Chapter 10: Home Movies
"Home Movies"
Some memories are better off forgotten.
If you wanted anything, you had to pay for it, that was just how it worked in this world now. Usually the payment was pain and loss, I paid that in spades, usually for a small little pot. Fold or go broke.
What was I paying for this time? How does that saying go? Oh, that’s right, ‘no good deed goes unpunished’. That’s how we got into this whole mess, isn’t it old girl? We didn’t share, nor care about anypony else but our own. It should have stayed that way. My gang would still have their lives and my home wouldn't be a burning crater. Maybe things would be different now if I hadn’t tried to play hero.
Should have folded, could have run, would have made it...
It was a bad investment, and it was never going to pay out. Not now, not ever. I missed out on the chance for my score. Hindsight’s 20/20 and I do have a pretty nice ass, so I find myself looking back a lot. It didn’t do me any good.
There was plenty to think about when your life flashes before your eyes, an eternity in a single blink or the quiver of a quim. Nothing special to see, just the same old shit. The last thing I wanted to think about before I died was the “Dick-Beef Rangers” but that’s what I thought about.
They said I’d be buried in this armor, it would be the highest honor, armor was usually recycled for the next generation of rangers. Some damn honor that would be, I hated that job, and the life grafted to it.
The pay sucked. The company sucked. The sex was bland. This sucked too. Actually, some of the sex was pretty alright, I got to nail this sexy dyke of a mare pegasus, she was spicy, a real dynamite gal. I was feeling a bit randy thinking about it, a welcome experience compared to the concussive blast blowing out my eardrums. The seat of my armor was getting soaked on the inside, whether it was my arousal or me dumping my bladder in armor-soiling terror briefly reminded me of my most embarrassing secret--That I used to wet the bed as a filly. I’d take that personal knowledge to my shallow, unmarked grave.
The explosion floored me, skidding me a good twenty feet across cracked concrete, kicking up a shower of sparks to the cry of twisting metal. My armor was scorched black, the self repair was working at a snail’s pace to patch the damage, but it didn’t have the materials to do it. The heavily battered compartment that held scrap metal was flattened against my side. Visual systems seized, blinding me to everything except for my life flashing before my eyes.
I sailed into a storefront that collapsed around me, submerging me in a bath of ancient stucco and paint chip covered plaster. A chalky pile of moss eaten ceiling tiles and garbage bags softened my fall. A small family of radroaches became paste on my armor. I landed in the store everyone dumped their trash before it got carted outside. Trash day was Wednesday. Lucky me.
My helmet slid off my head, greased by my sweat--I felt that distinct, uncomfortable soreness over my temples, where two metal pieces in my helmet always rubbed raw. A sickness wriggled in the pit of my stomach, and to spite myself I drew in a sharp intake of hot, smoke polluted air before I colored the ground with my acidic feelings. Carrots? When the fuck did I eat carrots?
A few curious bugs roused up from the nearby bales of trash. Some flocked to my spew and began ‘cleaning’ the mess. The sight made me vomit again, right on top of them. They didn’t care, I was just another overflowing trash can.
Tremors pulsed through me, making my sore insides squirm. My armor was busted, there was no auto-injector working to numb my pain with pre-loaded Med-X. I hurt and felt queasy, shaking to the very tips of my hooves. My matted mohawk, heavy with sweat and diluted grease became an irritation to my eyes.
“Fucking...Ow.” I grumbled, unable to do more than sit on my metal clad ass, I rubbed my temple in slow circles. I couldn’t even hear myself, just that piercing squeal associated with shell shock.
One of the bugs paused in their feasting to give me a sordid glance. I grunted, “The fuck you lookin’ at? Eat your carrots. They’re good for yah.” The bug’s antenna flicked in my direction before it continued eating those mushy orange contents of my stomach.
It was hard to see, it was hard to think, it was hard to stand, even in motor-assisted power armor. I shook my head, scattering sweat. All my limbs were attached, I still hated everything about tonight, but one thing was oddly missing.
“Where is that idiot?” I demanded nopony in particular, “Staplecock? Staplecock, where are yah?!”
I looked around, the swinging pulse in my head thudding into my skull as I subjected myself to whiplash. I dug into the trash pile, threatened a few radroaches, and came up empty. He was nowhere around. Oh...That’s right, he had been in the fountain square. The same fountain square that was now a smoking crater.
Great. I’d be pissed at him if he wasn’t fucking dead! He got us into this mess, then he left me in it by getting himself killed. But he did save my ass, again. Then, when he needed me, I couldn’t do shit to save him. That double-dead douche, making me feel guilty even from beyond the grave!
In all my twenty-nine years I'd never met someone quite like him, for one, he was an abomination, something we all hated, a Deadmare. He looked like them, like all of them--white pelt, blue eyes, and red mane. The mass produced ones, the most common of them all shared those same features. No one really knew why they were all the same, but there was a theory that they were all spawned from Hades, who was some giant demon bug spawn of some sort from a distant planet. I personally liked the story of how they were all BDSM sex factory workers that were cursed by Discord for using his magic soda water as sex jelly.
He was probably clueless about all of that. I had no idea why I had tried to protect him from discovering that for himself, I could care less either way. Now it didn’t matter. Nothing really mattered.
Every idiot has their purpose, as I always say. He had proven plenty useful, shame he had to be a bleeding heart. He was an atypical male, a rare gullible, refined type of idiot that must have only been able to thrive in the peacetime before the war.
He wasn’t special, he was just defective. Now he was dead.
I tried to see it like he did, which is why I came with him, hoping to be some big damn hero. I should have listened to my gut and looked after me, myself, and I.
Fuck being a hero, it doesn’t pay to do anything for free for someone you don’t even know. So why did he do it?
I hated him.
Now all that was left was to pick up the damn pieces again and go someplace else. Get out of here, probably take the kids back to Greenvale Heights, tell em’ that Steelgraft’s dead. That The Big Top Blok fell. Those Striders that fled could be anywhere, so I could still be rightly fucked. Not like today could be much worse.
I might as well check that crater, I owed dick-butt that much, at least. Maybe I could peel some bit of him off the ground for a memorial in a tupper-mare box. Shambling step after shambling step, I ignored the pain, grit my teeth, leaving empty shells of my twisted armor.
Only my chest piece remained by the time I was peering over the twisted railing, wondering what to give as a eulogy. Cooling water rained down on me, feeling pleasant on my face. I took a deep breath, trying to wrangle my conflicting emotions. I had to say something nice, just once, just say something nice.
“Why did you have to die for nothing?” I started, talking to myself. No one else was around, unless you counted some of the horribly disfigured corpses in the crater. I wondered which one was Steelgraft. I was off to a bad start.
I bit my tongue, my nostrils flared and filled with smoke, I drew a breath and failed to swallow my spite, my lips curled over my teeth in disgust. “You idiot! You stupid idiot! Why, why, why the fuck did you care?! Why did you keep helping me? Why did you keep me indebted to you?! How could a piece of hardware and rotten meat pretend to care about anything?! You were just a defective piece of crap! Captain, Steelgraft, Whoever the fuck you really were, this is all your fault!”
My chest heaved, I choked, gagging and belching between gasps for air. I felt worse instead of better. The air was clear of my anger, but smoke still billowed heavily from the open casket of the once lively mall square. Dead, all dead. There would never be laughter here again.
That’s all there was to say, it was over before it ever really began. Typical. Unfastening the last of my armor, I planned to throw it off into the macabre fountain only to capture a new, wholly unwelcome surprise.
With a thud, a beast covered in bloody, muchy leavings landed before me--It must have barely survived, it was unrecognizable, covered in filth and burnt gore. I belted the beast in the head firmly with my chest piece with a fully powered toss of my telekinetic magic, it took the last of my focus, and a blood vessel in my nose burst, spewing blood all over my target like some pseudo-defense mechanism.
THWOCK!
The creature stumbled from the braining, sloughing off a coating of the caked on pony puree. I dove, taking the beast down. I knew a few more blows to the head might finish it off, and the nearest cinderblock was over my head in both my hooves.
“Just fucking die, you stupid freak!” I growled and slammed it down, the beast raising both it’s hands in defensive reflex, two sets of glowing eyes and jagged grins looking up from the muck.
“Gah, come on, Gangrene! You should be happy I’m still alive!” Came the whining, yet somehow still calmly irritating voice of my formerly deceased companion. He moved his hands, shifting away the crumbled fragments of the cinder block I had just crushed against him.
Staring, that’s what I did. It was all I could do, with blood running thickly from my nose and down onto his face. My mind comprehended that he was alive, but my emotions were conflicted, even more so. Apathetically, I slid off of him and let him pick himself up.
“So, you’re still alive.” I said, wondering how much of my eulogy to him he might have heard. “I guess luck’s on your side...” I pulled out a thin cigarette from my supply pouch and settled it in the crevice of my lips.
“I’m pretty sure luck’s my dump stat.” He replied, shaking himself out like some kind of mutt.
The flung viscera ruined my fag, the falling water had already drenched it, but I just wanted to blame Steelgraft. I tried to light it anyway before I threw it away in vicious disgust. “Fuck.” I added, poignantly.
“So, you’re not even the least bit curious on how I survived that?” He said expectantly. What did he expect, a medal? Maybe he expected a thank-you for saving my ass again.
I didn’t give it to him. “Oh, no, I ain’t the least bit reflective on your miraculous rebirth crawling from some floppy fat cunt. I’ve got loads of more important questions on my mind.” I sucked in air through my teeth, “Like where the fuck the cutlery crew went, how many there were, oh, and also, where I can get a smoke because that was my last one!”
He shrunk away, gazing at the back of his freaky prosthetics, “Yeah, uh, sorry about that.” Sorry was never going to be enough, he owed me for all this shit. The dolt turned around, looking at the ruins of the mall square thoughtlessly for a brief moment, going still and silent. Broken, again, this time it was only a few seconds, a stutter of function. “There were a hundred and fourteen individual IDs.” He stated firmly. “Seventy are still online.”
“Seventy? Oh, sweet fuck...Mind telling me how you know that?” That was a fucking lot, the explosion and Steelgraft’s meager fighting skills had taken out a decent chunk, but the lion’s figurative share was still out there, prancing around gayly to the music of screams like drugged up psycho ravers covered in deadly glow sticks.
“I don’t know.” He said, flicking the last of the crud off of him, and then using the falling water to get clean. He was looking better now, and I could have sworn I saw him licking my blood off his own face. “I just know.”
That was good enough for me, probing any deeper into the mystery that was the Deadmare would just lead to more sleepless nights of peppering my gash to a lewdy mag with a rifle close to my side. “Oh, the mysteries of the universe are boundless as they are fucked. Any idea where they went, Defective Detective?”
My insult didn’t bother him, either he was the most patient stallion I'd ever met or he didn’t mind me taunting him. Either way, he was an idiot and all of this was somehow his fault. It had to be, somehow. He kicked a rock into the chasm, his ears cresting back against his skull. “They’re heading for the movie theatre.”
Several tons compressed my chest, anvils of woe came crashing down upon my shoulders and a renewed throbbing in my forehead threatened another rupture, this time from my other nostril. My blood felt like ice cold barbed wire, forced through my veins by a heart that raced as if I was in a derby.
“What?!” I choked, “That’s where everyone is holed up! That’s the panic shelter! It’s fortified!” Oh goddesses above and daemons below, every rational thought screamed at me that no place was safe and no fortification stood up to the Deadmare long. They were already dead, all of them. Nothing we could do would save them now.
It felt horrible, but I was already thinking of running away, to save myself the trouble. The front gate had scaffolding I could climb, if I was careful enough, getting over the electrified gate by jumping off the guard station was possible. I formulated this plan, tracing my eyes along the uneven cobblestone tiles in the direction of the front gate around the smoking crater.
“Come on.” I ordered gruffly, stumbling to my goal, my own salvation. When I heard Steelgraft’s blatant hoof steps get further away, I looked over to see him walking the opposite direction.
“Where the hell are you going?” I demanded. A single plume of smoke curled between us, the area now drenched like it’d been raining for hours.
“I could ask you the same question,” He spoke with a calm tone, I felt like he was condemning my choice.
“They’re all dead! How long has it been? Three, four minutes? They’re all dead! Completely, irrevocably integrated into Hades’ bosom!” I yelled, spitting venomously.
“I won’t know until I check.” Came a simple minded response.
“You mean like this time?!” I pointed at the crater with a hoof, grunting as I stumbled. “Look, fucking look! You’d rather rush into another potential trap to save some folk you know shit all and die instead of foldin’ tah live another day?”
The crater received only the faintest of glances from the half brainless meat machine before he shrugged, turning around. “Yeah, I guess.” He said before he began to trot off, to leave me behind.
I winced, my lips curling in rage. The fact that I needed that dolt right now sickened me more deeply than anything else, I was too banged up to survive a night outside without shelter, and I couldn’t stay here. “No! Steelgraft, I need you with me! I’m fucked up, those things will eat me alive out there!” Was I begging? I was actually begging, wasn’t I? Maybe I should just prostrate myself before him and call him highness, it made me feel sick to ask a stallion for help.
He stopped. “Maybe you’d like to come with me?”
“Fuck no,” was what I wanted to say, but I found saying that phrase at this moment impossible. My lips mashed against themselves, working against my efforts to speak. I looked like an idiot, stuttering and mumbling to myself in the rain. The stallion grew further away.
“Why the fuck do you care?! You hardly know them!” I shouted, my ability to speak returning with a surge of anger I felt at the stupid git.
He didn’t stop this time, his response came back to me, faint but firm. “You know them, why don’t you care?”
“I really hope I live to regret this.” I panted, limping along Steelgraft as we kept up a brisk pace along the beaten path. We left a blur of shops and mangled, nailed up corpses behind us. It just occured to me, while stumbling along, that many of the corpses nailed up were pointing a particular direction, like signs.
More corpses were nailed up along the way, a dense forest of cadavers. Some were picked clean, some were chopped up. The ground was littered in cuts and scrapes. The Striders followed these bodies like markers. The Baker Barbarians were the pied pipers of the ever-hungering dead, leading them straight to the highest concentration of resistance. The only place they themselves couldn’t take, where everyone had been told to go because it was safe. Well, it was supposed to be safe.
“I’m just glad you came along, it’d be a dull FAP without you.” Steelgraft joked facetiously. He couldn’t take a single thing seriously.
“What?! I ain’t rubbing one out with you! Even if we’re gonna die, even if you were the last nice ass in Equestria, never!” I spat in response, which made him laugh.
“No, it stands for ‘Field Action Plan’.” He informed me.
“That’s the dumbest fuckin' acronymn I’ve ever heard!” I huffed, breathing in ragged, uneven pants. My mohawk flopped into my eyes during our sprint and I had to constantly shake my head to clear my eyes.
“See, Headcase? I’m not the only one who thinks it’s stupid!” Steelgraft muttered, giving a snort.
“...Who’re you even talking to?” I asked, already at the conclusion that he was seriously whacked in the head.
“I’m talking to Doctor Headcase.” Steelgraft replied. “You going to be okay? You’re starting to fall behind.”
I was falling behind, he was at least a yard or two ahead, when previously I had been in the lead even with my injured leg. The lumbering meat sack wasn’t as fast as me, but my endurance was finite. The competitive streak I had, while not as strong as Keena’s, was more than strong enough to spur me on a while longer, overtaking Steelgraft in seconds.
“You’re a headcase!” I smartly replied, extending my tongue at him and blowing a long string of ‘pbbtttttt’. I have him a nice view of my ass to stare at while we made great time for the Theatre. As much as I wanted to run away and survive, another part of me foolishly prayed that everyone would be alright.
We only had a little bit further, at the most it was a short eighth of a mile to get to the theatre from the square. The large, beaten structure loomed over all the other shops in the distance, with a large sign proclaiming ‘Cinemane Cinema’ hanging askew. The ‘C’ in Cinema was hanging only by a single rivet, and it swung back and forth. That was Bitch Fits’ favorite place to perch, the bitch of a pegasus could always be spotted there on rowdy nights, she wasn’t there now, for obvious reasons.
The faster pace was short lived, snuffed by my desperate need for rest. My lungs burned for air, my empty stomach growled, and my injured leg trembling with every forced step. My ass collided with Steelgraft’s face, making him sigh in disapproval. He dropped his head and came up under me, tossing my onto his back like a fat sack of potatoes. I grunted, the wind leaving my lungs and coming back in an inward curse.
“What thah buck fuck’re you doin?!” I hissed, forced to wrap my forehooves around his neck to avoid slipping off. I liked to imagine that I was strangling him, squeezing the life from him for adding this discomfort to me, especially when his short, bristled tail was ground against my sensitive feminine qualities.
“Wh--Hek...” He tried to speak, but my grip was blocking air from leaving his throat. It wasn’t like he’d suffocate, so I kept him quiet by squeezing harder. His bomb collar scraped against my fur, digging in. Ideas of tightening the collar so he couldn’t speak crossed my mind. Twice. No, at least three times!
Steelgraft was a ride smooth and pleasant as a sandpaper dildo. The ignoble steed, the pale horse, I was literally riding on an avatar of death. I held on tight, eyes shut tightly, yelling at him for every bump or jump he made. He responded with gurgled half words, which was a far cry from complete silence.
I opened my eyes, watching the shops rush by, the air in my face cool against my cold sweat. I occasionally saw a Left-Over, a remaining Baker Barbarian eating a charred, cooked corpse nailed up, but that was infrequent. Steelgraft bowled one over before he even saw us thundering down the road. I snatched the Bolter from the trampled corpse in my weak TK field. Swag. Doing so forced me to loosen my grip, enough so that regrettably I’d have to listen to Steelgraft talk again.
“Damn, Gangrene, I thought you were used to riding bareback.” A joke, the first thing he said was a joke about me being a whore?
His comedy was rewarded with some slapstick of my own design, I cracked him soundly on the back of the head with my newly acquired Bolter. “Ha-ha, you split my sides. I haven’t ridden on another pony’s back since I was a little filly!”
“Ooomph!” He grunted, his stride wobbling before he corrected it, despite the rather small welt he earned, he laughed, “Wow, got started early on that career path?”
I delivered another correction with a firm crack before I tugged his mane with my teeth. I regretted that, oily, sick, and musty--his mane hadn’t been washed in ages! I licked the grit from my teeth and spit. “Yeah, cuz I’d totally fuck my dad! Moron.”
“You know I can’t feel that, right? It’s just annoying.”
“Oh, then I guess I can do it harder, maybe you’ll learn to not be so stupid!” I growled.
“That’s just beating a dead horse.” He said smugly.
“I wish you had an off switch...” I muttered.
The rest of the ride, while unpleasant, was quiet. Steelgraft focused on the final stretch, cutting around a corner to lead us into the courtyard just before the theatre. The ticket booths were barren, remains of Baker Barbarians were strewn about, and there was a barricade in front of the long sets of doors.
The same movies were being advertised as they had been since I had rented a place in this dump. ‘Trony’, ‘The Hayn’gover Pt. 3’, ‘Captain Equestria’, and ‘Transformares 3: The Darkside of Nightmare Moon’. I’ve never seen any of those movies intact, the projectors were mostly trashed, and the last one that barely worked was used sparingly for fear it’d finally break and many of the old film reels were aged and decayed. All the film reels were spliced together, blending them into a jarring, incoherent mess.Still, they were good, even when the plot was untranslatable and random. Only here could a romance scene in a sci-fi setting followed by a pie tin showdown in a spaghetti western find common ground.
I had many good memories here, with the kids and my gang. Sneaking in radigator jerky under the watchful eyes of Misfit guards that gouged for caps at the concession stand, and even that one time I snuck up to the VIP seating and gave the saucy pegasus mare, Bitch Fit a firm tongue lashing twix her hooves.
Those memories, while pleasant, were ill suited to prepare me for the worst yet to come. I wasn’t going to making any happy memories here, I knew that. This was a trap, it had to be. Dealt a trash set of cards to win a priceless pot, this joker had better become an ace.
The fastest way inside was over the barricade and into the building. We hadn’t heard any fighting yet, which was either really good or really really really bad.
Click--The sound, quiet and ominous alone, but in a group, synchronized at once in a rehearsed fashion was a terrifying break in sanity.
Guns--About one-hundred all leveled in our general direction. It was the third highest volume of firepower that had ever been pointed at me, the highest amount was the time I left the Steel Rangers. The second most barrels ever to be pointed in my direction was on a saucy night at Donuts Extreme during bachelor night. So many sausages, all attached to morons.
Their angry gazes said, “Fuck you, Gangrene, and the horse you rode in on!”
I just imagined all the guns were cocks, and all the angry faces suddenly were comical. The gazes that said “Fuck you,” orchestrated a different definition to me, one that involved pounding my territories with suppressive fire. The best part was the mares, who for some reason had bigger guns than the stallions. Heh, futanari...
All the armed critters here were on edge, they all heard the eruptions and felt the shocks of the building shaking from that pyrotechnics show. I’d shoot most anything that came in through the front door sideways if I was them.
“Woah, woah, hold your fun guns!” I urged them as I slid off the back of my mildly stunned, stupid steed. “I’m on your side!”
The guns shifted off me and found a home with their crosshairs on Steelgraft. Somepony in the collection had a laser site, one single red dot settled right on his nose like a deadly little bee.
“Wait, I’m with her!” Steelgraft said while slipping behind me, a plank hiding behind a toothpick. “Come on, Gangrene, tell them!”
The Misfits, shop owners, and various other armed civilians were known for this brand of hospitality. Negotiating while kissing a barrel was common place for newcomers, especially ghouls. Poor Steelgraft was worse than a ghoul--He was something most people feared, avoided, or outright hated on the best of days.
“My faithful steed’s collared, he can’t hurt a non-hostile without his head touching the ceiling.” I reminded those present, sidestepping and tugging on the collar about the white stallions neck with a flicker of my horn’s weak magic. “Yah kin open that can of worms, I promise he’ll make you eat every wiggly woe inside.”
Most guns stayed leveled, centered on the bomb laden freak of nature. A rather boisterous merchant bellowed from the back as he stepped to the front.
“Hey, calm friends, I know this buck! He cannot even break clipboard!” The rotund male wore an armor of leather with clipboards fastened to it. Indigo, the owner of Indigo’s Indestructibles. That guy liked everybody, it wasn’t a stretch he’d take a shining to an enslaved toaster.
“Oh, look! Indigo’s alive!” Steelgraft shouted, waving at the fat stallion who waved back with greater enthusiasm than could ever be warranted.
The tense atmosphere cooled a bit, and the ponies backed off, moving to the concession stand or mingling near the restrooms. They muttered amongst themselves. The line at the concession stand was refilled, ponies were waiting for their chance at some rations, medical or otherwise. Red ropes on clips strung out between small based pillars separated the lines. The beige wallpaper was cracked and peeling, with movie posters in cases advertizing movies that would never be seen. It was the same as it’d always been, I had never seen it so packed before.
Wall to wall sweaty, worn bodies! The carpet, while red, had never had such a fresh or widely spread coating of new red. Many of the folk waiting in line were injured, in various stages of exhaustion, and burns of varying degree. Only one of the registers at the concession stand was open, handling one citizen at a time.
“Thanks for covering for me.” Steelgraft chuckled, “I felt a little on the spot there.”
“Don’t mention it.” I responded.
“No, I really owe you one.” He pushed, tugging at his explosive collar.
“Maybe you’ll let me tighten that collar so you can’t talk anymore?” I teased, “Then put that mouth to the only thing it’d be good for.” I batted my tail at his snout and focused my eyes over the lobby. “For now, we need to find Bitch Fit and tell her the Striders are coming. No idea why they’re not here now, but lets not punch a gift horse on the mouth.”
“But if I can’t talk, I can’t tell you how pretty you are anymore.” He chimed with that usual flippant tone. I was wearing a big grin at that, too. Every mare is guilty of loving compliments, I was no exception. If he kept buttering me up, I might warm up to him a little more...And by warm up I meant ride his face like a saddled bronco.
“I think they’re cloaked somewhere outside, waiting for us to leave.” He theorized succinctly.
“You’re prolly right, coming in here to this fire power through a choke point? They’re monsters, but not mindless. They’ll gank us the second we make a move out of a ‘safe’ zone...Or find another way in.” I grit my teeth, thinking of all the stories I’ve heard about sieges waged by the legion of Hades Eternal.
The stories were always the same; a single Deadmare arrives, sometimes it’d kill someone, sometimes it just left. Shortly after, a horde would appear, an all out extermination would follow, and not a single body would remain. There were ghost stories that involved survivors moving to a new settlement and making home there only to be killed by a Deadmare that looked like a relative or loved one that died during the siege of the previous settlement. The moral of the story? There are no survivors. Ever.
While grim, that was the reason why Steelgraft was so hated--neigh, barely tolerated. The only thing keeping him from being attacked was the blinking light on his collar telling everyone he was hacked--A repurposed tool, one under control. Selling him under contract would have been a golden ticket out of this dump, I missed out once already. After his three day holiday was over the collar would come off, then I’d be free to sell him under contract for big caps.
Once I was rich, it was the high life for me. One of those fancy bottles of apple cider I’ve heard so much about, a mare on one hoof, and a stallion on the other. I’d go to Las Pegas, far away from here. Open a home for the wayward youth, my own clinic right on the strip. Give the kids a better life. I’d officially be the best mom ever after giving them all a single beer and teaching them how to play blackjack.
That was a dream that helped me through a lot of hard nights. Las Pegas had to be better than here, they didn’t have Deadmare or Hades, no Deadzone or Warlords.
Meanwhile, in this little place called reality, we were plot deep in road apples.
“What does she look like?” He asked, briefly standing on his hind hooves to get a whole two heads taller. He could see over everyone except the three odd minotaurs standing in line.
I ran off a quick description of her, including some tasty tid-bits that were somewhat relevant for my interests. “She’s a Pegasus, Reddish-Orange, tons of scars. Mangy, hay colored mane, has a single forelock braid and a bird-skull at the end of it. Crazy look in the eye, gives great oral.”
“I think I see her.” He squinted his eye. “Behind the concession stand.” He fell onto all fours with an audible thud, navigating through the sparse crowd. They opened up before us like a zipper, all keeping clear of the monster I trailed behind. Like I said, every idiot has their uses, and Steelgraft was a social repellant.
His obvious nature had a doppler effect, repelling most while attracting a different demographic of issue laden morons.
The sound of metal hooves thundering over the moth eaten red carpet distracted my screening of the crowds for Bitch Fit. The Steel Rangers had stuck around. I had expected them to leave the moment it got too hot, seeing as most were prudes with both sex and combat. Without my armor on, they’d recognize me as the mare from the checkpoint and foil my carefully spun web of lies!
Slinking close to Steelgraft’s side, I began to shake, spitting into my hoof and rubbing into the dried blood on my face, smearing it around. I had to look as ragged as possible for this to work. My injuries were more than enough to work up some water works and put up a pitiful act.
Standtall cast a shadow over the unimpressive specimen that was Steelgraft, his head tilting down judgmentally. “So, you’ve returned.” He rumbled deeply. Two rangers flanked on his either side, one of them was the sassy bitch Silver Tongue and the other was another faceless peon. The giant of a stallion glanced around for somepony, raising his gaze over the barricade behind us before settling his attention on me. “Is this the only survivor from the Square? Where is Daisy Chain?”
“The square was--” Steelgraft was interrupted by my feigned and terrible cry. I threw myself at the ranger and clung to his leg, sobbing.
“Oh it was awful! There were Striders! And monsters! And so many explosions! I...” I forced up a well of tears, “She saved me...And him. She sacrificed herself to do it! She was so brave!”
The bumbling metal clad moron was as stupid as he was big, and he stuttered, a solution to my convincing act lost on him. I clung on hard and made sure to lay it on thick, thinking of all the things that made me sad; losing the kids, bad sex, bland food, and being broke!
“Ma’am, please, control yourself!” the Crusader ordered, trying to shake me off his leg. “Gah, wait! Is she gone? Really? What happened?” This was directed at Steelgraft. It would be a conversation between two equally stupid opponents. I had my doubts that Stitch-face would pick up on my cues, so I shot him a pointed look and gave a subtle head-tilt to the crusader.
A brief exchange of glances and Steelgraft’s expression became sullen. He lowered his head and his voice, “It’s all my fault.” He began his bluff, “It was my incompetence that lead to her death. I should have listened to her orders. She should have...Made me listen. We should have run when the Striders attacked. She held them off while we ran here. I don’t know how we managed to beat them here, they should have passed us...”
The large metal clad crusader stiffened, his armor giving a dull hiss as his muscles all clenched. “I see.” He rumbled through his teeth. “It is a sad day, then...Striders? Great, I knew we should have pulled out before the curfew became enacted. Now we’re trapped. Any idea where those things are?”
“M-maybe they got lost?” I suggested, hopeful that was the case. I knew it wasn’t, they were waiting somewhere while we wasted precious seconds with this charade.
“They would have followed the same path we had.” Steelgraft muttered solemnly, letting out a pointless sigh. “We need to get ready for when they do arrive, If you’ll excuse me.”
“Yes, of course. Would you mind taking this mare with you? I need to radio headquarters about this...” He shook his leg again, offering me to Steelgraft. I continued my crocodile tears, then slid off.
We were home free, he’d bought it. Now we had to go find that sassy pegasus Bitch Fit and tell her the Striders were coming. She had to be somewhere in this musk and sweat packed fire hazard of a theatre.
“Now wait just one minute,” The second in command, the sassy and bitchy Silver Tongue barked. “I don’t believe this for one second! They’re trying to make you a fool, sir!”
I bit my tongue, running the piercing stud over my lips. I was now kissing barrel with the wayward and observant firecracker bitch’s boom stick, her riot shotgun centered on my skull. This bitch was trouble with a lowercase ‘t’. “Drop your weapon.” The bitch ordered, “Or don’t, I could just shoot you.”
Safe to say that I complied, reminding her that we had bigger problems to worry about. She believed that the Striders, which was the only true part of my fabrication, was also a lie. I nibbled on my lower lip, looking to her commanding officer pleadingly.
“Stand down, Ranger.” Standtall grumbled. “Leave her be.”
“Standtall! They’re making you look the fool!” Silver Tongue growled tinnily.
I’d hate to be ‘that mare’, but it was pretty easy to make the large Crusader look the part of an idiot, a hoof licker through and through. This other mare, I knew she’d be trouble from the start. She actually paid attention and didn’t respect the chain of command. While I admired her spunk. I didn’t admire her being clever on my time.
“This mare’s the same one from the checkpoint! And that stallion’s a Deadmare! Why the flying pony feather would a collared, hacked DM toaster be all the way in Philly? It doesn’t check out and you’re buying the whole damn farm!” The rogue ranger was on a full tirade on my tapestry of lies, cutting holes in it with her sharp tongue.
“Hey now, come on.” Chimed Steelgraft as he fed one of his metal digits into the barrel of the large riot shotgun. “There’s no need for that, we’re all friends here.”
“Get your finger out of there! We are not friends!” Silver Tongue spat, giving a dull groan after. “Great, I spit all over the inside of my helmet, I swear, pull your finger out or I will shoot!”
“But you’ll ruin your gun!” Steelgraft mentioned in a near sing-song voice, “And of course we’re friends, we’re all on the same side, aren’t we?”
The back and forth between Silver Tongue and my loyal dunce made my lips quiver into a snort of suppressed laughter, breaking my distraught character. Standtall failed to notice, too focused on the battle of (nit)wits unfolding before him.
“We’re not on the same side! I’m a steel ranger, you’re a filthy toaster that should be stripped for parts, and this bitch here is at best some filthy tribal!” The mare growled, swinging to and fro to dislodge Steelgraft’s finger, but she only succeeded in snapping the gun from her mount, leaving the heavy weapon to hang from Steelgraft’s digit.
“Whoops!” Steelgraft said with a chuckle, popping the round magazine out and slamming the slide to pop the remaining round out of it. “This is a really nice gun, you know? Stampede, right? Ironshod made great guns, that they did.”
“Hey, give that back!” Silver Tongue demanded, advancing on Steelgraft. She was stopped by the tree trunk sized foreleg of her commanding officer.
“I said stand down.” He rumbled darkly.
“But...but sir!” She began.
“The only butt in this conversation is an insubordinate and undisciplined butt, soldier! You will listen to your superior and stand down!” His order was a clear warning--Even I would be inclined to obey if I was in uniform and still enlisted.
“I...” She blurted, her voice wavering. “I’m looking out for the best of our squad, sir!”
“And what will happen if you fire a shot at a civilian in a crowded area where we are clearly outnumbered? We would all die for your misconduct. We would do the same if a tribal visited our base and shot at one of our own, and they’ll do the same here. We have bigger problems to deal with--Those Striders are going to wipe us out if we do not fortify.” Standtall gave a reason for his order, something unlike most commanding officers I had ever dealt with. He was clear and direct, all without being insulting or condemning.
He was a bit atypical as far as commanders went. I briefly wondered by what miracle someone with respect and a teaspoon’s helping of common sense got so high in the ranks Chapter 25.
Reluctant to see reason, Silver Tongue begrudgingly agreed. She demanded her gun back from Steelgraft, but Standtall asked for it instead. The deadmare handed the shotgun to the mare’s superior officer with no objections.
“No problem, here you go.” The white stallion chimed.
“B-but, that’s my weapon!” Silver Tongue protested.
“And you’ll get it back after you fortify the barricade so the Striders cannot get through.” Standtall informed her. “I can make it an order if I have to.”
“No need sir...I’ll get right on it.” The defeated mare mumbled, shooting me daggers through her visor before plodding along, mumbling dark obscenities the entire way to the shoddy barricade of furniture and metal scrap.
“T-thank you.” I said, ”Bitch has some screw loose. Needs tah git laid.”
“Thank you for that opinion, miss...I’ll be sure she knows.” He replied with a nearly cheerful tone. “I am sorry about your friend, Daisy Chain. I’ll be radioing HQ now. Move along, soldier.”
I seized up my bolter and slipped away, dragging Steelgraft along with me. We really dodged a bullet, it was a good thing that my amazing ability to think on my hooves saved us a great deal of headache.
“That was really close.” I said, chuckling, “Good work on the improvising. Just don’t let me saying that go to your head.”
Steelgraft wasn’t paying attention to me, no, he was looking at the movie posters.
“What are you doing?” I asked, feeling my patience drawing short.
“Oh, just looking for myself in the posters.” He replied, “It is obvious from my performance just now that I was an actor in my previous life.”
“Your audience was just daft, dumbass.” I felt it was important to pop the swelling of his skull before it crushed his tiny brain.
“I dunno, I think I look kinda like this guy!” He replied, striking a pose similar to one of the characters in the posters behind him. It was a movie titled ‘Skyrates of Marebatos’--The character had a striking resemblance to him save for the pelt and eye color...And sex appeal.
“Your resemblance to Starstruck Nova is uncanny, you both look retarded and mis-cast. Now lets get in line before it gets even longer.” I said while about facing--The line had grown by at least ten ponies and a griffin in the time we’d already wasted. “Oh for brass n’ buckshot, the line’s longer than Division 25’s colossal dick!”
“We don’t have time to wait that long, we need to get to the front.” Steelgraft pointed out the obvious again. His keen senses of observation were astounding!
“No shit, Sherclop. Lets go cut in line.”
Getting ahead in line was a task that seemed impossible. No-one would permit us to get ahead of them, and the injured needed treatment. I had taken the Equetarian Oath, meaning I should do no harm through action or inaction. Cutting them would mean they’d be robbed of time, big deal! Waiting my turn would mean everyone dying when the Striders decided to come knocking! I did the only sane thing I could do, I pushed through the line aggressively, until one of the guards caught me and kicked me to the tail end of the line again.
Steelgraft had vanished somewhere, he wasn’t waiting at the back of the line where I was placed. I glanced around for him and found him at an unbelievable location--He was near the front of the damn line speaking to Key and Lock, the twin gate guards!
“How the buck did he manage that?” I asked myself before I stopped caring. I left the line and went around, pretending to head for the bathroom. Once I was close enough I snuck low along the line to where Steelgraft was chatting with the twins, I popped up nearby.
“Oh, you poor thing! Look at you!” One of them began, sounding worried about the status of the long since dead corpse that was Steelgraft. “You’re all banged up, sweety!” The tone was syrupy, like artificial sweetener.
“Is there anything I can do for you? Kiss it better, a little snug, give your dick a tug? I could stick my tongue in those gashes and lick them clean...” That was Key, obviously. He was being gross and broadcasting his love for ghoul fucking. Typical.
“No, you don’t need to do anything like that!” Steelgraft stuttered in response, “I was just hoping for a spot in line.”
“Oh,” said one of the brothers. “Why didn’t you say so?” Continued the other. “I’m just here to keep my brother company, you can have my spot, sugar.” Offered the sibling that had no injuries.
“Thanks, I appreciate it. So, uh, what happened to Key?” The deadmare rubbed his cheek with a fingertip idly.
“That’s Lock, silly.” Spoke the other brother, “And I’m Key. I thought you’d be able to tell us apart now that we’re no longer the same. Look at that nasty burn!”
“That’s what happened, it is awful.” Said one of the dark brown brothers. “My poor brother got smarted by one of those bolters on his shoulder.” Spoke the other twin. “Yes, now my brother resembles me less.” Said the other. “Just awful!”
“So you guys always want to look like each other?” Steelgraft asked.
Key was snuggled against a passive Steelgraft who paid no mind to the affection, tolerating it for the spot in line. Lock was the one that had the burn to his shoulder, second degree. It looked painful, the welt was ballooning.
“We’re identical.” Said Key.
“That’s the point.” Lock said with a wince, gritting his teeth.
“When my brother lost his eye,” Lock began telling this story again, one he told all the time, “I plucked out the one on the opposite side.”
"A ghoul gouged out my eye on accident." Key admitted sheepishly, "I had not checked if they had passed or not."
“That’s insane,” Steelgraft spoke crisply, “Why would you do that to yourself?”
“It’s called commitment, SG.” I butted in, slipping under the rope to join them. There was a protest in the line behind me, but I ignored it. “Hey, Lock, how about you let me treat your shoulder for your spot in line?”
“Hey there Gang-Gal.” Cooed Key, “We don’t want the wound treated.”
“Nope, we want the same to happen to Key.” Grimaced Lock.
It took me a split second to understand what they wanted. It took Steelgraft substantially longer. A grin split my lips and I clicked the stud in my tongue against my teeth. “Well, I have a bolter, the same weapon that they used to burn Lock.” I levitated the weapon to show them both. “Your spots in exchange for some scarification?”
It only took a moment for them to both agree at the same time. Key swiftly added a stipulation, he wanted Steelgraft to brand him with the superheated bolt.
“Sure, knock yourselves out.” I unloaded one of the bolts and held it aloft in my telekinetic grasp, offering it to the stunned deadmare. “Here you go, get to brandin’!”
“You can’t be serious.” Steelgraft replied, taking the bolt from the air. The burning hot piece of metal sizzled in his grip.
“They’re very serious, now get outta line and go get masochistic before the line riots about us cutting.” I said pointedly, the guards were eying us now. If they two brothers got out of line and gave their spots to us there would be no problems at all. It was a common thing to do in the theater, if you didn’t want to wait, you’d buy a spot in line from someone else. The closer to the front of the line, the more valuable your spot. The spot I had now, three from the front was prime real estate. The wait time would be less than a minute.
The hesitant, terrified expression Steelgraft sported as he left the line to follow the twins was priceless, I watched with a placid grin. The killing machine had his reservations about hurting someone, he had a familiar kinship with the twins. I suspected he secretly disliked them or was annoyed with them, because it did not take much for his demeanor to change. A little whining and begging and the bolt was applied to the stallion’s shoulder, the stench of burning flesh filling the air.
Key groaned and sucked in air through his teeth, letting out a long moan as he sprouted a stallion stiffy at the pain he was experiencing. I was wearing a grin all around my head as I spotted it and knew what was coming next.
“Mnnn~ You should finish what your started.” Key hinted, then he backed away as Steelgraft tried to touch him on the dick with the still blazing hot bolt. “No! Not with that! I wanted you to get me off!”
“Well, you weren’t specific,” Steelgraft muttered, “What exactly do you want me to get off?”
“I believe he’s cute as he is clueless, brother.” Spoke Lock, giving a chuckle while still nursing his wound. “That he is, would you like to tell him?” Chimed in the other. “Oh, no, you do the honors!”
A rapid back and forth was pitched between the two.
“Polish his pole,” said Lock.
“Stroke my stallion salami,” said Key.
Then, at the same time, synchronized as if rehearsed, “Right in front of everyone.”
“What.” Was all Steelgraft managed to say before shaking his head rapidly back and forth after he noticed all the attention had gathered upon him and the twins. “No, not happening! Not now, not ever!” Aw, what a spoil sport!
Key wasn’t dissuaded by the performance anxiety of a virgin, keeping on with the pressure to coerce him into public bonding. “Oh, you still owe me, remember? The three hundred caps? Just g-get me off, puh leeze?” The brown earth stallion begged.
I was giddy as a school filly, enjoying the thought of two gay bucks fondling each other and Steelgraft’s utter shame and embarrassment. I could taunt him about this forever!
“Come on, SG, you do owe them for that three hundred cap advance!” I chimed in from the line. I earned a cross look from Steelgraft that made me laugh. “I want to collect the other three-hundred!”
“You’re the one that made that deal, not me!” He shouted back at me.
“A deal’s a deal!” Was what he was met by, not by just me either, but by Key, Lock, and even several ponies in line who were equally invested in seeing a show. Some were quite disgusted, I was sure, but those prudes were lame, sad, and I had no interest in taking into account their existence any further than I had to. They were just the backdrop to this saucy porno improv skit! My favorites were always the ones where the submissive doesn’t want it at first, then later gets really into it! Those were the best.
“Eeeeeee!~” Who made that noise? Oh, it was me! I made that as soon as Steelgraft reluctantly agreed to go through with it, if only to get it over with!
“Hey!” Blurted the large, barrel chested minotaur behind me. “You’re next in line!”
“Just a sec for sex!” I growled, “Move a bit, you’re blocking the view!”
“Move or give up your turn!” One of the nearby guards called at me, making me curse. The minotaur ushered me forward with his bulge, slapping his meaty thigh against my face. I got a snout full of sour musk and stumbled away, slamming into the concession booth’s large wooden counter.
“Oooof!” I grunted out loudly, gritting my teeth. That minotaur had manners as bad as his crotch stench. I turned around quickly, hoping to catch a glimpse of the depravity. That same minotaur made a better ugly door than an ugly window.
“Next please!” Came the gravelly voice of the only ‘nurse’ manning the register. S(he) was an obvious, ugly thing that had the voice of a chain smoker that gargled nails. The scruff on their chin betrayed their feminine ‘allure’.
“Ah, buck. I’m missing the show...” I groused, giving my divided and limited attention to the fetching poster pony for the use of contraceptives.
The ‘mare’ manning the register rolled their eyes and coughed against their hoof, “Yes, shame.” They said in a light yet still grumbly voice, “I’m sure they’ll show reruns. What do you need? The line needs to move.”
I needed a lot of things--Looking through the dusty glass of the display case I saw an assortment of goods. I pressed my nose against it and fogged the glass. “Oh, I think I’m going to need one of your finest Doctor Bags, a few Health Tonics, and an audience with Bitch Fit.”
“Well ain’chu observant?” That voice made my heart skip a beat and sink at the same time--Then rise in my chest. My blood boiled then froze. Bitch Fit’s voice has that effect on me. It was an established love-hate relationship, heavy on the hate.
Over the counter, there she was in all her hedonistic glory. The official leader of the Misfits and the proprietor and founder of this delightful little Tartarus-hole. She lay spread out upon several crates of supplies, leaning against the wall behind her, fore-hooves crossed behind her head. The three unmanned registers at the counter now made perfect sense--The three other ‘nurses’ were busy servicing the reddish-orange bitch. Two stallions, one on each of her rear hooves, licking subserviently while the one female ‘nurse’ feast on her cherry pie.
“So you’re the reason why the line’s not moving?” I said with a hint of malice and a pinch of arousal. The sight was almost as good as the show I was missing, but it was a rerun. It wasn’t hard to catch the pegasus mare slutting around or seducing another scrub.
“I got a captive market.” Bitch Fit chuckled, locking her eyes on me while she forced the mare licking her gash to burrow in with a guiding hoof on the back of her head. Her gaze was petrifying to most, one eye was milky white, a war scar from her battles with the two major factions to lay claim to this place. Her other eye was an alarming shade of yellow, bright that cast off a light glow. It was a mutation she said, from falling face first into a puddle of radiation.
I’ve heard that story a million times while she was drunk. Then she’d promise to lower my rent and help with the kids before puking all over her own lap. She never remembered her promise come morning, leaving me to clean up the mess after she left my room.
The one cashier not busy with wetwork went about gathering my order, piling it on the counter after rummaging around and tugging one Doctors Bag from behind Bitch Fit. She gave a disgruntled snort as she shifted her position to get comfortable again. I was rung up for my total.
“Yah total’s 675 Caps.” I was told by the rather unattractive he-mare.
“WHAT?!” I shouted, alarmed at such prices. I checked the prices on the concession board, which still advertized pictures of hayfries, corndogs, and popcorn despite the fact most of the items weren’t served anymore. The names of all the items had been changed to various goods like water, drugs, and ammo. The listed goods were more than quadruple the normal price.
“Like Ai’said, captive market.” The butch butcher gruffed proudly.
“You’re taking advantage of all these folk in a crisis? That’s...Brilliant! You must be making a killing!” I squeaked with sudden appreciation for such shrewd business ethics. I wish I had thought of that! I shot a glance to the injured crowd behind me and retracted that thought, hoofing the line wasn’t akin to completely crossing it. “You know, uh...” I wrapped my hooves around the items on the counter and dragged them close, “Just add this to my tab.”
“Tab? Hah! Yah ever gonna pay me that six kilo caps yah owe me?” The mare taunted with a lewd moan, tossing her head back. I could read her tells like I could read prescription labels; she was close to blowing her gasket. “Y-yer already late on rent! ah yeh, Cherie, a lil more. Nip the bud! Ngh!”
“Well, about that. Place got burnt down in the attack.” I chuckled nervously, “Most the gang’s wiped out an--”
“You’re not planning on payin’ up. S’that all you wanted to talk to me for? You didn’t need no audience to tell me wot ai keen to be knowin’ already.” The mare cooed cruelly. She let her tongue loll out, her breaths got shallow. She mashed that poor mare between her legs, slamming her back and forth so hard her nose sprung a leek. I’ve been in her position plenty of times, nursing a busted snoz after eating muff ain’t any fun, she was always uncaringly rough. Bitch Fit painted that blood between her thighs thickly, like a clumsy painter.
The he-mare manning the register slammed a hoof down on mine, giving a low growl, “No sale.” He said gruffly. I exchanged gazes with him, frowning.
It was time to kill the mood. If I wasn’t going to get any goods or get my own rocks off, neither was she. I was missing out on prime-time shame at Steelgraft’s expense. The sample audience in the crowd behind me told me all I needed to know--Most were quite disgusted! “We have children in this line, you sickos!” was one phrase that tickled the darkest part of my fancy.
“So, you already know about the Deadmare being on their way?” I hinted, casting a dreamy look to Bitch-Fit to catch the precise moment her expression went from one of ecstasy to that of stone-faced dread. It was like salting a wound or pouring a bucket of water over fornicating ponies.
The mare that had been smashed against Bitch Fit’s cleft was cast away like a used piece of shit paper and both stallions caught a hoof to the teeth as the mayor of our fair town rose to her hooves. Bitch Fit’s wings extended wide, the light glinting off the razor bladed adornments to her wings. With both nostrils flared, she stormed up to the counter, muscling the he-mare out of the way. She cleared the counter of my provisions with a sweep of her hoof and leered over at me, her face a mere inch from mine.
“I’ll forgive yah this sick joke if you come clean now.” She said gravely, her upper lip brushing mine with every word. Even though I was no longer in love with her she still made the roots of my teeth tingle when she was this close. Or was that my cavities? Probably cavities.
“Read them an’ weep.” Was all that I needed to say as I deposited my proof onto the countertop. Two Strider-legs. The air around the glowing edges sparked and still smelled faintly of crisp ozone and burnt blood.
I slid them up between us, so she couldn’t ignore them. She had to pull away or risk getting cut on one of the active edges. Her face paled, eyes wide as she drank in every detail. “No joke.” She said finally, her haunted expression failing to betray her feelings.
“No joke, Love-Dove.” I chose to use my pet name I had given her when we were an item. It was our little secret I knew she liked. “Striders, at least seventy strong. They were air dropped in during skirmish.”
She folded her wings and fidgeted, turning her back to me. The scarred mare paced, like a tiger in a cage. She thought we’d just wait out another would-be hostile take over and push out the Baker Barbarians once they gorged themselves on food and liquor. The last three attempts on the town had ended either at the gate, or soon thereafter due to gross incompetence of the raiding party. Deadmare were a different hazard, and all oral history held one truth about them--They left no bodies and no survivors.
The eyes of those behind the service counter were on her, waiting for guidance in this revelation. Bitch fit was never a great leader, she was just a tenacious one, and she wore her feelings on her cuff. “In the gate. They’re in the fucking gate...And we’re in here after curfew. The gate was supposed to keep em out! Fry them up. Damnit...” Her lips pressed into a thin line, her teeth grinding together.
The line behind me was getting unruly, the injured were growing into a frenzy. Somewhere between the unmoving line, the prices, and the unwanted sexual show given to them by a ghoul lover, they’d had enough.
“Play or fold, Love-Dove.” A terse phrase was shot to her as a reminder that I was still there. “It’s pay to play, avarice ain’t legal tender.” An understatement, perhaps of the century. Taxes and rent were high, folks paid them for the promise of safety. Safety they weren’t getting anymore. “It’s time you gave back or these folk ain’t gonna be fit for a fight.”
Finally, after a thousand years in a deadlocked stare, Bitch Fit finally lashed out. She pushed those under her employ to get to their registers and start handing out the supplies for free. “I didn’t stutter, cuntrag, I need these sods at 150%, got me?”
A whole cornucopia of supplies were thrust against me, Bitch Fit herself barking that she was ‘all in’. I suspected she was just being nice since she thought we were all going to die.
A moving line, a healed populace, and a redeemed leader. I could scratch this as my good deed for the day, which I’d already filled the quota of in full eight times over today. I deserved a pat on the back, a few thousand caps and a week off from any and all work. Bruise would give me a long backrub and he’d sneak in the accidental plot touching that he never thought I noticed. Yes, days off would be great!
It was high time I rejoined the fiascoes of my colleagues and catch the tail end of their copulation that shakes the nation. The show was over though, I found Key alone where I’d last left them with no Steelgraft in sight. Key looked very pleased with himself, a dreamy, content smile drawn on his face. The floor was soiled in his fluids.
“I missed quite the show, huh?” I said with a dry chuckle. “Where’s Rweedle Dee and the dumb one?”
“Oh yes, quite a show.” Key said with a beaming smile, “Lock is being a dear and waiting in line for me again.” He rubbed his cheek with a hoof. “As for my darling Steelgraft? He’s oh so very shy--I saw him running for the loo after our romance. Poor thing, he’ll come around.”
“I’m sure he just needs some time.” I mumbled with a roll of my eyes. “Say, I’m going to check up on him, you get yourself taken care of.”
“Oh, this is new--You’re worrying about me?” Key laughed softly, tilting his head back as he picked himself up. “You know I always handle myself. If you’re worrying then it’s something big, isn’t it?”
“More dead heads coming.” I huffed laconically. “And it’s bad manners to take a payment off a corpse. You still owe me the other half for your fun with my ghoul man-servant.”
“Sounds like a party,” Key replied calmly, a dim smile still clinging to his lips. “Oh, yes, that payment...” He fished around in his leather armor and produced a small bag of caps, offering me the entire thing. “He was worth every cap! Consider the extra caps his tip!”
“A pleasure doing bus’ness with yah.” I chuckled, stuffing the caps into my saddlebag. Tip? You mean my pimp bonus! I just got more bonus pay and didn’t do a lick of work! Swag! I had been in the wrong business this whole time, raiding slave caravans? What was I thinking? Pimping was where the real money was at! I just didn’t want to make a habit of slutting out SG since I was such a nice pony. With the deal finished, I left the sadomasochist corpse humper to his own designs. I had to collect my hoe, find Keena, then the kids.
There just ain’t no rest for the wicked.
The stallion’s restroom, the haven of porcelain poop chutes and upwards urinals used to cart away shame and waste. I’d been in here numerous times, every time I’d slunk past the swinging door that creaked on its hinge I was greeted by the stench of ass. It was like Curbstomp was alive and well, if only for a moment, my memories lingered on him. Then the flush of a toilet captured my attention.
There were rumors the mare’s restroom was in better condition. These rumors were false. Nearly identical save for the upright wall-spanning piss waterfall both were in horrid condition. The same cream colored, graffiti covered walls, the same trash and piss soaked white tile, and of course the overflowing trash cans nobody ever bothered emptying. A few used syringes sat discarded in a far cubicle, a popular place to shoot the breeze and ride the tainted rainbow. I was lucky that drugs injected while in armor were delivered through an enchanted system preventing addiction, otherwise I might be craving a little prick and some drugs to go with it.
I was propositioned no more than three times by a few suitors, one of them while they crapped on the john with the door wide open. Typical males. I located the elusive pussy among cocks; Steelgraft was near one of the sinks in the back. The water pressure was non existent and the cyberghoul was desperate to wash off the leavings that coated his freakish metal hand-thingies.
The waterflow was pitiful, an oozing drip. It was due to the main water line rupturing when the square went kablooey. Even if we survived the attack and beat the odds, this mall was a useless fortress without working water. I had to hand it to Hades and his underlings, he knew how to do a prim and proper war decking; stacking the odds against us and making any victory almost as fruitful as a defeat.
“Hey slick, how was wet work?” I asked the feverishly scrubbing bloke.
“Gah!” He cried, turning on me wielding a plunger. Why he had it was anypony’s guess, but I had a feeling he had not been plunging the sink.
“Whoa, calm down. I don’t need no buckles swashed.” I scoffed, eying the plunger judgmentally, “Especially not with that foul thing.”
He lowered the plunger and dropped it to the floor, resuming his frantic scrubbing in the shallow water that remained in the sink. “Sorry.” He mumbled, “I don’t think I’ll ever be clean after what he did to me.”
“Is that why you have the plunger?” I guessed, suppressing a giggle. SG visibly cringed, giving an involuntary shudder. Him getting in sticky, gross situations was indeed trending.
“Let’s just agree to never speak of this again.” He said with dismal disdain. “It had better have been worth it. Did you warn your friend?”
I let out a snort, my nostrils flared. I drew in a deep breath and quickly regretted it as fetid air filled my lungs. I gave a soft gag as my eyes began to water and leaned over a nearby sink, spitting up a dry gag of phlegm. “Friend?!” I laughed weakly, “Yeah, we can call her that if we redefine the word to mean backstabbing, cheating bitch!” I wiped my nose and straightened my mohawk. “I gave her a warning. They know. Now we just gotta grab the kids, Keena and hit the hills. Oh, and I also got the other half of the payment for services rendered.” I jiggled in place so he could hear the caps jingle, I did another shake for good measure incase anypony was giving my ass a gander.
“Great, good thing we got...Paid.” He mumbled. He turned off the tap, dried his hands on the tattered remains of his coat. Greasy, smeared cum stains blended in with the pallette of gross on his canvas. “You’re still planning on running away?”
I thought ever so briefly on this before I surrendered with a sigh, “Not without the kids.” I admitted. “Or Keena.” I met the entrance with a stiff hoof, slamming the door open. I cast a glance over my shoulder, “That good enough for you?”
“It’s a start.” He relented, following me out. “What about everyone else?”
“Oh, you mean like Key?” I teased. “Wouldn’t want to leave your boyfriend behind, now would we?”
He didn’t respond to my jest, choosing to remain silent. Fools who hold their tongue to seem wise or however that old saying goes. I wore an infirm grin from ear to ear, oblivious to the true feelings of my companion.
The moment I felt the hot, musky, humid haze of the lobby hit me I almost missed the stench of the restroom. At least it was cooler in there. No circulation, none at all. No open windows or doors thanks to the barricade, the air was stagnant. To top that all off, the air ventilation ducts must have been on the fritz or blocked.
Finding Keena was as easy as following the blinking lights and sounds of the few active arcade machines in the lobby. We braved the sea of sweaty bodies to find her, and I only had to threaten to castrate one obstinate goat that refused to budge. The goat was a companion of one of the nearby minotaurs, the wall-eyed sentient beast of burden was laden with two barrels of black powder. The minotaur swept the goat up and set them over one of his broad shoulders. The mountain with horned peaks offered a brash apology.
“Yeh have such spirit for uh little pony.” Huffed the minotaur in a thick ale-aided accent. He puffed out his broad chest and wore a stern expression. “Ah like that. Sorry for mmmmmy powder bearer. He’s ah clueless mmmmooooof.”
The large white and black splotched minotaur was adorned in a simple cowl with decorative beads and timberwolf bramble skulls as a fastener. He had markings carved into his horns, but I made no effort to decipher them. He carried on his person a large war maul with a rocket above the flange where the anvil shaped-head met the heavy black iron shaft. Minotaurs were known for their explosive close ranged weaponry and legendary metal smithing.
“Just get outta the way, wide load.” I grunted, skirting around him.
“Quite a few minotaurs in here.” Steelgraft said observantly. “Where do they all come from?”
“You could ask their mothers, SG.” I snorted, not caring to answer him honestly. The minotaur overheard him though and tended to his question with a boisterous chuckle.
“Ah, laddy, I’m here for pilgrimage from the Mmmmacintosh Mmmountains.” The barrel chested brute replied gruffly. “Looking for culture and glory!”
“I haven’t seen much culture yet.” Steelgraft responded. He took a moment to look around on the ground as if he’d dropped something. “Or glory,” he added with a shrug.
I stopped, giving a groan, forced to join in on the conversation to extract my comrade. “You could have chosen a better time to visit. Look, we got places to be, things to do. Excuse us, will you?”
“Of course, spirited one! Mmmmmay your journey lead to song.” He thumped his chest in salute and went about his own business, whatever that may be.
“Wow, all the way out in the Mmmmacintosh Mmmmountains.” Steelgraft parroted. “Wherever that is.”
“You don’t have to say it like that! Like I said, we got things to do. He and his buddies will find plenty of glory when the Striders decide to finally do something.” I said, feeling my patience become a grand sum of zero. I seized my tagalong by the collar in the grip of my magic and dragged him the rest of the way.
“Hey, I can walk! Ah, hey! Slow down! Quit tugging!” He protested, making no effort to stop me.
“Shut up or Key gets free nookie,” I threatened.
“I thought we agreed to never talk about that again!” Steelgraft whined.
“I didn’t agree to anything.” I stated, giving a harsh tug to the simpleton corpse.
“That’s so cruel...” He sobbed unconvincingly, stumbling along. his crocodile tears only convinced me to tug harder.
We met up with Keena right where I suspected she’d be; at the arcade machines. The hippogriff was blowing off steam, laying claim to the high score of another reflex shooter game. ‘Zebra Safari 2: Revengeance’ was a popular game even now, thanks to anti-zebra mentalities carrying over generations after the war.
Zebras popped up on the screen, within moments they were gunned down with shots to their vitals. With steady claws the hippogriff manipulated the controls, wielding the plastic gun as she would her own rifle. I knew that any attempt to break her concentration would be pointless, the world around her didn’t exist.
My bumbling stitched companion had yet to learn this. I wasn’t one to keep a foal from sticking a fork in a socket or a hoof off a hot-plate, they had to learn by consequences. That and I wanted to see what would happen if he tried to interfere with her game.
“Keena, it’s great seeing you’re alright. How’re the kids?” When she didn’t respond, SG tried again to no avail, waving a hand at her. He escalated things, grabbing her by her braided sable tail and giving it a yank. “Keena?”
A trained reflex spun Keena around, she held Steelgraft at gunpoint with the blue plastic rifle. He raised his forelegs, sitting on his haunches, the barrel of the gun upturning his nose. I withheld a snicker. The painted hippogriff spun back to the game the moment she heard her character grunt in pain, alerting her to having taken damage.
A growl escaped her, her beak clicking in agitation. She cursed under her breath.
“It’d be best to let her finish Steelgraft.” I said with a chuckle, “Unless you unplug the machine, nothing will break her concentration.” That wasn’t exactly true, I knew of two things that would shatter her concentration. Neither would be appreciated and both would potentially harm or end my friendship with the russet feathered horse-bird.
He unwisely followed my advice and went around for the plug. I spoke up to save him from a horrible fate. “And only pull the power cord if you don’t mind seeing what the inside of your ass looks like.” This phrase made him freeze and drop the cord without contemplation, scooping back from it cautiously as if it were a poisonous snake.
“That perspective doesn’t sound refreshing.” He commented, giving Keena a generous gift of distance.
There was no end to the zebra baddies onscreen for the foreseeable future, this was a good time to patch myself up. I was worried about finding the kids, but if I kept walking on my injured leg my condition would only get worse.
“Hey, staple face, keep that eye out for the lil twerps while I patch up.” I told him, squatting down right on the floor. There was no good place to work on myself, so I made sure the floorspace I chose had the lowest ratio of garbage to carpet.
Lacerations, bruising, and a hairline fracture in my cannon bone right below my hock. I could hardly walk on it, it was high time I fixed that. I applied a splint after casting a common numbing spell I knew to the afflicted area. I had a simple tool, a piece of whittled wood a few inches thick wrapped in padding and twine. It was a ‘grit stick’--Something a doctor would put in the mouth of a patient to bite down on during operations without anesthesia. I got a ton of use out of it, in the fields of war and love, bed and battlefield respectively.
With this held tightly in my jaws I began the quick, unapologetically uncareful binding of my wounds. A splash of Wild Pegasus over the enchanted bandages ensured they were sterile. Halfway through my quick-minute patch job I was tackled and flattened to the ground by a small egg-shell blue form. The grit stick stopped me from biting my tongue but didn’t prevent me from chipping a tooth.
I sat up only to be tackled by additional tiny bodies, the wind leaving my lungs and launching the grit stick into the air. The grit stick spiraled in the air before wetly sticking to my forehead below my horn. Spitting out the chip of my tooth, I groaned.
“Gangrene!” Came the chorus of a half dozen foals and one odd minotaur calf. “You’re alive, we were so scared!”
“Hey kids...” I wheezed, pain throbbing through my body.
“Oh, Gangrene, I found the kids!” Steelgraft announced chipperly.
“I know.” I mumbled, it was hard to be mad with a group of adorable colts and fillies squeezing the life out of you, but I managed. “Told’ja ta keep an eye out for em!”
“I did, I watched them run from the pinball machine all the way over here to tackle you,” Steelgraft explained. “They look happy to see you.” He was just a passive observer, he made no attempt to rescue me from beneath the pile of children.
A solid minute of trembling, smothering hugs, each one was trying to choke the life out of whatever part of me they were holding onto. Once they got that out of their system I was able to sit up and suck down a few gulps of air. I threaded my tongue through the new gap in my teeth; one of my front teeth had been chipped. Great! Now there was no way I’d ever get the centerfold of Play-Pony!
“You all here?” I scanned the small group, mentally doing a headcount. Two--four--six--eight...Eight. I felt my heart sink. Four kids were missing, Bruise was nowhere nearby. It wasn’t long before the foals started getting noisy.
“I’m hungry!” Said Gulag, a butterball of a foal whose parents had been from Stalliongrad. He was a stumpy, short thing with a slight pudge under his belly, wearing a most unhappy frown on the most pinchable cheeks Equestria has ever seen.
“I’m thirsty!” whined Shag-Rag, named after his long, messy fetlocks and mane. His bangs were so long I couldn’t see his eyes, his pelt tied in clotted clumps and curls. I didn’t remember his story, I think Blister found him tangled in a barbed wire fence a year ago.
A third foal tugged on my tail, giving a soft gag and coughing at the taste grease.
“What is it, Taffy?” I asked the timid, scrawny teal unicorn filly. Her story was simple as it was sad, her parents had tried selling her into slavery to pay off debts.
“I...I have to go potty.” She squeaked, eyes brimming with tears. “I’d go alone, but I’m afraid there are monsters in there...”
“Well, uh, pick a corner!” I said, pointing in a random direction. Taffy didn’t seem pleased with that solution and stared blankly at me. All it took was one tear to slide down her cheek before I regretted even suggesting something like that.
Every single one of them wanted or needed something, none of those needs had been met while I was gone. We were surrounded by fully grown adults of several different races, in the absence of me or Bruise you’d think someone would look after them. Maternal instincts applied only to your own crotchfruit unless you were a sucker like me.
I wasn’t getting any help. Steelgraft was just staring at me, a perplexed look on his face. He looked at me like I was queer as an eight legged pony and twice as strange. Keena was still playing her stupid game, but now I was moments away from pulling the plug on the arcade cabinet and chewing her out.
“Hey, stitchface, you kin quit keeping an eye-out now, I need a bit of help with the kids!” I said with a bit of urgent force in my voice.
He snapped out of it, shaking his head quickly, “Sorry, I just...You take care of all these kids on your own?”
“No, moron, I have help. It’s just most my gang is...” I chose my words carefully, knowing full well the children weren’t privy to the condition of the others, “Not with us.” Even when I chose such soft words, the equally soft hearts of the children ached. The youngest of them started sobbing as I opened up the wounds fresh in their minds. It made me feel like a monster. I grit my teeth, “There was another adult with em, Bruise, but he ain’t anywhere ‘round here, and four tots are still missing.”
Rebel Riot had been unusually quiet, sitting right in front of me. He’d been the first to tackle me and usually he’d be the first to start yapping too. He was staring at my front hooves, mumbling softly.
“Hey squirt, speak up.” I said, raising his chin with a hoof. Tears welled in his eyes, snot running from his nostrils.
“ Gone,” the boy bawled, choked up.
“Gone? Where did he go?” I asked, blinking a few times, an ear flicking in bewilderment. My mind was scattered a thousand places at once, so many foals pining for my attention and so many worries dancing around in nothing but socks.
“A’said he’s dead! Fuckin’ dead! D-E-D!” He yelled at me, “Yah stupid or something?!”
Rebel Riot’s outburst silenced the others. Pacified to sullen silence, they hung their heads. I was afraid to ask what had happened, recalling that field of knives I’d seen when I found Steelgraft and Rebel Riot alone. Losing Bruise hurt, more than I cared to feel.
Rebel Riot tried to tell me what happened, stuttering through his silent tears. His story was nearing a climax, one which he desperately wanted to spew out but he was interrupted by Steelgraft who pulled a box tied with twine from his taped and stained saddlebag.
“Which of you said you were hungry?” He asked, unfastening the lid and peeling it off. Inside that box was another box, this one was revealed to have a small pile of fresh-looking pastries. I stared at him in complete and utter disbelief.
The hungry, growling tummies of the children won out over their woes. They crowded around the box, all save for Shag-Rag, Rebel Riot, and Taffy who weren’t hungry.
“One for everyone, come on, don’t be greedy! Hey, you, pudgy, I saw that! Put the second one back!” Steelgraft chided, waving a hoof at Gulag who had tried to make off with more than a fair share. He was sharper than usual when dealing with children it seemed. A real foal-at-heart and he was just about as wise too.
Shag-Rag smacked his lips, eyeing the strange stapled together stallion. “You got any juice? Ah’d love juice or water. I’m not picky-wicky.”
That request was met swiftly as SG pulled a canteen out from his box of many wonders and popped the cap with his thumb. Shag-Rag plodded over and took a swig, holding the threaded top between his teeth. Before it was all gone, it was pulled free by the strap, leaving the shaggy colt to sputter and cough in protest. Another foal was given a turn with the canteen, round robin to each thirsty foal until it was empty.
“Where did you get a canteen of water and a box of fresh donuts?” I asked.
“Donuts Extreme.” He answered me while making sure none of the foals choked as they ate like little pigs. “Got them as a free sample.”
“Oh, you did, did you? Got some sweet action and took a dozen to go?” I said, snorting derisively. “I should have pegged you for a pervert.”
“It isn’t like that! I had to pick something up.” He said with a shift of his eyes.
“I get it, so what did you order?” I asked, quite invested with my interest now. “Was it the Donut-Hole Plunge, the Sweet Suckle Truffle, or my personal favorite, the Plump Rump Romp?” Their names fell in line with a flavor and sexual act--That’s just how the extreme menu was for Donuts Extreme. I always ordered from the extreme menu for one reason, their star employee, Glazed Marshmallow, had the sweetest honeypot of any mare around, and that was before they added the sugar.
“I had a helping of secret things,” He replied in a whimsical tone.
“Not one to kiss and tell? A’ight, I respect that.” I told him with a knowing smile, giving him a playful nudge. He wore a smile on his cracked white lips, a spark of life and kindness in his one blue eye. I wondered what pain lurked behind that smile, what secrets lingered under his skin.
With one of his heavy hands he reached down for the sullen Rebel Riot, who had not taken a share of the food or water. “What’s the matter, you need something, scout?” He almost sounded patronizing, like I did when a foal whined about a little cut.
“I don’t need nottin.” Rebel spat. “Not from you.”
“It’s not your fault.” Steelgraft reckoned.
“You...You shut up!” Rebel snarled. “You were there! You saw what I...What I did...”
“Yes. I was there. It wasn’t your fault,” he avowed again with a voice soft and caring. I was caught in it, their exchange lost on me without context.
The eggshell blue colt smacked the metal hand away, “Yeah, whatever you say big guy. It don’t change how I feels it.” He left a smear of matter fur on his foreleg as he wiped his nose. “S-some super hero you turned out to be.”
“I’m not very super.” SG replied sadly. “I’m not like Mare-Do-That.”
“Mare-Do-Well.” Rebel Riot corrected him.
“Yes, that’s what I said.” Steelgraft lied, tilting his head up. “I think I did pretty well, you made a great sidekick.”
“Me? The sidekick?!” Rebel Riot’s eye twitched. No longer were there tears, but instead sarcastic laughter. “You spent that whole time running away and you let the bad guy get away! If anything, you’re my sidekick!”
“Alright, I’m your sidekick.” Steelgraft said chipperly, taking a stance as heroic as possible. In my opinion, he looked about as coordinated as a beached whale trying to rollerskate.
“I think I’d rather work alone.” Rebel Riot groused. “You’re fired.” With that said, the colt stormed over to a bare spot on the wall near the arcade cabinets and sat down. He still looked miserable, but he’d survive at least.
“Ouch, staple cock...fired by a kid.” I clicked my tongue against the roof of my mouth and felt the distinct new gap between my front teeth. I blew air through it and discovered it whistled. I was going to have a ton of fun with that later. That was sarcasm.
It’s funny, ain’t it? Your whole world can come tumbling down and suddenly a little something sweet or a bit of kindness can just make the fresh pain seem so far away. It would be brief, Detrot would erode away this spark of joy and hope soon enough.
Their faces covered in sweet sugar, tummies full, and thirst parched they were much more docile. Except Taffy, who continued to do her little potty dance.
“I still gotta go potty!” Taffy exclaimed with urgency. “Really badly!”
“Why don’t you go with Steelgraft? He likes to make himself useful.” I suggested, gesturing to him with a hoof. SG stood there, blinking dumbly.
Taffy took one look at him and squeaked, shaking her head rapidly. “No, he’s a boy!”
“He’s hardly a real stallion.” Rebel Riot called out from the wall.
Steelgraft sighed and checked between his legs, “Hey, I am a real stallion! I got the bits and everything!” He pointed to Rebel Riot accusingly, “He lies.”
“Gangy, please. I have to go!” Taffy urged.
I gave a soft groan, rolling my eyes, “I’ll handle this!” I said, pulling the plug on the arcade cabinet with my magic. The arcade died just as Keena had been entering her name for the high score, her progress lost forever.
“Sunflaring cuntrags!” Keena shouted at the top of her lungs. This was one of the two ways to get Keena’s attention off of games, perhaps the worst of the two as well. Her amber eyes traveled from the cabinet’s power cord that I spun in my magical grip and to me. She looked quite unhappy.
“Ah, sorry Keena, but now’s not the time for games.” I told her.
The hippogriff clicked her beak, one of her eyelids flickering. “What did you do that for? I almost had the top score!”
I pointed a hoof to the dancing filly, “She needs to pee.” I then pointed to Steelgraft, “He can’t take her because he has a cock.” I then pointed to myself, “I need to patch myself up and look for the other kids.” I then pointed at her, “And you should have been watching the kids from the beginning and not playing your games!”
Keena’s headcrest flew forward, her eyes wide as she looked around. “But...I...Zone Control said she’d watch them! I was stressed and needed to let loose!” She fumbled with an excuse, her anger crushed under the weight of her irresponsibility.
“Is that what happened at Record Wrecker’s, Keena? Those kids that got took weren’t being watched cuz you were playing a stupid game! I bet you entered your name into the tops score before you went to save them. You’re supposed to be responsible!” I dug into her, venom in my voice. I knew her reputation, she’d gotten in trouble plenty of times before for not paying attention to her charges.
“That’s not how it went, I just...I lost track of time.” She rambled for a moment, grasping at straws. She must have felt guilty, the noble, passive hippogryph was tugging at the sun emblazoned medallion about her neck.
I got right up in the hippogryph’s beak-space and locked her in a battle of glares. “No. It’s one thing to screw up watching your own, another when you do it for mine. You take Taffy to go potty right now and do nothing else.” I sternly pointed at the still dancing filly and watch the russet feathered duty-dodger slink off shamefully to the task I’d given her.
“You think you were a little hard on her?” Of course Steelgraft would ask something like that. If anyone here that knew me would ask something like that, only he would be inexperienced enough to ask me such a thing when it came to how I ran the show.
I shrugged, binding my wounds quickly before anymore distractions popped up. “She has to learn.” I told him, “This isn’t the first time her shirking responsibility has been an issue. Better to nip it now before it isn’t for something as minor.”
“I defer to your judgement.” He replied softly, “But maybe you shouldn’t be so coarse.”
“Not like you got a say in the matter--I’m in charge. And it’s better to have a few scratches on your pride than in your hide.” I imparted some much needed wisdom on him while reminding him who called the shots in this little group of ours. It was my show.
Two minutes passed uneventfully. The new splint on my leg was holding and it would be a fast second for my wounds to be healed. Magical healing items were always a wonder, I’d healed naturally enough times to really appreciate how fast a potion and magical bandages worked. I hated wasting them too, which I’d done plenty on one particular stallion who was immune to the effects of healing magic. I cast a silent, thoughtful glance at Steelgraft and huffed. Three potions! Three! Why had I even bothered?
When Keena returned with a very relieved looking Taffy, I knew it was time to move on. I had scanned the entire crowd sharply and spotted no other foals. It was then I realized that the young would be safest in one of the theater rooms, along with the others that were fit but could not fight.
“See, Keena, isn’t foalsitting easy?” I patronized her with a cruel smile, “Especially when you’re paying attention.” I could see the proud hippogryph bristle, her feathers ruffling in agitation. She gave me an unkind glance with a frown that conveyed her feelings easily. She did not like to be treated like a child.
I organized a double file line, quickly directing Keena to the front with me while Steelgraft took up the rear. Hah, take up the rear! He was good at that. No foal would get separated from the group, and I made it known the consequences of wasting more of my time. An hour of tongue polishing my raiding armor--which was covered in soot in the remains of our burned down home.
Together, we left the lobby, a train of oddities and youth. I purchased tickets from the door guard; 200 caps for all of us was highway robbery! I begrudgingly paid the sum and took the tattered ticket stubs to pass out.
“I hope hornets fly up yer ass, you cap gouging dunce.” I grumbled irritably.
“What was that?” The greasy looking ticket-sales pony demanded hoarsely.
“She said she hopes hot, horny fillies see how charming you’d be to date.” Steelgraft lied convincingly. This caused the guard to flash an unwashed, gap-toothed smile.
“My break’s in fifteen.” He fired me a crusty-eyed wink. I think I vomited in my mouth a little.
The Cinema had three theatres, each marked and named. The Crescent room was used as storage, the Rising Sun Theatre was used for adult films and live action exhibits, I snuck only the quickest of peaks. There was no show going on, but instead I heard the tell-tale sounds of pony copulation. Zone Control wouldn’t be in there, not unless she was one kinky pregnant mare. The last and most obvious place for her and the other kids would be the Twilight room, where less than R(aunchy) shows were played.
“Oh, they better be in the third theatre,” I fretted aloud. I felt a panic attack coming on. If anything happened to my kids, I didn’t know what I’d do.
“Thar yeh are!” Came a voice from behind. It was Frisky Fritter, the three legged owner of Donuts Extreme. I knew him about as well as I knew his donuts, we were familiar by flavour. He was a nice enough buck, if a bit rough and rugged.
Frisky cast a cautious look in Steelgraft’s direction before he quickly looked over the kids. “Been lookin’ fer yeh. These snuck out from the theatre while mah wife waz watchin’ em.” He snorted softly, “Gave her a panic attack, yeh did, yah varmints.”
“Hey Frisky.” Steelgraft greeted with a friendly wave. He received a coarse grunt in return as they exchanged barely civil pleasantries. “Hey deadmare,” Frisky replied gruffly.
I had a few scolding remarks prepared for the children now that I knew a bit more to the story. “So, they snuck out in the dark while something was playing.” I stated, my hypothesis was not far off from what actually happened as I soon learned.
“We were lookin’ for you, Gangrene!” Rebel Riot blurted.
“The guard...Uh...Wouldn’t let us out thah barricade.” Shag-Rag added. “So we looked around the Lobby.” He blew his bangs from his eyes with a huff and snorted loudly, swallowing.
“I wasn’t even supposed to be watching them.” Keena informed bitterly, “I didn’t even know they were in the lobby.”
Okay, so scolding the kids and I might owe Keena an apology. Well, probably not, ahe was still very irresponsible. “That doesn’t change anything, Keena. You should pay more attention.” I chuffed.
Rebel Riot let out a whimper as I tugged one of his ears with my magic.
“Ow! What’s that for?!” Rebel whined, squirming hard.
“I’m sure you’re the mastermind of the ‘lets go and give Zone a heart attack’ plan.” I replied scoldingly. “I wasn’t born yesterday. You’re always trouble.”
“How about we go meet up with Zone Control?” Steelgraft suggested. “It would be better than sitting out here while that nice mare worries.”
“You know, that’s a half decent suggestion.” I agreed. I pulled Rebel riot from the line and kept him close by me. “And you’re in deep, mister. Real deep.” The foal whined and squirmed, blurting out how innocent he was. The other foals refused to cover for him and affirmed my suspicions.
“You traitors!” Rebel Riot whinnied balefully. His punishment was to stick close to me, he wasn’t going to be allowed out of my sight for a good long while.
“Yeah, no need to make her worry a hot second longer.” Frisky said with a curt nod. He turned around, adjusted his apron and battle saddle, then the way to the theatre at the end of the hall.
The third theatre room was called the Twilight room, and like the previous theatre rooms it was marked by a symbol over the door. A mark of a spark of magical power with several other sparks alongside it. Keena held the door open and everyone passed through the door, everyone except Steelgraft. He stood there, eyes fixed on the symbol over the door.
“Hey, SG, you going to la-la land on me?” I called to him after a brief moment of silently waiting at the door.
He kept staring a moment longer before he returned to the land of the living, shaking his head back and forth, “Huh? Yeah. Sorry. I just...I was just remembering something. That symbol is familiar.”
“Oh, that symbol? Yeah, it should be. They say each theatre room here is named after one of the princesses. You were around back then, when cave ponies wandered the Earth, right?” I taunted warmly.
“Yeah, they called me Captain Caveman.” Steelgraft smirked.
When we rejoined the others, Frisky was already chatting up his wife, the blue unicorn known as Zone Control. She was a friendly sort with a bit of a bulging belly, a good six months into her pregnancy. Pediatrics wasn’t my area of expertise, but my well rounded medical training allowed me to a smattering of versatility.
The four missing children were also with her, laying to rest my own worries and allowing me to relax. Another mare was there as well, a somber and sullen Glazed Marshmallow, the painted mare trembled in her seat beside the one I took. We were all here, save for the gang members who had not survived. At least we had not lost a single child, which in and of itself was miraculous.
Trailers for flicks that would never be finished played on a loop from the projector overhead. Ironmare 3--For as much as I like the protagonist out of suit, in costume she resembled a Steel Ranger with the fashion sense of a chariot racer. That ruined it for me.
“It’s good you made it,” Zone Control sighed in relief, “I was worried.”
“It wasn’t easy getting back.” Steelgraft replied grimly. “And it might not be so easy getting out of this town.”
“What do you mean?” She asked, her brow creased with worry. She was going to have so many wrinkles by the time this night was over.
“Some complications.” I butted in, “The kind that wipe out entire settlements and leave no survivors.”
Packed like sardines in a roiling hot tin, it took a sharp tongue and a bit of coaxing to vacate enough seats along the center row, for everyone to sit. Each of the foals were forced to share a seat, crammed in next to one another they pushed and occasionally bit.
I made Rebel Riot sit in Steelgraft’s lap for safe keeping. The brat protested of course, but I wouldn’t hear it. Stitch-face wouldn’t let that kid incite any mutiny. Zone Control and Frisky were in the seats across from mine and Glazed Marshmallow’s. Keena took point near the end of the aisle, her rifle at her side.
It was time I brought them current.
“Seventy Striders?” Glazed Marshmallow gasped, trembling. I placed my hoof on her thigh and rubbed in comforting circles. She didn’t seem to mind the contact, then again she never did. I was one of her regulars, afterall.
“Welp, we’re doomed.” Frisky fritter whispered dejectedly. He beat a hoof against his armrest, a grimace crawling over his lips. “Figured today couldn’t get worse. Ah was plum tucker wrong!” He added with a growl.
Keena just snatched up her rifle and held it close, giving it a swift inspection before she settled the stock against the sticky, messy floor.
Some of the kids found candy on the floor and were noisily eating it. I didn’t want to hear it if they got sick!
“No look, it ain’t the end. We’ve got a hundred guns out front and we have supplies and a fortified position.” I hissed between my teeth. “We’re safe here. The only one that’s gotta worry is Stitch-Face, his collar’s going off tomorrow morning!”
Speaking of Stitch-Face, he was being quiet. He was tapping his collar thoughtfully while Rebel Riot sat in his lap pouting, forelegs crossed.
“I mean, Steelgraft here, he’s tough but he couldn’t beat a hundred guns! We’re gonna be fine here, right SG?” I said smugly, attempting to lasso him into the conversation. “Don’t you think so?”
Goaded into response, he took in a needless breath, then said solemnly, “Nowhere is safe anymore.”
“See? Steelgraft thinks w---Wait what?! How could we not be safe here?” I knew it was a lie to say we were totally safe, but it didn’t stop me from saying it. Out of anypony, he was the least I expected to be a neighsayer! Where was his happy-go-plucky attitude when it was convenient for me?!
“A’hundred guns ain’t haff’ thah power Tomb Town, fell the same it did.” Frisky mentioned gloomily. “Ah know dead meat, tah down it yah need stoppin’ power, ahn the right kinda power behind it.” He rubbed his cheek with the stub of his arm, “Iffin Ster Racer twer around, she’d be mighty useful.”
“Star Racer?” Steelgraft inquired.
“Was one of our ol’ team mates from back when. Enclave tech’s a deadly damsel tah a deader lahke yerself. Shame we ain’t got none ah that magical tech.” Frisky Fritter continued, “Then again, Ster Racer’d likely shootcha, dead-head, she ain’t lahke yer heritage much.”
“There’s plenty that’d shoot me for less.” Steelgraft replied with a chuckle. “I’ve got a Can Cleaver that does the job well. It’s almost broken.” He patted his saddleback and a rattling sounded. “Lots of loose parts.”
“You have a few screws loose?” Zone Control asked.
“Sure sounds lahke it hun, and his weapon’s soundin’ bad too.” Frisky Followed up with a snort. I was made to roll my eyes at that one and joined Zone Control in giving Frisky a very perturbed stink-eye.
“What? It was a joke!” Frisky excused himself.
“A bit of a rude one,” Zone Control quipped.
Frisky shrugged, “Yeah, I guess ah’m sorry.”
Steelgraft was too busy snickering at the joke to accept that half-assed apology. “Screw loose! Hah, poor Frisky,” Steelgraft lifted one of his heavy gauntlets, pointing at a bolt holding the assembly together, “Can’t even recognize a bolt from a screw!”
Rebel Riot used this brief moment of freedom to rummage around in Steelgraft’s bag, pulling the deadly instrument of death out emitter first in his teeth. Every strand of fur on my body stood on end, so much so that my mohawk had a mohawk.
“What are you doing?!” I growled. “Drop that!”
The foal ignored me and began tooling around with it in the seat. I wanted to grab it and pull it away, but doing that might trigger it to activate due to their shoddy craftsmare-ship. Rebel was done in moments, dislodging a tooth from the casing and tightening a few loose panels.
“There, you should get a few more swings out of her.” Rebel chirped, slipping his tools away.
Steelgraft took the weapon back, inspected it quickly, then slid it away. He tied his saddlebag shut, scooting it under his seat. “Yeah, thanks.” He said, patting the foal on the head and messing up his frilled mane.
Rebel shot me a condescending look that I weathered only because the little snot did something useful. He was lucky his backside wasn’t weathering a paddling from my grit-stick right now.
“Maybe we could pray to Celestia for guidance?” Keena suggested sheepishly, tugging at that golden medallion around her neck again. “She sent us a champion, she wants our victory to be earned.”
A dumb look was my first response, and my second was to laugh, “You want to pray? To Celestia? Oh, come on! She does about as good a job looking after us as you do when you babysit!”
“Gangrene!” Zone Control shot warningly.
I continued, oh I wasn’t done, saying I was a bit angry was a vapid understatement. “Earned? Plenty of my friends died, how much does it take to earn victory in eyes of your goddess?! And where is this champion, huh? I don’t see one!”
Stern and certain, the hippogryph pointed a talon at somepony, that somepony was Steelgraft.
“You ate too many stale communion wafers, Keena.” I droned out blankly, slapping myself in the forehead with a hoof. I gestured to the stallion in question in exasperation. “This guy’s just a defective deadmare I met in the Deadzone! A useful idiot, but hey, he’s a nice idiot.”
“That ‘defective idjit’ is the fool mah team wiped tah wake up.” Frisky Fritter interjected.
“I’d like to think we went on a wild adventure for a reason.” Zone Control added.
Clarity drew across my throat and bled the hope right out of me. Everyone here was connected. I felt like a fool for not seeing it before, but here we were in the same place, all of us tied by one common factor. We all knew the defective deadmare. Trouble followed him like a plague.
“We’re not safe here.” I said in sudden realization, eyes locked on the stitched stallion. “You’re right where they expected you to go.” I checked my ticket stub, if we were exactly where we were expected to be, then this film was going to be a doozy!
“Anypony know the tick-tocks?” I asked fretfully.
Frisky moved his stump to check something by habit before he remembered his entire leg was gone. “Ah dag nabbit, fergot it’s gone.” He snorted, “Ah miss mah ole pipbuck.” He flailed his stump in a wholly disgruntled manner.
Zone Control rolled up the sleeve of her barding and checked the flashing green screen of her weathered pipbuck, “It’s five past nine.” She stated. The blue unicorn offered her husband a comforting nuzzle and shushed him soothingly. “I still have mine, it’s okay.”
“Neat, ya gots yerself ah pipbuck! Where’d ja ge-tit?” Rebel asked, his small eyes sparkling with youthful curiosity.
“Nonyah, pipsqueak.” Frisky Fritter growled, he was secretive about his past. Not that anyone should pry, but it was always curious how the mare and stallion one day showed up with a huge wealth of caps in order to open up the Donuts Extreme.
“We came from a stable,” Zone Control chimed in, much to the ire of her husband.
You learn something everyday, don’tcha? I always had them pegged for being odd, but this was an entirely new revelation. They were a bit too capable to just be the average Stable-fresh scrub; the way Zone control handled a shotgun was masterful and her husband spared no ammo when he sprayed a hot lead load.
Sure, we were all interested in Stable stories, but there’s a time and place for pointless banter. Now wasn’t the time! While everyone else rocked in their seats or anxiously prepared, I was piecing together every part of the puzzle.
Nine sharp, it was the time for the next showing of the warped recordings that pass for films at this filthy theatre. It was the same time marked on our reprinted and reused ticket stubs. The people that ran the theatre dug the tickets out of the trash and just fed them back into the machine, there were so many reprints on the stub it was hard to decipher.
It was past Nine Sharp. The next showing was late by a whole five minutes. Maybe my worries were wrong, maybe it wasn’t a trap? The guy from the speakers in the square sounded like a finicky control freak, he’d never be late to taunt us as he revealed that we were in yet another masterfully laid plan that the ‘hero’ has stupidly fallen into again.
We should run now! But what if that was the trigger of the trap?! The seats could be trapped with explosives! I leaned down to check and only found a few decades worth of used chewing gum. The vivid colours on the seat panel was an expressive piece called ‘Oh where is thy dustbin’ by lazy blokes who can’t be assed to throw it in the bin! Disgusting!
Everything that moved in the corners of my vision was an enemy. I felt nervous fear wrenching in my guts. It was invisible fear, I tried to appear calm and in control, but I was sure Glazed Marshmallow could feel me shaking. Her hooves held mine, electricity danced up my spine.
A flicker on the screen made me jump, the screen darkened before a new film reel was set in. A hiss of static whispered in my ears, a chorus of taunting snakes, vipers.
The projector hummed, the reel clacked and the images projected onto the screen. A crackling pop echoed from the speakers before the sound synced. An eldritch hiss came from the deepest bowels of Tartarus and whistled into the darkness. This was it! We were doomed!
“Are you sick of being a average?” Began one voice, it belonged to a mare.
“Are your enemies just too savage?” Chimed in another.
“Then you should try Shim-Sham’s patented Carbonated Harmonic Cider!” The two mares spoke at once from their recording. The screen flickered and flashed, showing off a bottle of the elusive and hard to find grog that promised power. “Distilled of Discord, this potent tonic cures what ails you and corrects what fails you!”
It was a commercial, I could breath easy.
Scritt-Scritt-Scritt-Fssssssh.
The reel began to skip and jump, then burn in the projector. That has happened before, and the patrons groaned and began throwing their snacks at the screen. Boos and hisses became near-deafening.
“It’s time to leave,” I choked out, hardly able to breath. Panic was an acceptable response.
We were all in agreement, but as we rose a piercing cry bellowed out from the speakers and shook the walls. “Stay there!” It barked, “Right there I’ll be right with you!”
I froze, staring slack jawed at the screen. The other patrons murmured among themselves, in excitement, a new movie? Why that was cause for celebration!
The screen went red and the voice returned, “I am so sorry for being late with this.” The voice of Cradle Robber chimed cheerfully. “I was teaching my new minstrels a new song. They have to be ready to play it for the party.”
“Get to it, Cradle Robber...” Steelgraft ordered darkly. A few other ponies threw objects at Steelgraft, demanding his silence.
“We’s tryin’ tah watch thah movin’ picture show!” One of the unruly patrons shouted, tossing a half empty bottle of sparkle cola at my stitched companion. The bottle shattered, soaking his pelt with the flat, sugary beverage.
Steelgraft was unbothered, but Rebel Riot growled his disapproval at being soaked. The foal smacked his lips and licked the sugary sweetness off himself.
“I don’t take orders from you anymore!” The voice of Cradle Robber boomed. “You’re looking all washed up, a has-been that hadn’t been there.” A series of images flashed onto the screen, rapid and too fast to follow. I could make out a school among the rapid pictures, but that’s the only thing I could make out. “Hades has a message for you...”
One name drop was all it took; the patrons were in an immediate panic. A stampede of ponies made their way for the doors, trampling over one another. Screams and cries were softened, a tingling sensation filled the air. It was magic.
“Twice now, old friend, you’ve betrayed me.” Came a voice of unparallelled depth and distance. It was loud despite it being a whisper. “In life and in death you seek to undo the work of your comrades--You stand for death and would allow it to continue in this world. Have you forgotten the sting of mourning? I shall enlighten you to the pain that built the ivory tower and bring in line your understanding.”
The pictures slowed in framerate, to a point where it could be seen by the naked eye. A school, it wasn’t in Detrot. A fancy, lovely looking building. I’d seen pictures like that before, and in history I’d heard of that place--It was Luna’s School for Gifted Unicorns. We were drilled on that, and on every major attack on us by the zebra nation while in Steel Cadets; I didn’t buy into the propaganda, but that was an awful event.
I shot a glance to him, the stallion that was called ‘Captain’ and ‘Old Friend’ by even Hades. How was he tied to that school? The stallion was stock still, his pupil a pinprick, rattling in the white of his eye. The panic waging on in the theatre room was nothing compared to the struggle he must be fighting in his mind. I knew that look, it was the same look Rebel Riot had worn when he lost his father--Lost in fear and pain, surrounded by suffering.
“Your own progeny learned and died at that very school--You weren’t there, you couldn’t be there, you could not see what I had seen. By my words you believed there was a need for change--Revenge with direction.” Hades proclaimed this over the recording, one that seemed to be alive and changing. A morbid and heavy presence pressed us to our seats, to weather his entire monologue. “ Now you have forgotten my words, so now I shall lay bare in effigy the final moments you did not witness. I shall share with you the evil begotten by the zebra nation so that you may remember your mourning. Those that turned you against me hasten their undoing. That is what you embody to everyone you cherish; a death sentence.”
My fears became real, the stagnant air moved, the vents belched and rumbled before a pink, ethereal gas began to fill the room. It was the most feared pollutant and weapon the zebra had ever used against pony-kind, a necromantic weapon called by it’s visual appearance.
Pink Cloud.
...As the GM I must say, ‘wat’. That entire chapter was nothing but one big analogy of sex! You almost broke rating three times! I just...Here’s some exp. Listening to the story from Steelgraft’s point of view is just...Well, he’s a moron. Still, hearing it from a hooker’s point of view isn’t much an improvement. Oh, as for the boot? You should come back next chapter. We’ll be telling the story from its point of view. (Not really, but it is a funny idea.)
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I like the switch to Gangrene's point of view.
Even though it ended in a cliff hanger. 
2978826
Well, the next chapter's going to be awesome! And yes, Gangrene's perspective is interesting, no? I figured why not break conventional molds and experiment a little!
Forget consistency with perspective, perspective is just the vehicle for the story--I hope you enjoy the Gangrene Mobile--Next chapter will also be from her perspective. Also, yes, cliffhanger. That means you'll come back for more!
great chapter although there was one thing that caught my eye
I believe you meant to say stables instead of vaults
2988030
Thanks! I think I was tired. I'll fix that.
Edit: FIXED
Emotional responses that happened, in order: feels, lols, more lols, more feels, even more lols, then horror.
But mostly feels. Seeing the story from Gangrene's point of view was rather interesting.
I love exchanges like this. I don't know why, but I do.
You have 'spoke the other twin' twice in there.
Also, I still ship Steelgraft and Gangrene, for no apparent reason. Confound my shippers instincts.
oh, that's funny, since the author keeps making other RPG references!