It was a pleasant evening, a couple of months after I received NCR citizenship. Not too hot, not too cold, not too windy, and not a rain cloud in sight. A good night to stop by the Gun Runners, though not for my usual reason. Sure, I’d stock up on ammo as always, but I also had a job in mind. Hopefully, a pretty safe job. Certainly not boring, if the tip I got was accurate, but safe. After some news I recently got, I couldn’t afford to put myself in significant harm’s way. However, I needed

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Do you know what it's like to be alone? Completely alone? No family, no real friends, just your job to keep you occupied?

Gritt was in Junction Town on such a job. Today was his twentieth birthday, but no one but him could tell him so for the past eight years.

A cigarette served as my candle to blow out that morning. Happy Birthday to me. Time to go to work.

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“Stars above, grant me strength. Stars above, grant me wit. Stars above, grant me endurance. For I am being hunted.”

Finishing my prayer, I gripped my meteorite sword in my teeth, slung it on my back, and pressed on through the dense, freezing forest. With each chilling gust, the forged armor fitted snugly against my hide stung with frostbite. Snow and dead leaves crunched under my own hooves, and those of my most faithful soldier as he caught up to me.

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I didn’t know where I was. I didn’t care. Any random ditch would do. My mind had been in a haze for the past… hour? Hours? Who cares.

Spotting the lights of a town, I halted my flight. I didn’t want to be too close to people for this. No need to burden them with the cleanup. I wasn’t worth it. Just find a ditch… Any will do…

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Zebras have a hard time in the Equestrian wasteland. The xenophobia is arguably not as bad as when it resulted in an apocalypse, but it’s still not great. Being half zebra? Also not great.

Good thing I grew up in Glyphmark. Sheltered, boring Glyphmark.

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They took her. They took my little Jade.

I don’t know how they knew about her, or how they knew Gwen was taking her to a farm a few miles outside Junction Town to visit some friends, but they were waiting to ambush them. Gwen got shot, but thank whatever’s up there, not seriously.

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If your mother was a monster, who was killed because she deserved to be killed, how long would it take you to come to terms with that? How long would it take you to be able to face her executioners without hating them? Could you ever?

These were questions Gritt had pushed into the recesses of his mind for six years, but he was about to finally confront them.

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Do you know what it's like to be raised by a militant perfectionist? To be expected to be a "proper soldier" and an "example to Talon Company" by the time you were six? Stoic, unwavering, and serious? All the time? When deep down, all you ever wanted to be was a goofball?

Gritt had been enduring that his whole life. Today was his tenth birthday, and his mother had already scolded him for smiling about it.

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Bloodfeather Company, Red Eye’s favorite tool for wiping something off a map with no regard for collateral damage or friendly casualties. Slavers and Talons alike who caught his or Stern’s ire were sent under my command as an unofficial death sentence. Sure, they might have sent them to the Crater, or the Pit, but sending them to me at least got some use out of them before they caught a 20mm shell from a Steel Ranger or had a Hellhound rip out their intestines.

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My first two years as Overboss went smoother than expected. The gangs and local farms fell in line pretty quickly when I proved I wasn't messing around. Sure, I was just a thirteen year old colt, but I was a colt who could kill every living thing in Galloping Gorge with my eyes closed. Could, and would, if these raiders didn't behave and follow my rules.

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