//------------------------------//
// Chapter 12 
// Story: Revenge 
// by Teq 
//------------------------------//


Chapter 12


I awoke from my light snooze feeling refreshed. My limbs ached slightly less, my head didn’t throb as much, I felt less agitated and twitchy. The sheets I’d been lying on were now filthy, however. I hadn’t realised how dirty I really was, but I think my fur would’ve been turned completely brown by dirt, had it not already been brown. My clothing wasn’t in a much better state, but at least it still did its job of staying on my body. Dust flew off into the air in a big ploom as I blew on my hat, something that I immediately regretted doing. Having resettled it on my head, I checked that my pistol was at my side (as it should be!) and glanced over at Wraith. Fatigue had gotten the better of him, and he’d dropped off into an apparently very deep sleep. It wasn’t like Wraith to sleep so well, even when he was exhausted. I suppose the sensation of being in safety and on a comfortable mattress had been too much for him to resist.

Satisfied with my appearance and ready to present myself for what I was, I left the room and made my way down the corridor to where our host assured us he’d be. On the way, I took in my surroundings. It wasn’t exactly Canterlot fine wine and dining, but in a place like the Ruins it was certainly a damn site better than anything else. I could see myself getting used to this place. I passed the door that I’d been forbidden from opening, and briefly toyed with the idea of peaking inside. But, judging from the last time I’d peaked inside somepony’s private property, I concluded that that wouldn’t be a good idea. After all, I didn’t want to get us kicked out having only just arrived.

True to his word, Perky was sitting alone in a high backed chair, a small table to one side upon which stood a lavish collection of drinks. It was a hard-core alcoholics heaven. I came to join him, taking my place in another chair close by, and waiting for him to initiate conversation. He remained silent for a disturbingly long time, simply trailing his hoof around the rim of his glass. His rifle leant against the table, polished wood and metal gleaming in the orange lamp light. I shuffled awkwardly, until eventually his head rose and his face lit up, “Oh good, you came. Sorry, I wasn’t paying attention, how long have you been here?”
“Going on a minute and a half.”
“My apologies, allow me to get you a drink of something. What’s your poison?”
I eyed the collection of drinks cautiously. The liquids stood in many glass bottles of so many different shapes and sizes, ranging from tall cylindrical ones to short angular ones. There were so many diverse colours, and I wanted to try them all, but my experiences with alcohol hadn’t exactly been… enjoyable. At least not the morning after. I decided to give in to my temptation. After all, one drink wouldn’t hurt, “What’s that one?” I prodded a bottle with my hoof. The liquid inside was clear and looked safe enough to drink.
“Tequila,” Pinkie said, sucking air in between his teeth. “Are you sure?”
“Why? What’s wrong with it?”
“You’ll be on your face in seconds flat. If that’s what you want, however, I’m not going to object.” He reached for a second glass, but I stopped him, suggesting that maybe that wasn’t the best decision after all.

I spent ages quizzing him on his array of beverages. Prior to that evening I wasn’t aware that so much variety existed. What’s that? Whiskey. What’s that? Schnapps. What’s that? That’s also schnapps. What’s that? Sherry. So many choices for getting hammered, but not a single cider or mild ale. Not wanting to appear rude, I eventually just jabbed my hoof at one of the bottles and said, “Just whatever that is then.”
“You’re not going to ask what it is?”
“I don’t want to know what it is, because if I know then I’ll say no.”
“Very well, I shall not argue longer.” With an eccentric and artistic style Perky poured a seemingly miniscule amount of the clear liquid into a stout glass and passed it to me with a smile. I was slightly disheartened by how little of it there was, but also slightly intimidated. It seemed strange, but the sheer lack of volume in the glass made me nervous, and for a second I debated whether or not I should just give it back and pass on the whole drinks front entirely.

“So,” began Perky, drinking from his glass of what he labelled as Sherry. “What do you want to discuss?”
I swilled my alcohol around in my glass for a moment as I mulled the question over. What did I want to know first? Let’s see, I wanted some information on the LRSA and Scavenger lines if that was possible, and I wanted to know a bit about their respective strength. I wanted to know how long it would take me and Wraith to navigate out of the Ruins, and what the safest way of doing so was. Additionally, I wanted to know the extent of the territory controlled by the Factory beyond the Ruins, but I had little faith in Perky’s ability to supply that particular knowledge. I sorted out my priorities and then got to asking, “How long will it take me and my companion to get out of the Ruins.”
“Well that’s dependant on which path you take,” he said, very matter-of-factly. “You can travel through the neutral no-man’s land. That’s basically any main street, but that’s not something I would recommend. It’s quick, but it’s patrolled frequently and it’s a hot zone for conflict. By contrast you could potentially hitch a lift with the LRSA. I’ve been here for a while and I’ve been watching the Russians that operate in this area. By now I know all of their supply routes and troop movements. If you’re lucky, you could catch a truck up to the other end of the Ruins, which is where the other Russian LRSA sector is located. Scavenger territory is a definite no-go, however, so stay well away from that.”

Troop movements? That sounded tactical and important. I queried further, “Why are the LRSA moving their troops about? Surely it would make more sense to keep experienced soldiers where they are?”
“Indeed, but the LRSA sectors further upstream see much less heavy fighting, so they swap troops between their sectors so they can get a bit of R&R. That is, of course, until the Scavengers change tact again. Last year it was the other way around, and it was very quiet down here. Just last week, however, I was almost hit by an artillery shell, so the tables have rather turned.
I nodded, taking interest in his information. All of this could become useful later on, so I needed to pay attention. My mind was split between two tasks – listening to Perky and formulating a plan to get the LRSA on side. I drained my glass as I thought. It immediately felt like somepony had hit me in the head with a hammer. Fire flared up in my heart and a distinct warmth manifested in my belly. Blimey, that was good stuff!

As Perky refilled my glass at my request, I grilled him further for information. The sides here were fairly evenly matched. The LRSA had a relatively small force of well trained and battle-hardened infantry soldiers, supported by their heavy artillery and a small collection of armoured units. That meant tanks. The LRSA had active tanks in this very sector. That didn’t make me feel very good about myself. What did I do when I came up against one of those fire spitting, death bringing, skull crushing monsters? By contrast, the Scavengers had vastly superior numbers, and whilst most were hardened by endless combat, they were generally very young and not particularly well trained. Where the Scavengers had the advantage, however, was their knowledge of the area. They were all native Equestrians, unlike the LRSA who all came from Russia and other foreign countries. As such, they were familiar with the local architecture and knew how the underground sewage systems worked, meaning they could spring a surprise attack behind LRSA lines at a moment’s notice. All of this Perky told me, and as he went on to talk about their respective weapons and equipment, I downed my newly refilled glass of alcohol. It felt really good. I pulled a face when I swallowed it (the taste wasn’t wonderful), but it was worth the throat burning sensation for the rewards that came afterwards. And I didn’t even feel particularly tipsy, either. Maybe I was building a tolerance.

Wraith came in shortly after, drowsy and in a very dull mood. He slumped himself into a chair and rested his rifle over his lap, promptly falling asleep again before Perky could even offer him a drink. Thankfully, Wraith was a silent sleeper, and his presence did little to distract me. Perky continued to talk, and I continued to listen, only intervening occasionally when he went slightly off topic. And by slightly I mean grossly, as he tended to go off on a completely different tangent whenever he mentioned anything with even minor relevance to something else. I got the knack of pouring my own drink, and did so on a few occasions as he talked. The drink was like a lubricant that kept me from getting stuck. It kept my brain alert, and that was good, because I needed to be alert.

When I’d got all of the information I needed, I thanked him kindly. I stood up with my drink encased in my magic, making for the doorway. Perky immediately stood up. He grabbed hold of his rifle and motioned to follow me, a look of concern in his eyes, “Where are you going?”
“I’m just going back to my room. Oh, actually, do you have a shower? I really need to wash up.”
“Oh… Okay. Yea, okay, that’s cool. In your room there’s another door to your right that should take you to a shower area.”
“Thanks.” I gestured at his rifle. “What’s with the firepower?”
“It’s… It’s in case you were thinking of leaving. You know, I can’t have you leading the LRSA right to my doorstep, so I would have to accompany you.”
“Oh right. Yea, I suppose that makes sense. Well, see ya. Have fun with Wraith.”

And so I left the two alone to sort out their differences whilst I sought a long awaited shower. The only other thing I needed now was a washing machine and a lot of thread, but I supposed that would come in time. Maybe as a fellow needle worker he could lend me some supplies. Then again, with stitching materials likely in short supply, maybe not. I drank what remained in my glass, feeling that joyous kick in the head that I’d come to associate with this particular drink. I was regretting not asking what it was now. The shower was exactly where Perky said it would be, and like the rest of the ‘house’ it was well kitted out. The shower itself looked old, and I wasn’t sure exactly what quality the water coming out of it would be, but the rest looked pretty nice. There was a chipped sink, and a small cabinet that I could only assume contained some form of medicine (or was intended to anyway). There was a rail along one wall, over which several towels were slung. This was going to feel so good.

I stripped quickly, my jumper, hat and belt all being stacked on top of one another neatly. I stumbled slightly as I turned back towards the shower. Okay, maybe I was a little tipsy, but I wasn’t drunk. It didn’t feel the same as last time. My head wasn’t swimming for a start, but I did have a warm burning in my stomach. With only the slightest of hiccups, I clambered into the shower and experimented with the hot and cold taps for a bit. It came as a shock to me when the water rained down blisteringly cold whenever I turned the hot tap, but I quickly shut it off and gave a twist of the cold tap instead. The water that flowed was luxuriously warm, and I giggled to myself in ecstasy. Despite the taps being the wrong way around, it felt so unbelievably good to at last wash myself clean of the dirt and blood that covered my form. The water came out clear, and ran out a dirty brown. I tilted my head back to catch my mane in the flow, feeling it immediately become several times lighter as all of the mud that had accumulated over time washed out of it. Never before had I been so grateful for clean, hot water. I twirled under the stream. The feeling of all that cleansing water trickling down behind my ears, down my neck, and over my body was something just short of orgasmic. I ran my hooves through my mane and over my body a couple more times to really give myself a thorough cleaning.

After spending something close to half an hour cleaning myself, I grudgingly shut off the flow of water. As soon as it stopped I found myself wishing for it to return. Stepping out of the shower, I reached for one of the towels from the railing, beginning by aggressively towelling my mane to a state of semi-dryness. As soon as the rest of my body was at least mostly dry, I flung the towel over my back and sighed, knowing that what I’d just experienced was something that I likely wouldn’t come to know again for some time. I left the towel at the foot of my bed, not entirely sure what I was supposed to do with it, but deciding it would be best to just leave it for the time being. I went to slip my jumper over my head, but hesitated. It was still filthy, and I didn’t want to get my newly cleaned body dirty so soon. I wanted to stay clean for at least a while. I settled for just donning my hat and strapping my belt around my waist, assuring myself that I’d get my jumper cleaned at some point before I left.

What dawned on me having now completed my essential tasks was the knowledge that I had nothing to do. For the first time in a very long time, I actually had nothing to do. I didn’t have to worry about approaching Scavengers, I didn’t have to worry about any sentry duty, heck I didn’t even need to worry about weapon cleaning thanks to Wraith. What was I to do? Wraith seemed to have a few hobbies of his own to keep himself occupied, but I myself was without entertainment. Well, that wasn’t exactly true, because I did have one or two books still on me, but I’d already read both of them and knew how they ended. I jumped backwards, landing on the bed with a loud whump and resting my hooves behind my head, staring blankly up at the ceiling. Maybe this was a good opportunity to just think to myself.

What actually was I doing here? Simple, I was on my way to take down the Scavengers, that was what I was doing here. But what actually, specifically was I doing here? What did I hope to achieve from any of this? Essentially, it was me and Wraith versus an army of several million angry, aggressive maniacs that lived to kill and enjoyed inflicting harm. Those weren’t exactly good odds. Sure, we theoretically had the support of the LRSA, the NSA, and the Wanderers, but there was no common leadership, no common aim. I recalled that the same reason was what got Equestria into this situation in the first place – lack of a common goal. The LRSA wanted to re-establish the government, the NSA wanted to protect its citizens, and the Wanderers just wanted peace. They could all work together if they tried, but ultimately to no end. When the situation was broken down into its simplest components, the Scavengers had only one goal in mind, anarchy, whilst the rest of us were divided. That was why they were so successful, because they all supported each other. That was what I needed to happen amongst the rest of us common ponies.

Maybe that was it! Maybe that was how I went about bringing down the Scavengers. Instead of trying to take them all on myself, or trying to sabotage them in some way, I instead needed to find a way to unite all of the other factions against them. The LRSA had the firepower, the NSA had the strongholds, the Wanderers had the numbers and the manpower – when all was said and done, that was enough to really make a difference. All I had to do was bridge the gap between them somehow. Maybe the ponies I was on my way to meet would help me in that regard? How much power did they actually possess? I would probably find out when I got to meet them properly, but maybe they had the resources I needed to unite the various other factions. At last, at long last, it seemed that I had an achievable goal. I wasn’t planning to bring down the Scavengers on my own anymore, because that was ultimately impossible, but now all I needed to do was rally the forces of free Equestria. That was doable, and above all, would work. If I could pull this off, then the days of the Scavenger movement would be numbered.

Wraith slunk his way into the room, head bowed low and with his mane concealing a large portion of his face. From what I could see, a scowl was playing at his muzzle, and his entire body was tense, almost sending visible quivers over his form. I sat up, concerning immediately taking precedence in my mind, “What’s the matter?”
“That devious little snake.”
“What’s he done now? Broken your rattle?” I afforded myself a slight smirk. It wasn’t often that I got one over on Wraith. Unfortunately, Wraith didn’t take it in such good humour.
“Don’t patronise me. Listen, do whatever you need to do and then we’re on our way. I’m not staying here longer than I have to.”
“Okay, what’s he done to upset you?” I swung my legs over the end of the bed, stretching them experimentally. With a yawn I prepared myself for a rant, but finding to my surprise a much more subdued response. 
“He’s got something shifty about him. There’s too much here to put down to coincidence. I’ll find out what’s really going on here and expose him for what he is.” He raised his voice to an amplitude I’d never heard his voice reach before (and wow could he shout when he wanted to). “You hear that? I’m on to you, you twitchy little crook!”
By way of response, Perky called back, “Okay! Tell me how that goes!”

I sighed and planted my face into my hoof. What was Wraith’s problem? He sat on the end of his bed and just glared passive-aggressively at the door, his rifle on his lap. In an attempt to find a calming activity that would keep me from dwelling on things, I searched for a needle and thread. My jumper was in dire need of some repairs, and my hat could do with touching up, but what I really wanted to do was sew a few extra pockets into my belt. I had so much kit tucked away in my saddlebags that would be better distributed amongst my person for easy access – things like food, small equipment, extra ammunition and many more things besides.

Fortunately, thread was an abundant resource, and needles were easy to come by, and (after asking very nicely) Perky even fetched me some fabric to make some substantial repairs. He also gave me some leather, explaining how it would make a better pocket than fabric, and would be far more durable. I had never worked with leather before (it wasn’t common in the NSA, as it was seen as a military resource like metal) and so I was clueless as to how it would handle, but I was keen to experiment and I wasn’t warming to the idea of leaving any time soon. Besides, I needed to eventually refill my canteen and restock my larder, and I felt like it would be a good idea to get practice field stripping my new rifle. In truth, however, I was looking forward to my first opportunity to fire it, just to see how much of a kick it had.

I set about my work, eager to once more feel the glorious sensations of needle passing through fabric. The material Perky had given me felt like it was wool or cotton based, which played right into my wheelhouse. With practiced ease I started to patch up the holes that were appearing in my jumper. There were several tears all over it, which were easily fixed with just a few stitches. The primary cause for concern was on either side, where my saddlebags had chafed against me. The material there was so threadbare it was in danger of rubbing away completely, and it was apparent from initial observation that a few stitches would not be enough to fix it. Threadbare material was a nightmare for any needle worker, because any repairs you try and put into them won’t be supported by the weakened underlying material. I didn’t want to have to stitch myself an entirely new jumper, so I pondered for a while. At last, after a good few minutes of thinking, I came up with a solution. I put a little reinforcing into the fabric itself, stitching over where the material was wearing away (just to provide a little extra strength) and then sewed a few layers of fabric into the inside of my saddlebags to act as makeshift padding. Whilst it wasn’t going to fix the problem completely, it would help to slow down further chafing, at least for a while, as the smooth texture of the fabric wouldn’t wear away my clothes as much as the abrasive burlap of my saddlebags.

I ended up not putting any repairs into my hat. It wasn’t that badly damaged anyway, and any repairs I made on it wouldn’t really have had much point, considering how the only damage to it was some minor scratching here or there. It was hardly worth even considering. The whole repair session had taken me a good few hours, but it had felt wonderful to get the opportunity to once again sit down and do something I was good at without a Scavenger peering at me through binoculars. With a renewed sense of pride I slipped my jumper back over my head and shifted a little to see if it was still comfortable. Yep, I was still golden. I looked over at Wraith, who had given up staring maliciously through the doorway and was just lying on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. He had his rifle resting over his chest, and every once in a while he’d cock it slowly, as if deep in thought. I stabbed the needle into the spool of thread I’d been using and stood, my saddlebags still on the table with my hat resting atop them. The time must have been approaching midnight, if not then definitely early morning. I definitely felt drowsy, and the alcohol I’d consumed earlier wasn’t helping that, but I felt happy and unnecessarily pleased with myself, so things were alright.

Enjoying the calm, I came to stand by Wraith, gazing down at him as he continued to just stare up at the ceiling. He turned his head slightly to look at me. Immediately I could see emotion building in him. His stare was different, not his usual disinterested look. He looked sad. He sighed. I felt a need to comfort him, to console him, “What’s the matter?” I sat down on the floor next to him, so I could be at eye level. He looked back up at the ceiling.
“I don’t know. I’m just paranoid. I know something’s up here. Nopony who lives in the Ruins could possibly be sane, being surrounded by constant artillery and endlessly under threat. I’ve met Scavengers who were transferred from here and every one of them was cold, calculating, and sceptical. They wouldn’t trust anypony, not even their friends that they’d transferred with. They’d all been betrayed one too many times, and they were all jittery as shit. I swear, you could cough around them and they’d break your front legs. I just fail to believe that somepony could live here and still possess any marbles at all.” I reached out a hoof to gently stroke Wraith’s mane.
“Listen, it may well be that you’re right, but until we can prove it can you try to get along? We’ll just get what we need from him, and then we’ll be on our way again. He hasn’t tried to kill us yet, at least that’s something. Look at me,” he did, and I kissed him gently. “Things are gonna be fine. Try not to worry and just relax. Enjoy the comfort whilst you can, because it’s not going to last for too long.”

I raised myself back up onto all fours and smiled. Wraith smiled back, but I could tell he still wasn’t convinced.  I removed my belt from around my waist and slung it over my bedpost, resuming my place in my bed. I curled up on the mattress. Tomorrow, I was going to try and get all the supplies we needed, and then we’d go. Then again, it would probably be best not to rush back into the fray. Tomorrow I’d get supplies, then we’d wait another day to make sure we were fully rested up, and then we’d go. I could feel myself beginning to drift. Everything was going to be fine, everything was going to work out for us. 

***

Oh glorious sleep, why must awakening succeed you? As I sat up I immediately winced as my head throbbed aggressively in protest. I resisted the temptation to lay back down (I would only fall asleep again) and rolled myself out of bed. As in, literally rolled myself out. I hit the floor with a thud and groaned in pain. I wasn’t used to sleeping so well. I got shakily to my hooves and yawned. Scratching my mane, I checked if Wraith was still asleep. He wasn’t, and in fact wasn’t even in the room. That would probably have concerned me, but at that moment I wanted nothing more than to go back to sleep. I planted my hat onto my head and pulled it down over my oversensitive eyes, shielding them from the comparatively blinding light.

The day passed as uneventfully as a day can pass in anarchic Equestria. I spent most of my time at the desk in my room toiling away with the fabric and leather provided to me. Turns out, leather is a bitch to work with. It’s extremely tough and doesn’t take a needle well, and the thread has to be double or in some places even triple reinforced to stop it snapping. It took me a few hours and several failed experiments to finally get the hang of working with it. By the time mid-afternoon rolled around (I assumed, as there was no definitive method of time keeping), I had fashioned myself some satisfactory equipment. I had made myself a new holster, and whilst rather crude and basic in design, was made very visually appealing by the golden thread I’d stitched it with. It looked like some sort of old antique from years back. My Glock fit nicely into it, and I fastened it to my belt in place of the old one. The next notable addition to my gear was a bandolier I’d based of ones I’d seen the Scavengers use. It was simply a leather strap that crossed my chest diagonally, with three pouches sewn into it. I designated one pouch for spare magazines, one for loose rounds, and one for emergency snacks (because walking is tiring work and you don’t want to stop every half hour to pull sugar out of your saddlebags).The only other change I’d made to my gear was the addition of a new fabric strip along the inside of my belt to stop it chafing me. Oh, and on the aesthetics side, I’d taken to wearing a knot of black cloth around my neck, kind of as homage to the whole farming culture of the Wanderers that I was now affiliated with.

Pushing myself away from the desk, I grabbed the sling of my rifle and let it hang around my neck in front of me, as I had become accustomed to doing. I was considering painting it at some point, making it really unique to me. I wanted a sort of crimsony scheme, with scarlet highlights on the end of the barrel and around certain components. I also wanted to swap the crappy polymer stock with a nice wooden one, just to really bring out that rustic feel that appealed to me so. So enthralled was I in imagining how I could customize my weapon that I walked straight past Wraith, standing outside the door to Perky’s room with his ear planted firmly against it. I spent a moment or two toying with the collar of my jumper, and then immediately put myself into reverse gear and scooted back along the carpet to where Wraith was stood, casting him an incredulous gaze. He pulled me away to the main room, as if keen to speak to me but fearing that Perky would overhear.

“That was a little rough, don’t you think?” I growled, massaging the back of my neck. He really had pulled quite hard. “What’s the big problem then? Is he practising voodoo?”
“He’s just muttering to himself. He’s hasn’t stood up or walked about or even moved for maybe an hour.”
“You’ve been standing outside his door for an hour?”
“Two, I think. Don’t give me that look, I know he’s up to something. He may not want us in his room for ‘privacy reasons’, but there’s definitely more to it than that.”
“He’s probably jacking off or something.” I said that as if it was no big deal (which, admittedly, to me it wasn’t), but this afforded me a cold look from Wraith, who seemed to have turned slightly sour at the mention of… self-stimulation.
“That’s disgusting.”
“Hey, at least it doesn’t hurt anypony.”
“It’s still disgusting. It’s not right. You should be saving yourself for when it’s really special.”
“Hey, my midnights are really special.” He glared at me, and I decided it would be better to stop baiting him. He probably had some deep-founded moral beliefs on the subject and it would likely only lead to a rather heated argument.

We spent the next few minutes debating an alternative subject. Wraith was considering just storming in to see what all the secrecy was about, but I was feeling a little more reserved. Reason numero uno, he’d probably kill us, or at least attempt to. That would not be a favourable outcome, and we’d be forced out of the safety of his home a lot sooner than I would have liked. Secondly, there was the chance that we may not like what we saw. Thirdly, there was a chance that there was nothing going on at all, and my theory that Wraith was just being paranoid would be proven correct. This had the undesirable consequence of destroying the trust bond that we currently shared (or I currently shared) with him, and possibly inspire resentment. My final reason, which I never voiced for apparent reasons, was that maybe he was just having a good old fun time, and that was certainly something that I could do without seeing. It ultimately boiled down to one pivotal argument – Wraith was going in whether I was or not, and that was not subject to change.

What Wraith left me with was a toss-up between whether I supported him in this venture, or whether I supported Perky. In the end, I decided I’d side with Wraith, simply because, no matter the outcome, I would be spending a lot more time around him than around Perky, and he may have felt slightly betrayed had I not taken his side. Plus, I was his unofficially announced but still rather obvious marefriend, and it was kind of my job to back him up in this sort of thing. But Wraith was making the moves and doing the arguing. Really my only job was to act as an arbiter to prevent hooves from flying, because there was no way in the whole of the Ruins that I was going to be throwing the punches. With minds set and bravado at a worrying high, Wraith and I set about confronting Perky about his secrecy.

Wraith motioned to clutch the handle to the door. I leaned against the wall and watched him, my face remaining as passive as possible. Part of me wanted to see him chicken out, but part of me also wanted to see if he had the balls to do what he claimed he was going to do. Wraith was brave and everything, but he wasn’t very good in a head to head argument, particularly when he was in the wrong (or when mares were involved). Wraith shrugged slightly, his rifle rejigging across his back into a more comfortable position, and with a stern nod of his head he twisted the handle and pulled the door open. Then he realised it was a push door and pushed it instead, a noticeable blush appearing at the tips of his ears.

Utter silence.

I mean literally, complete and utter silence. The minute that door opened, Perky shut the fuck up faster than a prisoner before a Doberman. The room was dark, with no lights on what so ever, probably because there were no lights in the room to be turned on. The room was exceptionally long, but not particularly wide, making it resemble a corridor more than a room. At the opposite end of the room was Perky, sat in a chair at a desk, his back to us. It was hard to tell, but it looked like he was shaking slightly. Wraith and I stood motionless, awaiting his response to our intrusion. He didn’t move. I could hear the slow, controlled, inward and outward rhythm of his breathing. He dropped something onto the desk. It made a metallic clacking noise as it hit the wood. Perky rested his hooves by his sides.

Silence.

“You shouldn’t be in here.” His voice carried a very dangerous tone that I was not happy hearing. It was the same tone that usually preceded the hurried removal of a vital organ. “But seeing as you are, and there is no sense in hiding anymore, perhaps you’d like to see what I’m working on.” That was honestly the last thing I wanted to do, and I felt that it would be much safer to just close the door. Really I’d expected it just to be like any normal room, and I just expected to see Perky performing some mundane task like tailoring (which he was supposedly very good at), or drawing or weapon maintenance or… other activities that shall remain nameless. Really, this whole room was the exact polar opposite of what we’d already seen, and seemed to perfectly mirror the side of his personality that he’d shown us.

Wraith, ever the straightforward one, made his way into the room without so much as a second thought and made his way to stand next to Perky. Intent on not being left out, I followed behind him, but I was far more cautious in my approach, keeping my mind focused so I could quickly bring my pistol to bear if Perky tried anything. Wraith took up post on Perky’s left, and I on his right. I looked down at the desk. Perky, clearly an avid needle craftspony, had before him an amalgamation of various different tools, varying from simple needles to more surgical instruments such as scalpels. To one side was a stack of fabric of various colours, and a collection of spools of different threads, with such a variety of colour and thickness I’d never seen before, even in a professional tailor’s shop. In the centre of the desk was Perky’s project, a small fabric pony with a quaint little Scavenger tunic over its little body. It was actually kind of adorable.

“I told you it was nothing to worry about.” I jabbed Wraith in the side and frowned at him. Wraith said nothing. In fact, he didn’t even acknowledge my jab. He just stared down at the pony doll on the desk, with its Scavenger uniform and black fabric body and bright red button eyes. Hang on a second. I looked back at the doll. I looked back up at Wraith. Okay, that was a little creepy. Even the rank on the Scavenger tunic matched Wraith’s. Perky pushed the doll aside and pulled out a box from under the desk. Wordlessly, he slid it onto the desk and flipped off the lid, pulling out of it another fabric doll. This one was likewise finely crafted, but was made predominantly of brown fabric, with a little black jumper and hat. Perky stood it next to the Wraith doll. In the following time, he removed something close to fifteen or so other dolls, each one different and each one likely reminiscent of another pony.

I started to slowly make my way back towards the door. No way was I staying in this place a moment longer. Perky was a lot creepier than I had initially given credit for. As I slowly backed away, Perky growled, “I wouldn’t if I were you. That’s what the rest of them did. You don’t understand do you? What it’s like to be alone for most of your life? All I want is a friend. Why do they always try to run?” In seconds few, Perky had reached into the box again and drawn an old metal pistol, turning it on me and preparing to fire. I made to draw my pistol but before I could Wraith had thumped Perky in the temple. He collapsed and groaned, clutching at the side of his head. I looked at Wraith.
“I told you there was something wrong.”
“Yea okay, fair enough. Now let’s go!”
“Agreed.” Wraith and I both high tailed it out of the room, grabbing all of our property and bolting for the door. I flung it open with my magic before we reached it and Wraith slid cleanly through the opening.

There was a crack of rifle fire from behind me and the head of the mannequin closest to me was carved open, spattering gore over the wall and inspiring new horror in me. They weren’t mannequins at all. They were still ponies. But how? Why? What psycho did that to other ponies? With no time to spare and give the thought much attention, I disappeared through the door just as Perky had loaded another round into the chamber, ready to fire once again upon me. Now I understood the function of a long and straight corridor. Perky could quite easily fire straight down it and not even worry about aiming. It wasn’t like there were many places to hide. To buy some extra time, I slammed the door shut with my magic. It would hold Perky back for all of half a second, but maybe that was all we needed.

The clattering sound of eight hooves on concrete was all I could hear, until at last I ploughed through the towel that concealed the corridor’s entrance. Wraith already had the door to the closet open and I wasted no time ducking through it. A shot rang out and a bullet pinged off the wall in front of the towel, ricocheting and only narrowly missing Wraith’s right ear. With a growl he unslung his own rifle and brought it to bear down the passageway, firing once before cocking and slamming the door behind him as he came to join me. Even now I could hear the sound of Perky hurtling down the corridor to try and catch us.

Wraith and I ran. We had no idea whether the direction in which we were running would lead us back to the streets of the Ruins, but we didn’t care. At the moment, our biggest ally was the fact that Perky couldn’t tell where we were going. Perky knew the corridors of the building better than we did, but he didn’t know in which way we’d run, nor in which direction we intended to go. We’d deliberately not chosen the route we’d taken on the way here, as it was the most obvious path to take and Perky would have assumed we’d go that way. Instead, we took a much more intricate series of corridors and rooms, constantly changing direction and hoping against hope that we wouldn’t get trapped inside the building. All we needed was to find a way back down to street level.

At one point we did actually run into Perky (I know, what are the chances?) We turned a corner into a conference room and there he was, having just emerged from a completely different corridor. There was fury in his eyes and with a yell that put a dragon to shame he began to send bullets our way with his rifle. Fortunately we managed to lose him, but it had been close. Perky was quick, and he was either insane or just really determined, because it seemed like he never tired. We spent what felt like hours running through the maze of corridors, hoping against hope that we weren’t running into a dead end.

I was panting furiously from the physical effort, the weight of my saddlebags and rifle only making it worse. My lungs were on fire, and my breathing was laboured and shallow. Wraith even seemed to be struggling somewhat, with his mane drenched in sweat and his hooves starting to drag slightly. I thought the chase would never end but, just as I was starting to give up all hope, we turned into a room with one wall filled with blown out windows. Wraith didn’t even stop to check what was below, he just hurled himself out of the window and down into the street below. Fortunately, we weren’t many stories up, and he landed in the street with a forward roll to absorb some of the impact, straightening himself and panting to catch his breath. Fortunately for him, he hadn’t landed amongst a pack of Scavengers. Rather unfortunately (for him in particular) he had landed amongst a pack of Russians, clad in the black uniform of the LRSA. They also had quite a bit more firepower than Wraith. Six rifles against one wasn’t exactly what I would call good odds, not to mention the added damage of a 125mm cannon. Every Russian soldier in the entire patrol had their rifles trained on Wraith, and their officer was barking at him aggressively. I got the feeling that I’d have to intervene.

Taking care not to kill myself on the way down, I nonetheless still managed to trip over as I reached the ground, attracting some attention from the nearest soldier. He rounded on me and kept his rifle trained at my head, attempting to give me instructions but clearly not understanding that not everypony spoke Russian. I stood, which inspired a lot of anger in the soldier who stuck the barrel of his rifle into the side of my head, as if I’d just done something wrong. The officer (a stallion of average height but with a face as angular as a box) slung his rifle over his back and turned to look at me. He was stood in front of the behemoth of a vehicle that currently remained still, its engine noisily growling beneath its armoured housing. The commander of the tank poked his out of the hatch, a sub machinegun in one hoof, but the officer in charge motioned for him to stand down and get back in his tank. He looked at me. Hopefully he was like the Germans and spoke English.

“Who are you?”
Hooray! A language I could understand, “I’m Bucky, sir. My companion over there and I are both Wanderers and we’re just a little lost. Would you mind helping us?”
The officer scoffed, which I found rather rude, and so too did every other soldier within earshot of me. The officer walked over to and grabbed Wraith by the collar of his tunic, pulling on him with enough force to make him almost fall over himself. The officer essentially dragged Wraith in front of me, “That is not a Wanderer.”
“Please, I assure you, his uniform does not reflect his allegiance. He’s as much a Wanderer as I am.”
“And how do we know you are a Wanderer? Maybe you are a Scavenger as well?”
“Please, my friend and I are not affiliated with the Scavengers in any way. We are trying our best to avoid them and fight back against them. If you can offer us LRSA protection, we are willing to help you fight against the Scavengers if we can, at least for a while.”

The officer shook his head, not believing (or maybe just not understanding) a word I’d just said. He gave Wraith a hard shove and he fell face first onto the floor, a satisfying thud kicking up a small cloud of dust. In an instant one of the Russian soldiers grabbed me from behind and pulled hard, immediately pressing his pistol under my muzzle. The officer drew his own pistol, and in an execution style pose with his hoof in Wraith’s back, aimed it at his head. My mind was racing, searching for a solution, but none presented themselves. As I was sure the officer was about to put a bullet into the base of Wraith’s skull, a crack rang out from somewhere in one of the nearby buildings, and the officer dropped as his shoulder was torn open, inspiring a shriek of pain as he lay in the street clutching at his wound, bone fragments sticking into his flesh.

In a flurry of activity, the Russians had their weapons ready and were returning fire, taking cover wherever they could and unloading round after round on the building Wraith and I had just escaped from. From about three stories up, I could see a tall pink pony clutching at a bolt action rifle. There was a glint of sunlight and I found myself staring into the pony’s telescopic sight. Before Perky could put me down and out, however, I had darted away and was hiding behind the behemoth of a tank that the Russians had with them. Wraith was likewise scurrying to get out of the crossfire. I was hoping against hope that none of the LRSA decided to turn their rifle on him for an easy kill shot.

What the fuck did Perky think he was doing? Even I wouldn’t think of opening fire on a fully armed LRSA patrol, even if they didn’t have a tank. It was basically like putting your own head on the chopping block. Shots continued to be exchanged, most of which came from the barrels of the LRSA, but there was the occasional ping of the side of the tank’s armour or the satisfying thud of a bullet making contact with flesh. The officer had been dragged over to cover away from the action, and was being treated by the patrol’s medic. Elsewhere, two other soldiers lay dead, and the gunner on top of the tank was slumped over his machinegun, bleeding over the components and occasionally twitching spastically.

There was a loud, mechanical whirring sound as the tank’s turret began to rotate slowly. I peered over the hull, up at Perky’s position. He’d retreated back, likely to avoid the wrath of the armoured beast. The massive barrel of the tank elevated, before coming to a halt and all fire from the LRSA soldiers ceasing. For a brief moment, there was silence. The only sound that could be heard was the sound of the officer still screaming from behind cover. Suddenly, a muffled shout came from the interior of the tank, and there was an earthshattering boom. The force of the shot sent a colossal cloud of dust and debris around the hull airborne. My ears began to ring noisily and my vision shook. I bounced slightly in my position, being flung forward as I lost my balance. When I tested with my hoof, there was a small trickle of blood dribbling from my nose. Behind me, a large portion of the building’s face had collapsed and was still collapsing into the street, kicking up more dust and sending tremors through the earth.

When the dust settled and the ringing in my ears subsided somewhat, the street was a completely different picture. The building was missing a large portion of its near face, and a fresh pile of rubble maybe a story or two high had accumulated on the road. Everypony, LRSA soldiers included, were almost completely covered in dust. In total, three of the soldiers lay dead, the officer was wounded, and there was one soldier missing completely. Wordlessly, after wiping their goggles clean, the soldiers set about clearing up their dead. It was rather disturbing watching the way they went about it. They picked up their late comrades, threw them over their backs, and lay them on the hull of the tank over the engine, literally just piling them on top of one another, their weapons clattering against the metal of the vehicle. The still whimpering officer was rested against the back of the turret, next to the dead stallions, a fresh dressing on his shoulder which looked to still be bleeding profusely. One of the soldiers on foot hopped up into the tank turret, setting himself up behind the machinegun on the turret.

I was grabbed aggressively by the collar and dragged off out of the road into the cover of another building. The soldiers had seemed to have completely forgotten about me and Wraith, and with only a superficial sweep of the immediate area, they began to move on, the engine of the tank roaring loudly as it lurched forward. The soldiers, now down five members, were severely shaken, moving with far more caution. I looked at Wraith, who was crouched in the shadows a few feet from me, peering through a shot out window. He watched the soldiers walk past. He turned to me, “And that’s why we don’t trust the LRSA.”
“Here’s a suggestion, why not take off the Scavenger uniform? I’m not sure you’ve noticed, but it’s caused far too many problems thus far.”
“And what do you suppose I wear instead?”
“Anything? Literally anything? I mean really, go naked if you have to, it would be better than flaunting Bastard Khaki.”
“But all of my stuff’s in my pockets. Where do I keep everything then?”
“Why are you so reluctant to get rid of it? If it’s true that you hate the Scavengers as much as me you should have no problem burning it.”
“It’s just the convenience of it. It’s got plenty of storage in it and it’s actually relatively comfortable.”
“Okay, you’re swapping it out at the next available opportunity.”

Wraith snorted, leaning back against a pile of rubble. It was beginning to get dark again. I fell onto my haunches and sighed my deepest, most heartfelt sigh. We’d been here, what, a couple days maybe, and we’d made almost no progress what so ever. As a matter of fact, I didn’t even know which way we’d been coming from nor which way we’d been going. The only thing that Wraith and I could do for the moment was keep ourselves alive until we found some way out. We needed a plan, and a plan I was determined to devise in as short a space of time as possible. Ideally we’d be hitching a ride with the LRSA, but that would prove more difficult than I’d first thought (bearing in mind that neither I nor Wraith spoke a word of Russian), and I didn’t much fancy going it alone. If Wraith could ditch his uniform somewhere and grab one from the LRSA then maybe we could convince them that he was an Equestrian soldier who’d gotten separated? It would be a long shot but with a few well-placed words and a little flaunting of the old faithful then maybe we…

“I think I’ve got a plan.”
“Do you remember what happened last time you had a plan?” Maybe it was me being competitive or cautious, but I really wanted to come up with our next plan. “Oh wait, this is the result.”
“Okay, yea, I fucked up. Hear me out on this one, okay? Right, it’s quite simple… we get help from the Scavengers.”
“That’s a terrible plan.” There were so many holes in this plan you could turn it into a golf course. What was Wraith playing at exactly? How would that ever work?
“No, come on, let me explain myself. We get you a uniform, then we look around or wait for a Scavenger patrol. We convince them that our own patrol was gunned down by the LRSA and we narrowly escaped with our lives. Upon convincing them of our legitimacy, we follow them back to their sector, pull some strings, maybe sabotage a thing or two, and then hop aboard a truck to the other side of the city. At least then we’ll know where we’re going.”
“That’s still a terrible plan.”
“Do you have a better one?”

Damn, he had me there. True, my plan to get us hitched to the LRSA wasn’t exactly bullet proof and relied on inordinate amounts of luck, but I’d much prefer my chances with the Russians than with the savages. The more I thought about it the more I realised how grim the situation was. It was honestly like having to choose between a rape dungeon and a torture chamber. On one hoof, you’ll never be able to look at your privates ever again without having flashbacks, and on the other you’d probably not be able to walk properly ever again. Actually, those are interchangeable. Maybe that meant something.

“Okay, so assuming we do actually manage to convince a patrol we’re their friends and somehow get past the sentries, how do we remain unnoticed? Surely at some point somepony’s going to tip of the brass as to our presence, and when they found no mention of us in their system, we’re essentially screwed.”
“The system can be cheated. Once we’re in, we integrate ourselves into their workings. We find jobs to do and attach ourselves to a Raider and by the time they start looking for us our names are all over the bloody place. If they try and dig any deeper they’ll get swamped by all the conflicting information and lose track of us. Essentially we’ll be ghosts in the machine.”
“And how are you so sure this will work?” Granted, Wraith had one big advantage over me. He knew the inner workings of the Scavenger system and probably knew all of the kinks and loopholes that would get whatever we needed. This I knew, and this I expected him to use as his main point of argument, but instead he stood himself up and turned to profile, giving me a good view of his flank.
“What do you think this means?” He gestured vaguely at his cutie mark. It was simply a door cracked ajar, with a thin ray of light spilling out of it.
“I dunno. Preparation?”
“Infiltration. Throughout my years as a Scavenger I’ve figured out how to get into and out of favourable positions before anypony notices me. Harken back to my days as a Wanderer and I could get anywhere I wanted on the farm almost effortlessly. The only drawback was that my father was very good at finding me. Call it counter-infiltration. In any case, I know how to get somepony into a system, and there’s no system I know better than that of the Scavengers. Trust me, I know what I’m doing.”

Dammit Wraith! I hated it when the Scavengers were mentioned in my presence, and I wasn’t necessarily over joyed about walking amongst them in broad daylight. Plus, I hadn’t forgotten about Wraith’s stories of the Ruins and those who inhabit them. Besides, I noticed one critical flaw in his plan, “What about passports?”
“What about them?”
“The Scavengers have passports, don’t they? They use them to get in and out of their districts. You’ve got one and all.”
“Oh, yea. No, that’s district specific. It’s not standard regulation. The Scavengers here don’t use them. It’s easy enough for the LRSA to forge passports so they rely on passwords instead. And if we’re tailing another patrol chances are we won’t be called upon to supply one. The system here isn’t as streamlined as you’d like to think.”
“How do you know all this about the Ruins? You’ve never even served here, have you?”
“No. But I’ve heard stories. I’ve kept my ear to the door for many years now and I know a lot of the inner workings of several key districts, this one included, now stop arguing!” Wraith winced slightly and put a hoof in the small of his back. “I think I’ve trapped a nerve.”
“Well serves you right for jumping out of a window.”

After much searching (mostly on my part, as Wraith was all but paralysed by the twinges in his back) we eventually found a place to settle down for the remainder of the night. As I sat hunched over with my legs tucked close to my body, I scanned the streets before me for signs of movement. We’d set up shop in what looked to have been an old garage, but which had been heavily bombed to block off access to the remainder of the buildings. This had the added benefit of providing us with a rubble barricade between us and the street, but with still enough roof left to keep us sheltered. That was primarily what had made the location so attractive in the first place.

As Wraith slept behind me, I shivered in silence. What was I doing here? I ought to be tucked up in bed back with the NSA, letting the Militia and Watchponies do the sentry duty for me. I wasn’t supposed to be out here in the most dangerous place in all of Equestria, scared for my life in dark streets, distant artillery booming endlessly in both my ears. I sucked on the end of a pencil. I’d rifled through a few filing cabinets before my turn on sentry, and had recovered a very tattered old jotter and a pencil, which I now kept on me for just such boring occasions as these. I went to take up the pencil with my magic, but then remembered that magic let off a glow which could be seen by a Scavenger, and switched immediately to using my hoof instead. I was equally proficient with both, a trait that not many unicorns possessed.

I couldn’t see three inches in front of my face. Well, that’s a lie, I could see a little. I could see as far as my rear hooves tucked beneath me, but that was about it. It was dreadfully cold, too. Eventually, I tapped my pencil against the jotter and went to making a few brief notes down the margin. I signed it off with a title, ‘Reasons to stay alive’. I felt that if I had a conclusive list of things that I needed to accomplish before the Scavengers cut my lungs out, it would work as an incentive not to give up. Right at the top of the list was ‘To save Equestria’. There weren’t many reasons, however, and the full list consisted of:

‘To save Equestria’
‘To take revenge on Scavengers’
‘To avenge my parents’
‘To rescue Mystery’
‘To live long enough to start a family.’

That was it. I ended up deciding against adding ‘To bitch slap the NSA’, but only because I actually felt sorry for them. All of the poor buggers were just desperate to live normal lives, but had to accept that the country they inhabited was infested with murderers, arsonists, maniacs, rapists and foreign soldiers. In reality, it was hardly a country at all. The entire of Equestria was just one big warzone. And that was why I had to stay alive, so I could turn it back into a country again and not a place in which everypony lived in fear. I closed the jotter and slid the pencil into the binding, returning to combo to my saddlebags.

When I looked into myself (for some spiritual reason or other) I wasn’t sure what exactly it was I was finding. I didn’t know whether I was excited for the future or terrified of it. The image of a once again free Equestria was certainly exciting, and the idea of at last being able to settle down and not have to carry a pistol about every day seemed like a nice idea. I felt like I wanted to have foals at some point, probably not for a while, but at some point. But then, the idea that the Scavengers could ruin all of that was a frightening prospect. And what happened if they reformed? If what was left of them when (or if) they were defeated banded together again and terrorised the new, unprepared Equestria? There would be bloodshed on an unimaginable scale, and that was something I didn’t want to have to see.

All the more reason to keep fighting, I suppose.