how these sewer system route numbers worked and which way leads us east,” Wellspring said, rubbing her chin, and much like Crossfire, grimaced as she realized all that did was get the sewer’s filth on her. Knobs peered at her curiously, “How do you know what all these numbers mean?” “Had a coltfriend once who worked for the Sewer Guild,” Wellspring explained, “I pick things up.” “Wait, coltfriend? Thought your barn door swung towards the mare’s side of the barn?” asked Crossfire. Wellspring just gave her look, to which Crossfire looked away, mumbling “Nevermind.” Wellspring apparently found a tunnel she liked and soon the three were moving again. Twists, turns, more branching paths. Crossfire quickly lost track of where they were, stuck trusting in the sense of direction of Wellspring. Knobs had joined her light with Crossfire’s, keeping their path well lit as they came out into a large cylindrical room with numerous offshoot tunnels. Wellspring stopped them, raising a hoof, her eyes frowning at something sticking out of the floor ahead. It was a large iron pipe jammed into the ground, hanging from it a rotted pony corpse so decomposed that there wasn’t even any coat or mane, just pale, spotted flesh. The corpse was painted with black symbols, harsh and unrecognizable as any kind of pony writing. “What is that?” Crossfire asked in a hushed tone, eyes already checking the other entrances to the room for movement, her mane tingling. This was a horrible place for a fight, so of course her soldier training stated this was exactly where an ambush would take place. “A warning,” Wellspring said, “Gob writing, on the ghoul there. They’re marking their territory.” “That’s a ghoul?” Crossfire asked, and as she did the corpse came to life, raising its head and letting out a dull hiss as he looked at them with white, empty eyes. Its hooves weakly flailed at them, but impaled upon the pipe, and seeming lacking in strength, the ghoul couldn’t do more than wave its hooves at them useless and snap its jaws. Crossfire felt disgusted. Ghouls were uncommon in the Protectorate. Feral ghouls, nonexistent. This was just... a wretched way for a pony to end up. Crossfire felt an urge to go and run the ghoul through with her bayonet, just to put an end to the pitiful creature’s suffering existence. She held back, however, remaining wary as she eyed the room. Knobs clearly had the same thought, however, as she raised her own silenced rifle and whispered a small prayer, “Goddesses look over you, lost one,” and with a soft ‘pfft’ of air the ghoul’s head jerked, and then went still. Knobs sniffed, her knees shaking a bit, and Crossfire put a hoof on her withers. At Knob’s look, Crossfire gave her a nod. Wellspring glanced at them both, but said nothing, instead carefully taking a step into the room, drawing her revolver and holding it in her mouth. Crossfire joined her. At this point she was more or less acting as this mare’s bodyguard, and would be doing this for the foreseeable future, assuming they survived to get into the inner city. Might as well get used to this routine. Wellspring went to the left of the dead ghoul, and Crossfire went right, while Knobs followed behind Crossfire by a few paces. The attack came faster than even Crossfire feared it would, and she’d expected something fast. Something flew out of the shadows of one of the tunnel entrances across from her and cut along her back, causing her to instinctively drop down and aim her rifle, despite its lack of ammo. A metallic clang made her glance back, seeing an single edged small axe clatter to the water. An axe? Suddenly the room came alive with harsh, high pitched grunts and forms bursting into the room. They were short bipedal creatures, most about a head shorter than the average pony. The had broad, flat faces with sharp angled features, beady slanted eyes, and the most ridiculously wide mouths Crossfire had ever seen on a living creature. To a critter, each one wore a wide, ludicrous grin, with teeth that looked sharp as knives. Or axes. Each creature carried makeshift axes, seemingly made by tying together sharped scrap metal to pipes, sticks, wood boards, or anything else the creatures had gotten their hands on. Oh, yes, hands. Crossfire knew what hands were, having met a few minotaurs from the one colony that was within the Protectorate borders, and she found the things to be horribly creepy. Things shouldn’t have digits like that coming off their extremities. Wasn’t natural. These creatures were mostly green or dark brown in color, their faces wreathed in thick beards and huge manes of wild unkempt hair. They wore loose clothing of stitched together makeshift cloth and garbage, not quite Raider chic, but close. Since these were neither feral ghouls, nor did these creatures look particularly canine Crossfire was going to assume these were the Gobs that Wellspring had mentioned. She didn’t have time to count how many creatures had rushed them, only having a second to react. She surged up from where she’d ducked under the axe that’d been thrown at her, and went to meet the first Gob that came at her. The Gob chattered at her in an incomprehensible gibberish and swung an axe that looked like it’d taken a fan blade sharpened it, and married it to a lead pipe. Crossfire sidestepped the whistling blade and smashed the Gob across the face with the butt of her rifle, then swung it around and thrust the bayonet into the creature’s throat. Red blood splattered out, spraying Crossfire’s face. She wasted no momentum though, kicking the twitching Gob off her bayonet as two more came at her from either side. She heard sharp gun retorts, made horribly loud within the confines of the room, but couldn’t glance to see how either her companions were doing as she backed up from one axe swing, only to get clipped by the other Gob’s axe along her right foreleg. She almost buckled, but stood firm and with her magic pulled her rifle around and slashed it in a wide arc that forced both Gobs to dodge. Using the opening that it created she rushed in, and bucked one of the Gobs square in its wide face. Though that Gob went flying into the wall with a satisfying crunch, the Gobs’ partner leapt at her and forced her to roll aside to avoid getting her skulls split by its axe; this one looking like bolted together, sharpened sheet metal tied to half a street sign. “Gobgob! Killkillkill, kee kee, flesh eat, kill! Gob!” “Oh, bet you’re a bucking charmer at dinner parties,” Crossfire said as she dodged away from the Gobs rapid berserk series of axe swings. She waited for her opening, seeing the Gob over extend its swing, and she took advantage with a hard slash that opened up the Gob’s stomach. While that Gob went about trying to figure out why its guts were no longer inside its body, Crossfire took stock. Wellspring and Knobs were fighting back to back, having fallen back to the tunnel they’d come from. Wellspring was reloading her revolver, having ran it dry killing two Gobs, one whose brains decorated the dead ghoul in the middle of the room. Knobs was still firing, but from the terrified and sickened look on her face she was moments from bolting. One Gob lay dead at Knob’s hooves, but that was it. At least six Gobs were still in the room, all of them focused on Wellspring and Knobs, Crossfire having taken out the ones that’d come for her. Despite the pain from the wound on her leg she broke into a short gallop to reach her allies before they got overrun, but it proved unnecessary. Just as one of the Gobs was about to leap upon the frightened Knobs as her rifle clicked dry, a deafening gun blast roared in the room and the Gob all but exploded in mid-air in a shower of limbs and blood. A hulking purple mare entered the room and turned on her hooves, launching a buck that crushed another Gobs’ skull in a burst of blood. Other ponies entered the room as well, firing away with small arms, and a bulky griffin followed them, bringing her massive machine gun to bear. However the griffin didn’t need to open fire, as by now the few surviving Gobs had run away into the shadowed tunnels beyond this junction. For a few seconds there was just silence, mostly from how deaf everypony in the room was from all the gunfire. Crossfire stood in the middle of the room, tense, wounded, and looking at a bunch of ponies she couldn’t believe had caught up to them so quickly. “That fucker, Skinner, is a dead pony,” Crossfire growled under her breath. As Wellspring and Knobs were both grabbed by the ponies near them, with guns pointed at them, the big violet mare with the black mane looked at Crossfire. “Don’t blame him. Boss was going to get where you went out of him one way or another; he was just smart and spared his hide the pain,” said Bruise with a hard set to her features, her oddly feminine voice subdued as she glanced at Knobs, “He did say to tell you he was sorry, if we caught up with you.” Knobs looked at Bruise with pained disbelief, and Crossfire winced at the teal mare’s struggle as she said, “He... wouldn’t... he told me... but...” Bruise shook her head and looked at Crossfire. There were half a dozen gangers in the room now, all of them with guns pointed at Crossfire. Crossfire tensed her muscles, ready to charge or... ...or run? Could she do it? It wasn’t likely she’d make it to the tunnels out, even if she bolted, but lighting in here sucked, and if she flared her horn bright enough she’d blind these ponies and be able to have a shot at getting away. If she was willing to leave Knobs and Wellspring behind. Of course fighting was all but suicide. The only reason she hadn’t done either was because the gangers hadn’t fired yet, suggesting they wanted to take her alive; presumably so Spiked Heels could sell her just like they’d originally planned... or take her vengeance on Crossfire for the ganger’s she’d killed personally. “Oh, do it,” said Bruise with a smile, “Just fucking make a move and give me an excuse. Only reason you’re not a splatter on the wall is because the boss wants you herself. You done fucked up, Protectorate bitch. Spiked Heels will tolerate a lot of shit, one of the most damned reasonable gang leaders in the Outskirts... but kill her ponies, she’s gets far less reasonable.” “If you’d let me talk to her perhaps I could explain why-” Wellspring began by a pony next to her smacked her across the face with a hammer, knocking a tooth out. Bruise ignored the Raido Guild mare and never took her eyes off Crossfire, waiting for Crossfire to make a choice. Before she could choose, however, one way or another, she heard something else. A beating sound, fast, without rhythm, but deep and echoing. Drums. And following it, the noise of dozens upon dozens of guttural high pitched cries. “What is that?” asked one of the gangers. The griffin’s feathers were standing on end. “If...if you’d let me finish,” said Wellspring past blood dripping from her cracked lips, “I was trying to say I could explain why we need to run. Gobs defend their territory fiercely, and while you can beat them briefly, they will be back... with their whole clan.”