Chapter 2: Crossfire and Wellspring
Chapter 2: Crossfire and Wellspring
Crossfire used her tongue to feel her teeth, noticing a few of them were getting loose.
The burlap sack that had been put over her head kept her from seeing her surroundings, and by extension cast any spells without line of sight, but she could surmise a few things based on what she heard when she’d been dragged in here. She knew she was in this ‘Hammer Crusher’ gang’s stronghold. Stupid name, that, but then again some Neighlesian companies gave themselves odd names. Crossfire still thought the ‘Purple Dragons’ still sounded like a porn studio rather than a military unit.
From the number of voiced she’d heard she gauged the stronghold had at least four or five dozen ponies in it. Open area mostly, some sort of yard. She’d heard the rusty squeal of a gate opening when she’d been brought in so the place was probably surrounded by said gate. The building the huge mare, Bruise, had taken her to was a small one she was pretty sure. Or at least it was a small room. She’d only heard them go through one door before she’d been deposited into a chair and roughly tied to it, so she knew the way out was close.
Other than that she hadn’t learned much, other than these gang ponies certainly enjoyed beating on tied up mares. Oddly, it sounded like Bruise had left early in the proceedings, leaving behind a trio of guards who worked Crossfire over with hooves and those bloody hammers they seemed so proud of having.
Not my finest hour, she thought with a humorless half smile, Not my finest month.
She thought of Knobbly Knees. Odd mare. Far too soft hearted and curious of mind to be living in a place like this. Was probably beating herself up for letting Crossfire get dragged off, but it was for the best. Crossfire didn’t want to be any trouble to Knobs, and honestly it would be easier on Crossfire to be on her own anyway. She still could hear them... the voices of her squad.
”Faster Tindertwig! Move your flank dammnit!”
“Barley! Where’s Barley!?”
“R-right behind you guys! Thing nearly took my leg off!”
“Less talk, more run! Exit is just up ahead! Crossfire, can you read me? We’re almost out, but this thing is right behind us!”
An echo of a roaring sound in her mind, a unnatural cry like the ripping of age old metal given organic life. The voice of her commanding officer, calm, level, and hard as a mountain.
”Private, detonate the entryway, now.”
“Sir!? Didn’t you hear them!? They’re almost out!”
“I heard their transmission, private. That creature is right on their heels. We cannot risk it reaching the surface. Blow the tunnel, that’s an order.”
Crossfire ignored the pain in her jaw from all the hits she’d taken as she found her teeth grinding. The pain in her memories was well beyond the simple aches in her body.
”There it is! I see the exit! Crossfire, we’re almost out! Just hold off! We can make it!”
“Tumble, watch out!”
“Shit! Get it off me!”
Crossfire remembered the sound of .308 rifle rounds echoing from the mouth of the ancient stone Ruins, the sound of her squad firing upon the thing they’d woken up after rooting out the Raiders that had made the Ruin their home. She’d drawn entrance guard duty, the job she’d hated the most. Somepony always had to hold the route of retreat, however. It was supposed to be the job that ensured the safety and survival of the squad.
Not...
”Private Crossfire, blow the damn tunnel, now!”
Crossfire’s unpleasant waltz through the realm of memory was interrupted by the squeal of a rusty door swinging open, followed by hoof clops on tiled floor. A smooth, female voice with just a dash of twang to it spoke.
“She been givin’ you boys any trouble?”
“Nah boss,” said the voice of one of the gangers that’d been working Crossfire over, “Bitch hasn’t made a peep. Kind of infuriating; been thinking we ought to stop playing nice with her. Maybe have some fun other than just smacking her around.”
There was the sound of something smacking into flesh and a painful yelp of surprise, then that same smooth female voice said, “Keep it under your tail, or you won’t be havin’ it much longer. Labor Guild don’t pay much for damaged goods; its why I told you to bozos to not do anything permanent.”
There was a small groan of pain, but the ganger said, “Ugh, y-yeah boss, was just joking.”
Crossfire felt hooves on her shoulders, and she went still, sensing the pony close to her. She was bound so tightly she could barely move, and while she might have gotten a headbutt off if the pony was a little closer, she knew now wasn’t the time to make her move.
“Keep your guns on her. Now listen up missy, I want to talk to you face to face, so I’m takin’ the hood off, but my boys see a trickle of magic from that horn of yours, and you’ll be riddled with holes. We got an understanding?”
“Why not? Not as if I’m going anywhere, and you’ve gone through all the trouble of showing me a hospitable time, what with me being the new girl in town-” Crossfire was cut off as a hoof gave her a curt jab to her barrel, knocking the breath out of her with its precision. As she coughed and sputtered her hood was roughly pulled off, and she blinked at the sudden brightness of a single hooded light shining down at her face from an otherwise darkened room. From the pool of dirty yellow light she could see she was in a bare, empty shed, probably set up specifically for holding prisoners as she saw nothing that could be used as a weapon even if she could get away with using telekinesis. A single wood door was across from where her where two gang ponies stood, one with a pistol, the other with a rifle, both aimed at her while another pony paced in front her.
This pony was a mare, a corn yellow coat showing past a faded red cloak she wore that covered most of her body, and her hooves were covered in spiked metal bracers. Her mane was a dark blue, same as her eyes, and was quite long. Crossfire blinked, at first thinking she was an earth pony, but with a shift of the mare’s cloak Crossfire realized she could see the hint of wings. A pegasus.
The mare had the hood Crossfire had been wearing in her mouth and seeing Crossfire looking her over, the mare spat it out. The mare’s face was an unreadable mask, neither angry nor malicious, but far from friendly. Crossfire realized the mare wasn’t looking at her, so much as at what she wore.
“Brown leather, red scarf, iron pin of the lion. That’d make you part of the Neighlesius Bayonet Corps. Frontline infantry, the backbone of their army. Must have killed dozens like you in the war. You fight in the war, missy?”
Crossfire couldn’t stop herself from sighing. If this was supposed to be some kind of lead into a revenge rant she wasn’t impressed. She’d rather go back to the gangers pummeling her than listen to some mare go on a tirade about the war the Protectorate fought against Skull City.
“My unit was still in training when the armistice was signed,” she said with a shrug, “We didn’t get deployed until after. Missed the fight at Dustwall by just under a week.”
The pegasus scoffed, “Lucky you. Dustwall was a meatgrinder for you Protectorate folk. My gang was there. Big army, with shiny power armor, and you bitches were stopped dead by an a bunch of volunteer gangers, holdin’ that bridge for three days against everything you could throw at us.”
“Is there a point you're getting to?” Crossfire asked.
“Just establishin’ that me and my gang, we got no love for what you are, what you represent. Ain’t easy on them, havin’ to hold back when they got a Protectorate bitch right in front of them they’d rather turn to fertilizer than hoof off to the Labor Guild. You’re worth more breathin’ though, with most your bones intact.”
“Right, so you hate me because of where I’m from, and honestly the feeling isn’t far from mutual. So why are we having this conversation? Whoever you are.”
“Spiked Heels, if you have to know. As for the conversation,” Spiked Heels shrugged her wings, “Labor Guild rep won’t be here until tomorrow,” the pegasus smiled, showing a wide crescent of teeth and a hoof flashed up faster than Crossfire could see, jarring her head from one side to the other.
“And I’m a mare that likes to get to know somepony before I have some fun with them. I’m a mare with standards after all.”
Crossfire, her head ringing, feeling the world tilt a bit, licked her lip, tasting blood, “Yeah, I can see that. No, seriously though, what’s the point of this?”
Spiked Heels let out a light chuckle as she ran a hoof along Crossfire’s chin, then proceeded to jab Crossfire in the throat. Not hard enough to be dangerous, but enough to cause the black unicorn to go into a fit of coughs.
“Well, all Skinner told us was that you were Protectorate military. Old ghoul doesn’t know how to tell rank or unit. Needed to confirm what you were, so I knew what to charge the Labor Guild for you. Officer’s would be worth a couple of thousand, easy, just for the intel they’d have. Private like you, not worth as much.”
“So sorry to disappoint.”
“Oh, you’ll still fetch a decent price,” Spiked Heels said, pushing Crossfire’s chair over hard enough that when Crossfire hit the ground her head cracked against the hard floor and she bit her tongue. Despite the pain lacing her head, she had the presence of mind to realize she had a single moment where the guards couldn’t clearly see her from the angle’s they were standing at. Quikcly as she could she glanced around for anything useful. Despite the emptiness of the shed, there were a few small rocks scattered on the ground, probably from previous gangers who had been in here. None of them were sharp, but she’d take what she could get. A short burst of telekinesis brought one of the rocks to the sleeve of her leather shirt, where she hid it just before Spiked Heel’s trotted around the chair and smashed a hoof down onto Crossfire’s chest.
“Anyway, with formalities out of the way, and having established what you are, I got other things to be doin’. Enjoy my gang’s hospitality. Tomorrow you’re the Labor Guild’s bitch.”
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Knobbly Knees gulped as she approached the large razor wire fence surrounding the Hammer Crusher’s base. It was once an ancient bus station from the world that was, the burned out forms of the old inner-city transports refurbished and arranged in clusters around the transit center as makeshift housing, barricades, and even one that was converted in a bar with strings of flickering lights wrapped around its roof. As with all of Skull City and its Outskirts there were the ever prevalent decorations of skulls, some pony, many others of rats or radhogs. With night falling many of the torch posts had skulls blazing with lit fires, casting flickering yellow washing of light across the dusty streets.
Knobs took in deep breaths, trying to calm herself. What she was about to do was stupid, dangerous, and completely crazy, and she knew that. What did she owe Crossfire anyway? She’d barely knew the mare! Knobs had nearly turned back a dozen times while walking the winding streets while on her way here, her mind conjuring every conceivable reason this was a bad idea. However every time she’d been about to turn around and head back home it was, oddly enough, her own shaky knees that got her to stop her retreat and grit her teeth steadfastly.
She was just so tired of being the scared, shaky little Knobbly Knees that nopony expected to do anything brave! Helping Crossfire was the right thing to do. It’d been right on Highway 70, despite Skinner’s grumbling, and it was right now, even though Knobs might make enemies of the gang that basically controlled the section of the city she lived in.
It’ll be okay, just need to not get caught by dozens of violent gang ponies while sneaking into their home, with no training or skill in stealth whatsoever! Easy. Heheheh... the laughter in her head sounded slightly mad, even to her own inner ears.
She wasn’t walking unequipped. Nopony walked the Outskirts without going armed. Knobs was wearing her lucky red leather jacket of course, which was tougher than most ponies gave it credit for. Why it’d stopped a few attempted knifings from muggers in the past, and Knobs always felt safe wearing it. She had her scoped and silenced rifle, the small light caliber weapon strapped to her back. It was more there to dissuade thieves than anything else. She sincerely hoped to not have to use it. If she did, well, she’d try to aim for knee caps. She cringed even at the thought of going that far, but she doubted she’d be able to rescue Crossfire without shots being fired.
The gate in and out of the the Hammer Crusher’s compound was guarded by a trio of ponies and a single griffin, none of which Knobs immediately recognized. That might make fast talking past the guards problematic, but most the Hammer Crusher’s at least knew that Knobs was kind-sorta friends with Bruise. She cantered on up and put on her largest, most friendly grin and brandished a small cardboard box she carried.
“Hiya guys, how’re things going?” she asked, putting plenty of pep into her tone.
The gangers eyed her, the griffin, a female with a yellow tinge to her crest feathers and carrying an impressively large belt-fed machine gun that only sported a little rust, floated down from where she’d been perched on the fence to confront Knobs.
“Ain’t any of your business scag. Turn ‘round and walk, unless you got business to make it worth our while not to break your muzzle.”
“Hey Lez, hold up a sec,” said one of the ponies, a whipcord lean brown earth pony with a stringy gray mane, a sledgehammer leaning against the fence next to him. He sauntered up next to the griffin, who gave off a small spitting sound and looked sidelong at him with distaste. The earth pony looked Knobs up and down in a way she was not oblivious too. She knew exactly what the pony was going to say before he said it and gulped.
“You looking to get into the camp, babe?” he grinned at her, licking his lips, “Why’s that, exactly?”
“Oh, I, uh,” Knobs floated the cardboard box towards him and opened up the top with her telekinesis, “Bruise g-got into a fight. I thought I’d come see if she could use any patching up! Yes! Because she got hurt.”
That was technically true. Bruise had been a little beat up after Crossfire had thrown her into that shack. Since none of these gangers had been the ones with Bruise at the time they wouldn’t know the fight had taken place at Knob’s home or that she’d even been involved. Inside the box the ganger would see some medical bandages, a small bottle of what looked like alcohol, and another bottle, this one labeled as painkillers.
“You know Bruise, huh?” the earth pony said, looking thoughtful, perhaps a little worried. Bruise had a temper, and he was probably calculating how the big mare would react to him trying to take advantage of someopony Bruise might consider a friend. Apparently he thought it worth the risk as his lecherous look returned.
“Sure, I got no problem letting you in, but you’d have to, ah, be escorted by a member of the gang, like myself. Perhaps before you saw to Bruise you’d also show a little gratitude to your escort, yeah?”
Knobs didn’t answer immediately, not having to feign embarrassment as she could feel the warmth bathing her features as she looked away from the ganger. She used that moment to look at the other gate guards. The other two ponies were both ghouls, and looked disinterested in the proceedings, a unicorn stallion and earth pony mare, both sporting the same faded, rotting red coats and stringy pink manes. Probably family. They were just sitting off to the side playing a dice game with each other with little white dice carved probably from bone; that was common in Skull City, and dice games were far more popular than card games, especially Dead Ponies Toss, Reaper’s Eyes, and Rattling Teeth. The griffin, Lez apparently, still looked disgusted, but was standing aside and clearly wasn’t planning on interfering.
Knobs took in and let out a deep breath, and nodded her head.
“S-sure, I’d be very grateful for your help, mister!”
The brown earth pony chuckled, and sadly Knobs had to admit for all his lecherous looks he did have a rather nice laugh, and said “Sweet! Right this way then. No need for that ‘mister’ crap, just call me Craghoof!”
“Okay, um, Craghoof. I’m Knobbly Knees!” Knobs said as Craghoof retired his sledgehammer and looped it across his neck via a leather strap that let the weapon hang across his back.
“Nice name. Hey guys, I’ll be back in, like, half an hour, maybe longer if things get good.”
“Be shocked if it took you five minutes,” said the ghoul earth pony mare without even looking up from her dice game with her counterpart, “Just stick her quick and get your ass back here fast, otherwise we’ll get an earful from Drywall.”
“Ugh...” groaned the griffin, “Swear it's nothing but sex, gambling, and drugs with you ponies.”
“Yeah, all the good stuff,” said Craghoof as he led Knobs past the gate, “Loosen up Lez. You always look like you could use a solid lay yourself.”
“One day, pony, my contract with Spiked Heels will be up,” Lez said, patting her machine gun, “And I’ll remember every word you said.”
Craghoof just laughed again, and soon they were well beyond the gate. Knobs followed him, looking about, already trying to discern where Crossfire might be kept. The bus station had a wide open concrete area where numerous old waiting terminals supported benches where gangers gathered around barrel fires, chatting, eating, gambling, or in a few cases not-so-subtly engaging in the very kind of activities Craghoof was so eager to get to with her.
The bar itself was lively, a rush of voices coming from it in an upbeat din of noise. Knobs figured they wouldn’t put Crossfire in any of the populated spots. They’d want her somewhere isolated, but easy enough to guard. The central building, a two story concrete structure with a few cobbled together add on metal shacks seemed possible, especially if any of those add ons was meant to be a holding cell.
“Right, so Bruise is probably at the bar,” said Craghoof with a wave towards the building in question, “Usually is after a scuffle. Bet she’s giving Roughshod a ride, so it ain’t like you’ll be able to see her for a bit. So, how do you know her anyway?”
“Oh, we grew up together. Same street, up by the gate. My parents and hers worked the same chem-joint,” Knobs said as Craghoof paused at one of the benches where a number of other gang ponies and ghouls were warming themselves by a barrel-fire. For a second Knobs wasn’t sure why he’d stopped until she saw Craghoof was watching a ghoul unicorn, a stallion with a mostly bald head save for a wreath of green mane. The ghoul had pulled out a fairly intact string instrument, a guitar that he began to strum and sing in a surprisingly rich voice for a ghoul.
Give us your trust, said the Enclave on high.
Upon all our wings we support the sky.
Trust us to descend and save your land,
And we will do all that we can.
But trust is the color of a Raptor’s shadow.
Trust is the color of promises hollow.
Trust is the color of a soul's last breath.
Trust is the color of death.
All of the gangers had joined in, even Craghoof, all with oddly solem looks. Knobs just stood there, quiet, not sure what to do other than wait. She couldn’t run off now, that’d just get Craghoof raising an alarm for her. Besides, something about the song drew her in. It was a slow, sad, almost painful tune.
Give us your trust, said the Lightbringer's kin,
for we cleanse the world of all of its sin.
Trust us to judge who deserves to live,
And question not what it is you give.
But trust is the sound of a rifle’s bark.
Trust is the sound of graves dug at dark.
Trust is the sound of a soul's last breath.
Trust is the sound of death.
A growing crowd of gangers from nearby fires had wandered over to join in the song, many of them taking long pulls from half filled bottles of alcohol, or popping needles and pills of whatever their particular poison was as the ghoul’s guitar carried its tune over the camp.
Give us your trust, said the NCR's call.
Our nation shall prosper, our enemies fall.
Trust us to restore fair Equestria strong.
And rid the Wasteland of all that's is wrong.
But trust is the scent of a burning town.
Trust the scent from a border closed down.
Trust is the scent of a soul's last breath.
Trust is the scent of death.
Knobs felt her ears flattening, her head drooping. She remembered, back when her parents still lived, the day the news had reached them that to the south a new nation had been born. The New Canterlot Republic. So much hope that things would change. Perhaps for some, but not for Skull City. Not when the NCR closed its border to any who sought refuge there.
Give us your trust said our very own Guild's.
The voice of the people whose hope they shall build.
Trust we not squander more than we deserve.
Now pay us our dues, all your life you shall serve.
Now trust is the touch of a gun to the throat.
Trust is the touch of the hang pony's rope.
Trust is the touch of a soul's last breath.
Trust is the touch of death.
Knobs grimaced, but hid it quickly. Many ponies might feel resentment towards the Guilds, but nopony could dispute their power, nor that without them, Skull City would’ve fallen into a state far worse than it was now. Sure, the rules could be harsh, but without those rules, they may as well just go Raider.
Give me your trust said your dear closest friend.
To protect your back, against Raiders ‘round the bend.
Trust me to see you through the Wasteland's pain.
For better or worse, 'till death's cold refrain.
But trust is the taste of a knife in your back.
Trust is the taste of this world's hard facts.
Trust is the taste of a soul's last breath.
Trust is the taste of death.
At that the song petered out and the ghoul put aside his guitar. A number of the gangers yelled and cheered, throwing empty bottles to smash against concrete. Craghoof chuckled, wiping at his eyes as he turned to Knobs, “Love that song.”
“Its... kind of depressing isn’t it?” Knobs asked, and the ganger shrugged.
“Hey, if you can’t sing about how shitty things are, what can you sing about?”
Knobs didn’t have an answer to that and simply followed Carghoof as he led her to one of the old rusted busses turned home. Inside was mostly empty, just a couple of ponies sleeping on floor mattresses on one end amid the clutter of ponies belongings littering the floor.
“Still find it weird you’re Bruise’s friend,” Craghoof said, “Mare never talks much about her time before joining up with us. Like talking to a wall, most the time. Heh, too bad, because I like tall mares, be the wide or skinny,” he gave Knobs a look like he was trying to make out with her using his eyes alone. He then let out that oddly warm laugh of his as he sat down on a pallet of carboard and piled up stained blankets Knobs could only assume was his. He patted the spot next to him and Knobs gingerly sat down.
“Now then,” he said, leaning in close to her and nibbling at her ear, “About that gratitude for letting you past the gate...?”
“Um, y-yeah. Thank you, that was quite nice of you,” she said, wondering if the nearby sleeping ponies were light sleepers or not. It was too bad, really. Knobs liked the ear nibbling, and he did have a nice laugh, but she just wasn’t that kind of mare. Why couldn’t she ever get hit on by somepony who understood the value of taking things slow? Somepony who was willing to maybe take her out to eat, or enjoy a home cooked meal of her own, and maybe actually get to know her some before wanting to jump right into the sack. Knobs was no prude, she just wanted a little romance. Not a lot to ask for, right?
Craghoof didn’t seem to really pay attention to her response, working his nibbling down her ear and onto her neck, one of his hooves slowly rubbing along her barrel, then down towards her flank. Knobs sighed. He was actually kind of good at this. Such a shame.
While Craghoof was occupied, Knobs slowly levitated out some of the medical bandages and the bottle of supposed alcohol. She unscrewed the cap and poured some of the liquid onto the bandage as Craghoof worked his way around to her front and pressed his lips to hers, not paying any kind of attention to anything besides the foreplay. Damn, he was even a decent kisser... if only he wasn’t an overeager, sleezy ganger.
Breaking off the kiss Knobs said, “Sorry for this. I wouldn’t mind a date sometime, but you’ll probably have to try and shoot me if you see me again.”
Craghoof looked confused, but only for a second before Knobs stuffed the sleeping potion covered bandaged over his muzzle, holding it there firmly with her magic. A brief but quiet struggle ensued, mostly with Knobs wrestling a weakening Craghoof to the pallet while the potion took effect. One of the sleeping ponies yawned awake for a moment, raising her head to look at Knobs and Craghoof. Knobs, on top of the now unconscious ganger, thought fast and started to fake kissing Craghoof’s chest while moving his hoof with her own over her back. She moaned to add to the illusion, and despite her horrible acting the mare who woke up seemed to believe the act as she gave Knobs a smirk and went back to sleep.
Knobs kept her up act on the knocked out Craghoof for another minute, just in case, before stopping and sitting up, heaving out a sigh, gathering her box with medical supplies and heading out of the bus. She wasn’t sure how long Craghoof would be out. The sleeping potion was supposed to be ingested, not just inhaled, so she didn’t think she’d have long. She’d had to purchase the potion just an hour ago from one of the local chem suppliers she knew, an old friend of her parents. Tincture hadn’t bothered asking Knobs what the potion was for. Knobs had figured it’d be useful, though she’d expected to have to sneak up on guards to use it, like in those spy comics from the old world her mother had collected; ¡La Pinkie!
Stepping off the bus she cast a quick glance around. None of the Hammer Crusher’s in the area were paying her any attention, at least for the moment. Trying her best to just trot at a casual pace and not draw attention to herself she headed towards the concrete building she suspected Crossfire was being kept in.
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Crossfire’s everything hurt. Once all pretense to chatting was done Spiked Heels had demonstrated rather thoroughly where her name came from. Nothing was broken. Spiked Heels had kept to her point that she wanted Crossfire intact enough to be worth selling, but that still left plenty of room for pain of the non-permanent injury variety. Crossfire felt like one giant pony shaped bruise. Which was odd considering she’d already met a giant pony named Bruise.
She had been moved to a different room, though in the same building. The hood was still on, but without anypony around watching her, she could finally get the thing off. The gangers knew unicorns couldn’t cast spells easily on things they couldn’t see, hence the hood. What they didn’t seem to realize was that unicorns could cast spells on what they could touch as easily as what they could see. Floating the hood off her head wasn’t hard and she could get a look around at where they’d stuck her. Apparently one of the building’s old restroom was now converted by the gang into a holding cell. A very messy, highly unpleasant smelling holding cell. Fluids stained the once white tile floor that Crossfire was in no mood to even try identifying.
Still better than sleeping out in the Wasteland. At least nothing will try to eat me in here. Maybe. I’m really hoping that’s just mold, and it hasn’t developed hunter/gatherer culture yet.
Crossfire tried to keep her mood up, but it wasn’t easy. With everything that had gone wrong since losing her squad she could feel the cracks around the edges of her calm. It’d been easier to ignore while she’d been moving, traveling across the Wasteland and focusing on survival. Sitting in this restroom without windows, a single heavy locked door, and a barely flickering lantern providing the only light, she had nothing to do except think. She was still thoroughly tied, but could scoot around if she worked at it. There wasn’t much in the room beside the toilet stalls and sinks. There was some loose debris but nothing heavy enough to be useable as a weapon. All she had was the rock she’d tucked away.
Damn how she wanted her rifle back. All she knew was that Knobs said somepony named Skinner had it. He better not have sold it!
Her first order of business was getting the ropes off. They were tied too tightly and effectively for her to just work them loose with telekinesis. Looking about she noticed one of the toilet’s top covers had fallen off and lay cracked on the ground. Floating over one of the pieces she examined the edge. Was it sharp enough to cut the ropes?
After about twenty minutes of trying, she discovered the answer to that question was a firm “E’nope”.
With Plan A foiled she moved on to figuring out what Plan B was. Her stomach proceeding to start grumbling, reminding her she had only the one meal at Knobs’ place for the past two days. Crossfire ignored the gnawing in her gut and began scooching around the confined restroom, looking for anything she could use to get the ropes off her legs.
As she did so her memories returned full force, reminding her firmly of how this had all started.
”Private Crossfire, blow the damn tunnel, now!”
Shell Casing’s voice was breaking with a high tone of panic. Crossfire remembered the Lieutenant’s voice like the clear sound of breaking glass. Just as clear as her own shaking hooves as they hovered over the detonator. The sound of her squadmates fighting the Ruins monster just inside the entrance; gunfire, screams, the beast’s unearthly roaring.
”Private, detonate the tunnel! That’s a direct order!”
Crossfire felt her teeth grind so hard she thought she could taste the tang of blood in her mouth as she rubbed at her right hoof with her left, mind summoning up the memory with painful clarity. She could all but feel the cool, simple metal of the detonator in her hoof, even now months after the event. Every tiny detail was clear in her mind, from the fuzzy noise over the radio of her squadmates screaming, the heavy snaps of their gunfire as they fought for their lives just inside the Ruins’ entrance, to the unnaturally warbling roars of the monster they fought.
And Shell Casing herself. Crossfire remembered looking up at the Lieutenant’s face, as the mare repeated the order to blow the entrance. Lieutenant Shell Casing, was only a few years older than Crossfire, a brown mare with wide green eyes and a pretty, short blonde mane. She’d gotten her commision on family ties, but had been pretty steady as platoon leader; fair, if a little too hard assed. But the squad had liked her. Crossfire had liked her
Shell Casing’s expression had become one of utter panic, however, now that matters had gone completely out of her control. The mission had gone by the numbers at first, the platoon systematically removing the Raiders, while Shell Casing kept the entrance guarded with Crossfire as the Lieutenant’s backup. It wasn’t cowardice to guard the entrance, it was the most dangerous task in such operations, one Shell Casing had insisted on doing herself. Dangerous because the point was to ensure that, if any Raiders who were outside their lair returned, it was the rear guard’s job to hold the entrance until the rest of the squads could regroup.
Then the creature had shown up. Crossfire had no idea what it was; she’d only gotten a half formed transmission from 1st squad’s radiopony, Wavelength, before he’d been ripped apart. Crossfire’s squad had been the last left alive in the Ruin after a fighting retreat which had finally simply turned into a dash for the entrance... but that had ended in fire. It was standard mission procedure to lace Ruin entrances with explosives in just the event anything appeared in the Ruins that was too dangerous to allow onto the surface. Yet at the same time taking Ruins was part of the Protectorate military directive, otherwise blasting the entrance to end the Raiders would’ve been their first move.
Shell Casing had panicked, but was following procedure in ordering Crossfire to destroy the entrance. It was a decision that would keep a dangerous monster from reaching the surface to terrorize the local farmsteads worse than the Raiders would. It had already killed most of the platoon, proving how deadly it was. Who knew how many Neighlesius ponies it would kill before the military could stop it? Or how many soldiers would die putting it down? Wasn’t the sacrifice of the three or four remaining survivors of Crossfire’s squad worth it to ensure such a monster didn’t get the chance to take even more lives?
All those questions had run through Crossfire’s mind in that instant of indecision, the detonator in her hooves, her whole body going cold and numb with shock from the inside out.
And damn her, she’d hit the switch. Strange. As much as she remembered the press of that button on her hoof, and the smell of the dry wind that had surrounded her; she couldn’t remember the explosion itself. She just remembered looking up and seeing the trail of dust, smoke, and fire that marked the collapsed pile of rocks that had once led into the Ruin. The place her squad had died. The place where she’d killed them with the touch of a button.
Afterwards was more a blur. Crossfire remembered the debriefing and following inquiry only in snippets and chunks. The near total loss of a platoon was no small matter and there had been an investigation into just how it had come about. While detonating the tunnel had been part of military SOP, it was also an ironclad rule to never leave behind one’s comrades unless there was absolutely no chance of rescue. Blowing the tunnel while any surviving platoon members had still had a chance of escape had been deemed an ‘act of cowardice’ by the military board. That was why, when pressed for why she had given the order to destroy the tunnel while members of her command were still inside, Shell Casing lied during the inquiry, claiming that Crossfire had panicked and detonated the explosives without orders, while Shell Casing had been insistent upon going into the Ruin to rescue the rest of the squad.
Blatant lie though it was, with no evidence to the contrary, the military board had believed her. Crossfire had suspected Shell Casing’s family ties had something to do with that. Regardless, Crossfire had been dishonorably discharged for cowardice and dereliction of duty.
The unfairness of it had been enraging. Crossfire had not been able bring herself to stay in Neighlesius after that, and had left before the ink on her discharge papers was dry. However, not before stealing her old rifle and uniform out of her former barracks. Wearing the uniform, carrying the rifle, it wasn’t for the sake of her military pride. No, she wanted to keep the rifle as a reminder of her squad, and to keep the uniform so she could try to bring some meaning back to wearing it . But she had no intention of returning home. She’d written one letter to her adoptive family’s farmstead to let them know that she was leaving, but not where, and had given it to a courier she felt she could still trust. Then that had been that, she’d headed east, past the Protectorate border, and into the Wasteland.
On reflection, she probably should’ve planned her course better than walking right into the Skull City territory. She hadn’t known any other direction to walk. Her military training gave her some knowledge of geography. North led to an expanse of thick, dead forest, unsettled save for mutated monsters and scattered pockets of cannibalistic tribal ponies, and beyond that, frozen irradiated snowfields. West beyond the Protectorate’s most heavily held borders was Raider territory of the worst kind, hundreds of miles of baked, blackened earth where the only living ponies were murderous warbands that only knew how to destroy each other. South was a huge desert, uncrossable save for having the right vehicle or being with a huge caravan, but beyond that was the NCR, one of the only fertile, safe countries in the world. And its border was closed tight to outsiders, with the rule enforced by the very weather itself, or so rumor held. That left going east, into inhabited land, but also dangerous. Skull City, Detrot, only a step up from anywhere else she could have gone.
She’d come this way in hopes she might find some way to do somepony some good. Hire her skills out as a guard maybe. Find a somewhat decent settlement to put down new roots in. Find ponies who wouldn’t care where she was from. Find a place where she could forget that her friends were dead. Seemed simple enough.
Now she’d be happy if she could just find a sharp rock!
Inching her way over to one of the metal toilet stall walls, she lit up her horn, using telekinesis to start trying to pry one of its edge panels up. Maybe that’d do the trick. The metal resisted for a minute, but soon pulled up in a little curl with a pointed tip. Crossfire began to work the ropes over that tip. She gave a small, ruthful grin as she felt some of the rope’s strands break.
“Yes, yes, yes, just a little more...”
The door clanked with the sound of a metal bar being removed and swung open with a loud grinding. From outside Crossfire could hear the sound of one of the ganger pony’s, probably a ghoul from the gruff, wet sounds of her voice, say “Don’t fuck around too long. You got ten minutes.”
Answering this was a melodious voice of a mare, “Of course, of course. Probably won’t even take me five.”
In sauntered an earth pony mare, her coat a faded granite gray, yet with a mane like a long wave of molten gold. Her eyes were angled, thin, and were of a color that reminded Crossfire of the cloud covered sky. The door closed behind the mare and she smiled at Crossfire, seemingly entirely at ease. She wore black leather barding that didn’t quite cover her flank, clearly showing a cutie mark of a line of musical notes. A single revolver, well maintained, with a dark wood finish on its mouth grip, was holstered on the mare’s chest.
“Hello there,” the mare said after the door was closed and giving Crossfire a searching look, “My name is Wellspring. Wellspring Whistles.”
The mare waited expectantly and Crossfire blinked at her, “What?”
“Ahem, this is the part where you tell me your name?” said Wellspring.
“Riiiight. Crossfire,” she replied while slowly still trying to work her ropes.
Wellspring’s smile deepened and she began to sit down, noticed the state of the floor with a purse of her lips, and seemed to content herself with standing.
“Crossfire, good, I like the name. Now then, you’re probably wondering why I’m here-”
“Not really.”
This made Wellspring make a small whinny of annoyance, though at the interruption or what Crossfire said was anypoy’s guess. Probably both. The gray mare took in an and let out a slow breath, “You’re going to make this difficult, aren’t you?”
“Maybe. You’re not with the gangers, so I’m guessing that means you’re with the Labor Guild they’re selling me to,” Crossfire said bitterly, already gauging if she could snatch the revolver with her telekinesis.
Wellspring’s cloud colored eyes went wide, “Labor Guild? Oh, oh good heavens no. Not at all! I’m with the Skull City Radio Guild.”
Crossfire found her eyebrow shooting up. “Radio Guild?”
Wellspring smiled pridefully, flashing white teeth. If anything more clearly showed the difference between Wellspring and any other pony Crossfire had met in this city, it was those pearly white teeth.
“Indeed. You see I work as a...” Wellspring waved her hoof in the air as if trying to shoo off a fly, “Freelancer. I find stories, information, rumors. By doing so I get paid a finders fee for said information, and even more if I compile it into a proper story to be broadcast.”
“Okay, what does this have to do with me?”
Wellspring’s smile widened, and she reached into a side pouch on her barding and pulled out a small arcano-tech device, a little box with a slot for a tape to be inserted, attached to a wire and mic, “Well, Miss Crossfire, my friend let me know she had a Protectorate soldier in custody, and I thought to myself; what a good opportunity to get an interview!”
Crossfire frowned suspiciously, “Friend? What friend?”
“Oh, Spiked Heels. She’s been a good source of rumor from this end of the Outskirts for years and her gang provide me escort while I’m outside the walls. Can’t very well walk around out here without some gang muscle, you see.”
“So you want me to just do your interview, after what your ‘friend’ did to me, and plans to do to me. You even realize she’s going to sell me to this Labor Guild!?” Crossfire felt ire rising in her, mostly at how casual this mare was acting around another pony who was clearly beaten and bloodied and going to be sold into slavery. Wellspring was acting like this was business as usual. In fact she was giving Crossfire a look that said that’s exactly what it was.
“I don’t particularly approve of the Labor Guild’s business methods, but honestly you’ll probably be safer there than just being a gang’s prisoner. Much as Spiked Heels is a reasonable sort for a gang leader, living conditions out here are deplorable. The Labor Guild takes care of its ponies, from what I understand. I suppose I can see what you mean, though. Your circumstances are probably not conducive to being all that chatty. Tell you what. Interview with me, and in exchange I’ll ask Spiked Heels about turning you over to me for the same price she’d sell you to the Labor Guild.”
“You’d do that?” Crossfire asked, perhaps a little loudly to cover the sound of more of her rope bindings snapping, “Why?”
“You’re a soldier, yes? If I purchase your freedom I admit it will be somewhat costly, however I can make good on that loss through any stories I get out of you. That, and I need a bodyguard,” Wellspring said, giving Crossfire a calculating look, “You see I seek my stories out in the Wasteland as well, but have to pay either the Security Guild or the Drifter Guild’s rather high fees for protection while doing so. Securing your freedom from Spiked Heels, let us say you agree to work as my escort for a year’s time. Not unreasonable. That should more than make up for what I’d pay for your freedom. Would this arrangement be agreeable to you?”
Crossfire let out a short, choking laugh, “Let’s see... spend a year guarding your flank in exchange for not getting sold into permanent slavery? Not the worst deal I’ve heard. Going to need my rifle though.”
“Rifle?” Wellspring asked with a pensive lilt to her tone.
“Sniper Shark XR, bolt-action .308 rifle with a two foot bayonet blade; standard issue for Neighlesius’ Bayonet Corps. Right now somepony named Skinner has it. You want me to be your bodyguard, you’ll want me to have that rifle. Trust me.”
The gray mare peered at her curiously from behind a fall of her painfully bright gold mane, “I’ll see what I can do about your stipulation, but I make no guarantees. Indeed, I suppose I can’t guarantee that Spiked Heels will sell me your freedom. I merely have confidence in my persuasive talents. Now, since we’ve used up half of my allotted time with you, shall we get to a quick basic interview?”
Crossfire could feel the ropes slicing, nearly enough to be able to break them. She was about to give Wellspring a nod, when she noticed a bit of dust falling down from the ceiling. Crossfire frowned, looking up, and Wellspring did the same. Dust from the dry, cracked ceiling panel was falling down as it shifted once, then indented inward. Crossfire realized that, solid as this bottom floor was, the second floor of this pre-war building was pretty decrepit looking, with black and brown rot from age seeping like spider-webs across the entire ceiling.
“You might want to step back-” Crossfire got halfway to saying before there was a groan and resounding crack of noise as the ceiling gave way in a cloudy shower of mould strewn plaster and wood. Wellspring gave a loud whinny of fright as a red and teal form landed on her in a graceful pile. There was a lot of coughing and groaning as Crossfire watched with a bemused look in her eyes, then Knobbly Knees raise her dust covered head and look about. The teal unicorn mare blinked dizziness from her eyes, then looked at Crossfire with a wide smile, ignoring the stunned Wellspring Whistles she was still sitting on.
“Hi Crossfire! I’m here to rescue you!”
Crossfire held up her now unbound forehooves and sighed, “Was doing that myself, but yeah, thanks. Knobs, could you do me a favor?”
“Uh-huh!”
“Duck.”
Knobs gave Crossfire a confused look for all of a second before the sound of the door banging open followed by a shout of “The fuck’s goin’ on in there!?” caused the mare to yip in fear and throw herself down, consequently smooshing Wellspring Whistles even more. Two Hammer Crusher Gangers tried to fit into the door at once, and Crossfire took her chance. She raised one foreleg, and with a burst of telekinesis sent the rock hidden up her sleeve shooting out like it’d been tossed from a sling. It cracked one ganger in the head, causing the mare to stagger back with her eyes rolling up into the back of her head.
“What’ the- tou bitch!” the other ganger snarled and started to draw out a pair of work hammers in a field of her own blue telekinesis. Crossfire worked her own horn fast, ripping Wellspring’s revolver out of its holster, much to an indignant “Hey!” from the gray mare.
The gang mare rushed in, seeing the revolver and threw one of her hammers at Crossfire. Crossfire ducked aside, the hammer bouncing off the toilet stall next to where her head had just been. With eyes narrow in concentration Crossfire aimed the revolver as best she could and let off a double-tap of snapshots. One went wide, but the other caught the ganger mare in the side of the throat, a spray of blood painting the wall as the ganger’s eyes went wide and she made a rough gurgling noise, slumping to the ground.
Knobs, shaking as per her usual, rolled off Wellspring and looked back between Crossfire and the downed gangers. The teal mare was breathing hard, and despite the way her legs shook she quickly scrambled over to the dying ganger. Crossfire stood and quickly began to unbind her hindlegs. Other gang ponies would be coming soon and she needed to get moving.
“What... what happened? Oh... my...” Wellspring Whistles looked dazed, shocked, eyes dilated as she stood and looked at the scene.
“Just a nice calm situation quickly spinning out of control,” said Crossfire dryly, “Sorry, but I doubt Spiked Heels will listen to your offer now. I’m running. I’d suggest you do the same, unless this gang decide to blame you for my escape. Knobs, stop messing around with that mare. She’s dead already. We got to go.”
“But... but... no, I can... save her...” Knobs said, tears welling in her eyes as she tried to get medical bandages out of a box she’d been carrying with her, trying to wrap the ganger mare’s profusely bleeding neck. The ganger was breathing still, albeit in light, short gasps, and the copious amount of blood soaking the tiled floor already was testament to the fact that Crossfire’s shot had torn an artery. Crossfire strode past Knobs, eyeing the room as she aimed the revolver around. There were a few distant shouts. The gangers were getting their shit together and coming.
“Knobs, we have to go. You can’t help her!”
“You shouldn't have... I didn’t mean for anypony to...” Knobs worked furiously to stem the flow of blood, hooves moving faster and faster to wrap the wound, “I should have bought a healing potion instead of that stupid sleeping potion! Why won’t the blood stop!?”
Crossfire watched only for a moment longer, feeling a stab of guilt she didn’t think she ought to. It was something that happened in a fight. Was she supposed to feel sorry for gangers that had no trouble beating her and selling her off? Damn it all! Knobs made her feel like she’d was in the wrong here!
Wellspring gingerly stepped out into the room beyond the restroom, which turned out to be a small one-time officer area where old cubicles had been converted into miniature workstations for reloading benches and tiny chem labs. There were two doors besides the one to the restroom, one of which had an old busted green ‘exit’ sign above it. Unfortunately that was the door where the sounds of shouting was coming from. Wellspring looked at Crossfire with wide eyes, gulping as she flicked her eyes towards the revolver.
“Despite my skill with words I do not fancy my chances of explaining myself to Spiked Heels given two of her own are now dead. She’ll want blood, and will not care whose. If you wish to flee, may I suggest following me to the east gate? I can get you into the city. In exchange for our previous mentioned arrangement.”
“Done. Rifle first. Knobs, you’re taking us to this Skinner’s place. Knobs!”
Knobs glanced up, then back at the ganger mare who had gone still. Knobs took in a shuddering breath and closed the deag gang pony’s eyes and stood, levitating her own rifle from where it was slung across her back, “Are you going to kill him?”
“Only if he gives me good reason to. I just want my gun back.”
“Speaking of which, may I have mine back?” asked Wellspring as she hoofed a particular rusted 9mm specimen of the SMG variety that the gang pony Crossfire had beaned with a rock had held, “I don’t fancy using this. I’m a wretched shot with automatics.”
Crossfire rolled her eyes and floated up the SMG while returning Wellspring her revolver. And just in time, as the ‘exit’ door was flung open and around half a dozen gangers ponies rushed in, all of them armed from muzzle to tail. The brief moment the gang ponies had to take to assess the situation was all Crossfire needed to let loose with a burst of fire from the SMG, spraying and praying as she hauled her flank towards the opposite door.
She didn’t know, and didn’t really care, if she hit any of the gangers. She was just laying down some suppressing fire. It wasn’t as effective as she would have liked, as soon the air around here was getting torn up by a veritable shower of gunfire. Her face was pelted with bits of debris being blown apart among the cubicles as she ducked down, galloping for the door. She heard Knobs yelping, the long legged mare right behind her. Wellspring was trotting along lower to the ground, not even bothering to fire back with her revolver.
Crossfire hit the door and didn’t slow down, rearing up and smacking it open with her forehooves while running the SMG dry behind her.
“Buck it!” she cursed, realizing she had no extra ammo, tucking the SMG close to her side as she ran through the door, a shotgun blast taking part of the doorframe out next to her. Wood shards cut at her neck as she scrambled through into a short hallway. She didn’t even pause to consider direction and just dashed down the right path.
“W-where are we... going...?” Knobs asked between huffing breaths.
“Anywhere! Just keep moving!” Crossfire shouted.
“There’s a back gate built into one of the busses,” said Wellspring, frowning as she turned her revolver on the door they were fleeing from and let off a shot to make a gang pony duck back who’d come through to draw a bead on them, “Spiked Heels uses it to move packages and ponies she doesn’t wish other gangs to take note of.”
“You know this how?” Crossfire asked as the hallway turned to the left and led to another door, this one opening out into a small garage. Tool benches lined one wall and there was a cobbled together buggy half assembled in the middle of the garage. Fortunately the aluminum garage door was already open.
“Spiked Heels is quite talkative between the sheets,” Wellspring said with a coy smile, then sighed, “I suppose there will be no more of that. You’d best be worth the trouble, Miss Crossfire. I’m losing a valuable and enjoyable partnership due to your actions.”
“I’ll keep you breathing. Can’t do anything about your pillow time though, my barn door doesn’t swing that way,” Crossfire replied as she made a run for the door. A gang stallion, his white coat stained with grease, emerged around the corner of the door, but he dropped almost before he could glance at them with a small bloom of blood appearing on his hindleg.
As they ran past him Crossfire gave Knobs a look. The teal unicorn cringed, her rifle still floating by her side, “Just a leg. He’ll be okay... I hope.”
Crossfire shook her head as they kept running. Now out in the open they had the benefit of being able to get up to a full gallop, but they were also clearly exposed. Fortunately it seemed most the gangers were gathered in the building or at least near the front of it, so there were few out here that even knew something was up.
“Which bus are we going for!?” Crossfire asked, while Wellspring took the lead.
“Follow me, its right this way!”
A trio of piled up busses broke up the chain link fence line ahead, one of them cut in half with its open end facing the inside of the base, a few gangers milling by it who were only now taking note of the ponies rushing them. From the way the gangers shuffled unsteadily and the prominent amount of booze bottles strewn on the ground it was clear they were all sloshed. Crossfire grinned and threw the empty SMG as one of the gang mares raised a single-barrel shotgun with copious amounts of duct tape keeping it together. The SMG bounced off the mare’s skull and she staggered back, losing her grip on her shotgun just enough for Crossfire to snag it with her magic and turn it on the stallion right her and pull the trigger. A single blast sent the other ganger sprawling to the ground, his dirty metal barding getting a chunk ripped off from the buckshot, but taking enough of the punishment to save its owner’s life.
By now the other two gangers had gotten their senses together enough to start shooting, a bullet ripping past Crossfire’s ear. The loud booming of Wellspring’s revolver was followed by a shower of sparks above one of the ganger’s heads, causing the ragged looking pink mare to duck into the bus. The other standing ganger went down with his leg taking one of Knobs bullets, the teal mare whinnying a quick “Sorry” as they rushed into the bus.
The pink ganger mare who’d ducked inside had pulled a large machete spotted with rust and lunged at Crossfire. She threw herself to the side but felt the blade rip through her light leather shirt and score deeply across her shoulder. Crossfire bit back a scream, her body already a mass of pain from her earlier beating, and rolled on the ground, bucking out at the ganger’s legs, tripping the pink mare.
As the ganger tried to scramble to her hooves Wellspring reversed her revolver and pistol whipped the ganger across the face, knocking the mare cold. Wellspring sighed at the blood on the revolver's mouth grip, “I think I hit her too hard.”
A echoing series of heavy gunshots split the air from above and Wellspring let out a gasp and crumbled to the ground, a bloody hole in her left hindleg. Crossfire cursed and quickly pulled the gray mare deeper into the bus, leaving a bloody trailing behind as Knobs also scrambled inside. Crossfire caught a brief glimpse of a griffin flying by, a large machine gun grasped in her talons.
“That’s just bucking great,” muttered Crossfire as she dragged the whimpering Wellspring towards the front of the bus, Knobs crawling next to her.
More machine gun fire roared from above, the bus behind them getting torn up by a shower of heavy rounds. Wellspring, despite her wound, did her best to pull as much of her own weight as she could as Crossfire helped her to the front of the bus, speaking through clenched teeth.
“Door will be locked... just buy me a few seconds.”
Moving Wellspring up to the bus’ front door, which was chained shut with a heavy padlock, Crossfire began to levitate bus chairs into a pile in front of them. It would do next to nothing against the heavy machine gun, but it would slow down and provide cover against any gangers that got to the back of the bus. Knobs crawled up next to Wellspring and got out the last of her medical bandages, quickly wrapping the gray mare’s leg while Wellspring got out, of all things, a bobby pin and screwdriver that she expertly manipulated with her mouth and hooves on the padlock.
When the machine gun fire slacked Crossfire thought for a moment that they’d lucked out and the weapon had jammed. Soon, though, a familiar voice spoke up, loud and clear.
“Knobs! If you’re in there, I’m giving you this one chance to come out!” shouted Bruise, “I don’t know what in Tartarus is going on here, but Lez told me you’re in there. Surrender, and I promise you I’ll get you out safe. Please Knobs, before its too late for me to-”
“Enough Bruise,” snarled the voice of Spiked Heels, “It is too late. I tolerate none who kill my own! No matter who they are! Blow it!”
Blow it? Crossfire felt her eyes widen and her ears fall flat against her head as she heard stems being pulled from the tops of grenades.
“Wellspring, we want that door open now!”
The gray mare gulped, face a frozen mask of concentration as she worked her bobby pin and screwdriver with quick, delicate movements. Knobs tried to look around cover, perhaps planning to use her horn to try and deflect the incoming grenades, but a barrage of gunfire forced her to duck back.
Crossfire cursed as she heard the metallic rolling of the grenades into the bus. Their meager cover would do nothing for them. Her heart nearly leapt from her chest when she heard the click of the padlock opening and turned around, savagely ripping the bus door open with her magic and all but throwing Knobs and Wellspring out first before leaping through the exit herself.
She only had a few seconds to scramble alongside Knobs and Wellspring down the narrow alley the bus led to before her hearing went dead from the sound of multiple explosions right behind her, bathing her back in shrapnel, fire, and searing pain.
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Guess what? I am first again. First of us to read this, Vex not counting because he wrote it, and first to comment on it as well!
2995694
That was a quick decision on the signal boosting....
A story about Crossfire now!?
You don't cease to please 
I knew i knew that song!
2995667
It is a good pic. Never can thank you enough for it.
2997590
Couldn't resist an opportunity to flesh out parts of her background that otherwise would've just stayed in my mind.
2997646
Don't know, have to look up where I put that again to remind myself what the context was.
2999669
Its a good one, and seemed to fit the Wasteland so well.
3001672
I hope I can keep it up.
Thank you.
From the number of voiced she’d heard
a unnatural cry
Her mane was a dark blue
you bitches were stopped dead by
ana bunch of volunteer gangersof all that's is wrong
soul's last breath X5
Its... kind of depressing
because I like tall mares, be the wide or skinny
then Knobbly Knees raise her dust covered head
With eyes narrow in concentration Crossfire aimed the revolver
unless this gang decide to blame you for my escape
and closed the deag gang pony’s eyes and stood
its right this way
knocking the mare cold
A echoing series of heavy gunshots
1. Voices.
)
2. An.
3. Her mane was a dark blue colour (personal preference yet again)
4. Extra An.
5. That. (Because that's is an abreviation of that is
6. Souls. (personal preference again)
7. It's.
8. They.
9. Raised.
10. Narrowed.
11. Decides.
12. Dead.
13. It's.
14. Knocking the mare out cold (this is just my personal preference)
15. An.
So then... shall we assume the gangers think they're dead and don't bother to check for bodies because they assume they were blown to black smoldering chunks anyways? Nope? Possibly not anyways. Onward to kill Skinner!
redstaplerchronicles.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/09/principal%20skinner.jpg
Wait, wrong Skinner...