> Trigger to Tomorrow Side Story: Crossfire
>  by thatguyvex
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> Chapter 1: Crossfire and Knobs
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


Chapter 1: Crossfire and Knobs


Another day, another set of tolls to collect. Skinner didn’t think much of his work anymore, the ghoulish gray unicorn going about his weekly rounds up and down Highway 70 with all the interest and enthusiasm of the skeletons side-lining the road in tangled black mounds. The mostly intact highway stretched west from Skull City and was the shortest of the routes patrolled by the Skull Guild’s ghoul-wranglers, taking only two days to make the full route to the end of the road at the settlement of Bleeder’s Gap and back again to the shanty town outside Skull City’s west gate, the Outskirts. Though it was a short route it could get rough; the route tending to be thicker with feral ghoul packs than others. Packs Skinner would be tempted to ignore rather than wrangle off the route. But that was as much as part of his job as collecting the tolls. Strictly speaking it was the reason the Skull Guild collected tolls. They kept the roads safe from roaming feral ghouls, the settlements along the road paid their protection tolls. Simple, easy process. Except sometimes a settlement might get too big for its britches and think it didn’t need the Skull Guild’s protection. Might think they had enough guns of their own to handle the feral ghoul packs that perpetually wandered the dead, twisted forest of burned buildings that was the blasted suburbs surrounding the former city of Detrot.

Sometimes such settlements needed subtle reminders of how bad the feral ghouls got when a ghoul-wrangler like Skinner didn’t do his job.

None of that this time though; Skinner couldn’t afford to slack off. He had a newbie with him, learning the ropes. He had to act all respectable-like.

“M-Mister Skinner, I hear another pack up ahead!” said the squeaky voice of Knobbly Knees. She was a young unicorn mare, with a healthy teal coat and a short red mane pulled back in a tail, her cutie mark, of all things, a white pillow. She wore a bright red leather jacket, with a tan leather collar and cuffs. Her name was apt, as she was gangly and tall. Skinner had seen some mares that made the tall look work beautifully, like certain fashion models of the pre-war era... but Knobbly Knees looked like an awkward giraffe. Skinner decided it was the fact her body just hadn’t caught up with her legs; perhaps if she lived long enough to fill out more she’d be a looker, but right now she was just all legs and not much else. 

Unlike some ghouls, Skinner liked to look, even at the smooth-hides. He was infinitely glad his pay-grade as a ghoul-wrangler was enough he could afford Madame Red’s rates at the Pleasure Tower. The mare’s there were expensive, but didn’t bat an eye at a ghoul. 

“Mister Skinner!?” Knobbly Knees said again, voice somehow breaching an even higher note than before. Skinner flinched.

“Keep your damned voice down kid, I heard you!” he snapped, “Now do like I taught and get your mask on, and prep the grenades! Be quick about it!”

For all the young mare’s excitability and fear she was fast in obeying his gruff commands. She hopped from the driver seat next to him into the back of the wagon. It was an old wood wagon of blackened boards, nailed together by thick iron bolts. It was drawn by a ghouled brahmin, the two headed cow’s pair of heads listlessly lolling from side to side as it pulled the wagon along. Skinner pulled back on the reins to get the brahmin to stop and shifted over on the seat to reach the long wooden pole attached to one corner of the wagon; a pole that held up a large iron lantern. 

He heard the ferals now too, their dry, rasping howls echoing through the hollow cracks between ruined buildings. They were close, and if Skinner hadn’t missed his guess, they were hunting something, or somepony. 

Skinner licked his dry lips and checked the load in the lantern, making sure it was filled with the right oil and incense. He didn’t like those howls. Ferals that were that close to snatching a meaty morsel were harder to wrangle; and when riled, ferals were as like to gnaw on another ghoul as they were the smooth-hides.

“You ready Knobs!?” he growled, “We ain’t got more than a minute before they’re on us.”

“Yes sir!” she chirped, voice somewhat muffled by the black gas mask she’d thrown on over her face, green eyes staring wide at him. Her horn was lit up with a soft green hue and a set of gas grenades floated by her head, ready to be thrown on the off chance something went wrong. 

“Good; keep steady and don’t toss unless I say so!” he said just as he saw movement burst from the edge of the road, a pony-shaped form tripping over the piles of skeletons lining the ditch along the road.

Skinner frowned. That was no ghoul. That was a flesh and blood pony. He couldn’t get a good look, other than the pony had a black coat and blue mane, and was wearing some kind of brown form fitting leather uniform and red scarf. From the way the pony stumbled he or she was probably wounded... that or the ridiculously large rifle the pony carried slung over his or her back was weighing the pony down.

That rifle... its got a bayonet on it bigger than my leg, Skinner realized, and grimaced at the implications. What was a Neighlesius soldier doing here? He pushed the question aside, however, and pulled out a small brass lighter he used to ignite the lantern.

Blue fire, ghostly and putting off a cobalt screen of smoke filled the lantern, and with it a thick mint scent

The fleeing pony stumbled to the middle of the road, looking about wildly, and Skinner caught a glimpse of bright yellow eyes before the pony, a unicorn he could see now, started for him and his wagon.

At the same moment the ferals came; a pack of over a dozen rushing from beyond the ruins like a scampering mass of moaning jaws and rotting bones. Knobbly Knees made a quavering squeaking noise but Skinner noted with some pleasure that she held firm, keeping the grenades floating steady and didn’t run off or toss them prematurely. Already the wagon and a good ten yard space around it was getting surrounded by a blanket of ghostly blue vapors from the lit lantern.

“H-hurry!” Knobbly Knees shouted, presumably to the fleeing black pony, “Over here! The gas won’t hurt you!”

Skinner frowned. She shouldn’t go babbling about the gas, or any of the ghoul-wrangler’s trade secrets. Part of the Skull Guild’s power was its mystique. It lets ponies assume things about it. Just blabbing that the gas was harmless wasn’t something you went around doing, even if any well informed citizen of Skull City probably knew that. 

The black unicorn redoubled her (she did have some feminine curves to her now that she was close enough for Skinner to note them) speed, the ferals quickly catching up. Skinner waited another few seconds, until he was sure the ferals were close enough, before taking the lantern and its pole off the cart in the crook of one fore leg and, somewhat awkward, reared up on his hind legs.

Skinner, like all ghoul-wranglers, wore a long black coat with the sigil of a white skull, blue flames in its eye sockets. The coat billowed out slightly as he stood on two legs, pole held high and swaying slightly. At the same time his horn lit up with a bright pink hue identical to the shade of his eyes. As the spell took effect a soft, haunting moaning issued from everywhere and nowhere at once; seeming to come with an unnatural wind that kicked up around the dusty road. 

The black unicorn mare faltered, tripping over herself and fell face first to the ground not more than ten feet from the wagon. Skinner saw blood matting her uniform; now clearly the brown leather coat of a Neighlesius soldier. The ferals had been right behind her.

However the ghouls had halted in their tracks upon hearing the melody of whining moans summoned by Skinner’s spell, and the feral ghoul’s noses sniffed the air as the blue gas from his swaying lantern filled the street. Slowly, as if it was being drained right out of them, the ferals seemed to forget their hunger and their hunt. Their milky dead eyes followed the gentle swaying of Skinner’s lantern. 

Skinner frowned, though, as he saw one of the ferals in the back of the pack make a hissing noise and shake its head. If it kept that it up it’d break the spell for its fellows.

“Knobs; we got a malcontent in back,” he whispered, “See to...” he paused, measuring the gender, “him.”

Knobbly Knees gulped but set down one of the grenades so she could float up a small, scoped rifle; a low caliber affair used for little more than hunting radroaches or popping bottles, but also good enough for a ghoul’s head. It was fixed with a silencer, and while Skinner might’ve thought her little more than a kid, Knobbly Knees at least could shoot half straight. A quiet *pfft* sound and the ghoul who hadn’t fallen under the spell and gas’s trance dropped to the ground, now a truly dead pile of bones.

He frowned. He could see Knobbly Knees showing her namesake, her legs shaking as she set the rifle aside, staring at the dead feral. Mare had to learn to stomach stuff like that if she was going to be a ghoul-wrangler one day. 

“Right then,” Skinner said, hopping down from the wagon, his horn still alight with a pink aura. He wove subtle alterations into the spell, changing the tone of the unearthly moans it summoned on the wind. He affixed the lantern pole to a hitch on his coat. He had the ferals attention now, no more need to swing it; those blank, dead eyes were focused on the lantern’s phantom blue light. As he walked off towards the side of the road the feral pack followed like obedient little ducklings following their mother. Once at the side of the road Skinner cast another spell and the blue flame of the lantern detached and floated out into the air, wafting through the air like a will-o-wisp. The feral ghouls followed the light at a steady, even trot, the procession of rotting ponies vanishing into the ruins after the blue flame. 

The spell would go on its own for some time, long enough that by the time the ferals fell out of their trance they’d be miles into the ruins, and well away from the road. Skinner let out a breath he’d been holding. No matter how often he did this, it still caused a little jitter in his gut. You never knew when something would go wrong, and controlling feral ghouls, that was the kind of thing that got messy when things went wrong. 

Returning to the wagon he slipped his lantern pole back to its place and hopped up to the driver’s seat.

“M-mister Skinner?” Knobbly Knees asked in her high pitched voice, pulling off her gas mask as he took up the reins and got the brahmin going, “Where are we going!?”

“Back to our rounds,” he said with a snort, “Where do you think?”

“But... but what about her!?” Knobbly Knees said, pointing at the fallen black unicorn mare, who Skinner was steering the wagon around.

Skinner narrowed his eyes, “What about her? She isn’t any of our business. We got a feral pack off the road, that’s it. Anypony else ain’t our concern.”

Knobbly Knees gave him that wide eyed, pouting lipped look that he hated. It was the look that, against his better judgment, got him agreeing to take her on as an apprentice years ago. He was about to grit his teeth and tell her to knock it off when an idea popped into his head. The pay of a ghoul-wrangler was decent, but he could always do with a few more caps...

“Alright, fine,” he said and pulled up the wagon short, “But she’s your baggage. Get her in the cart and don’t be sluggish about it!”

He almost felt bad about what he planned to do, the way Knobbly Knees smiled brightly as the sun that was hidden behind the dense ocean of white and gray clouds above. She hopped out of the wagon and rushed to the fallen black unicorn, horn lighting up as she levitated out from her saddlebags a set of bandages and a healing potion. Skinner rolled his eyes. Wasting good medical supplies on a stranger. How had that mare survived to nearly being an adult, with an attitude like that? 

Oh well, she’d learn eventually. Or die. Skinner kept his hope for the former buried deep, because in his experience, the latter was the far more likely outcome. 

----------

Knobbly Knees, or Knobs more often than not to those she knew, waited patiently by the mattress where the unicorn mare she and Skinner rescued from the Highway 70 slept. She’d been fearful when she’d first treated the mare, but the wounds on the other unicorn were not as bad as they’d first appeared. Most of them had just been cuts and scrapes, probably from running through the dangerous terrain of the ruined suburbs, usually just called the Deadburbs by the citizens of Skull City. The only real wound on the black unicorn had been a gunshot in her hindquarters from what had looked like a low caliber pistol. The bullet had passed clean through without breaking bone or doing a lot of damage. A lucky break, but from the condition of the mare, her clear exhaustion, it was apparent she’d been on the move for awhile, probably at least a day since getting shot.

It was a good thing Knobs had a knack for medicine, and kept a decently supplied first aid kit on her. She’d been thorough, cleaning and dressing the black unicorn’s wounds before administering a healing potion to help the tissue repair itself. 

Now it was just a matter of waiting until her patient woke up. Skinner wouldn’t be needing her for a day or two. Between weekly rounds she usually had to help him with chores like preparing more incense for his lantern, and of course taking lessons on the ghoul-wrangler’s trade, but he usually let her have a couple of days off after they did the weekly rounds. Enough time to help this poor mare recovered and got her hooves under her... whoever she was.

“Uuugh...” the black unicorn groaned and turned over on Knobs’ mattress, causing the teal mare to jump in surprise, letting out a little yelp.

“Oh! You’re waking up! Um, what do I need... water! Yes, I’ll go get you some water!” Knobs shuffled across the room of her small shack, going to the cupboards hanging over her sink, her tall gangly form almost having her red mane brush the low ceiling. 

She managed to fish out a flask already filled with (mostly) clean water and turned to find the black unicorn mare slamming into her. Knobs squeaked in fright as strong black hooves shoved her hard against the wall, one of them pressing hard into her neck. Knobs cried out in pain as she felt the prick of a knife against her side and saw a red glow of magic around the black unicorn’s horn. Yellow eyes blazed intently into hers as the unicorn mare spoke; a young voice, but hard and edged with both fear and desperation.

“Where am I?”

“Urk... I...” Knobs couldn’t quite get any words past the pressure on her throat and she kicked her legs as the lack of air started to burn her lungs. 

The black unicorn blinked, frowned, and eased up on Knobs’ throat, if only just barely. Knobs sucked in air and spoke quickly.

“Y-you’re in my shack...”

The following seconds were the longest of Knobs’ life as the black unicorn kept the knife pressed firmly against her hide, right above her frantically beating heart. Knobs couldn’t keep her fear from showing, her knees shaking uncontrollably; the namesake that had followed her since foalhood. The black unicorn’s eyes didn’t blink as they slowly took in her surroundings, finally coming back on Knobs’ face. Then the mare took a calming breath, and Knobs’ realized the black unicorn had been shaking slightly as well as she pulled her hoof and the knife away and backed up from Knobs.

Knobs slid to the ground, rubbing her throat and gulping in breath. She looked up as the black unicorn floated the knife back to a sheath hidden up her the sleeve of her leather uniform. Knobs’ made a mental note that, in the future, she’d check her ponies she treated for hidden weapons. Knobs floated up the water flask she’d retrieved and gave the black unicorn a weak smile.

“It's, uh, a little irradiated, but its as clean as I can afford, and you need to rehydrate.” 

The black unicorn looked completely taken aback for a second, then nodded and took up the water flask in her own red magical aura, uncorking it and draining the flask quickly. When she finished she wiped her mouth and gave Knobs’ an embarrassed, “Thanks. Sorry about the rough treatment. I wasn’t expecting to wake up anywhere safe.”

Knobs smiled and shook her head, getting up and waving a hoof, “No prob. Happens all the time.”

At the other unicorn’s raised eyebrow Knobs’ rubbed the back of her head, “Okay, maybe not all the time. In fact I think this is the first time I’ve brought home a strange wounded mare and had her assault me! But, you know, no biggie! Oh, I’m Knobbly Knees. Pleased to meet you!”

She extended her hoof and after a moment the other mare shook it.

“Same to you. I’m...” the black mare hesitated, glancing away for a moment, ”Call me Crossfire.”

Knobs was curious about why Crossfire had hesitated like that, but was too polite, and admittedly too scared, to question it. When Crossfire was done shaking Knobs’ hoof she looked around the room again, yellow eyes narrowing.

“Where’s my rifle?”

“Oh, um... about that,” Knobs chuckled nervously, “My uh, boss, Mister Skinner, held onto it. Said it’d be payment for transporting you from the road to here- h-hey!”

The last was said hurriedly as Crossfire, without a word, stalked out of the shack, practically taking the door off the hinges. Knobs quickly followed Crossfire outside, but didn’t have to go far. Crossfire had stopped just outside, looking about in blinking surprise at her surroundings.

Knobs supposed she couldn’t blame the blue maned mare. The Outskirts of Skull City could be overwhelming to ponies not used to it.

Knobs’ shack was built among thick clusters of hundreds of similar shacks made from sheet metal and wood planks piled upon one another in a tangled forest of rust that spread in all directions. Like living boils of metal the “buildings” grew upon one another in a wild expanse of dull reds and browns. An ocean of dilapidated metal that lacked any semblance of order or structure. Between the dwellings streets of well beaten dirt roads twisted and intersected like streams, some so narrow a single pony could barely squeeze through, others wide avenues filled with clusters of passing ponies; half of which sported the rotting hides of ghouls. The scent of so many ponies living in close quarters made for an oppressive blanket of cloying smells that blended together into one overpowering stench of sweat, waste, and smoke. 

All was built upon a hill sloping on a steady incline to the east, leading to a distant wall, easily twenty meters tall, made from a densely woven patchwork of scrapped vehicles, piled concrete rubble, layers of sheet metal, and thick steel girders. This wall was marked by barbed wired bunkers and towers, the forms of armed guards moving along the wall like distant ants, machine gun emplacements looking like black matchsticks. From the top of the walls hung dozens upon dozens of iron cages, some empty, many others occupied. The occupants were living ponies, serving out sentences for crimes inside Skull City itself. Those guilty of sometimes petty crimes could look forward to the possibility of survival, if they could handle a few days in the “crows cages”. Those who had committed worse crimes... well they often became the unmoving corpses pecked upon by the black birds that gave the cages their name. 

Living in the Outskirts you didn’t need to fear such a fate. That was punishment for citizens of the actual city beyond the walls. No, justice in the Outskirts, such as it was, tended towards being much faster and more brutal. It paid to have friends; preferably among the gangs that carved out their territories amid the Outskirts like ants taking apart a pie. 

Beyond the wall were the towering forms of a dozen skyscrapers, though all but three of them were blackened, skeletal frameworks. The three intact towers were in remarkably good repair, though they failed to gleam and shine as they may have once done; their windows as often broken open as intact. The largest of these towers sported an odd feature, massive portions of the wall near its top removed, with blue flickering bonfires burning inside the black holes. It gave the impression of a skull like face, gazing out over the city.

Indeed, if one thing unified the pathwork plague of shacks hugging the walls of Skull City it was the city’s namesake; the skulls. Whether old, blackened from the ancient balefire that scorched the world two hundred years ago, or fresh and still slightly bloody from some poor soul who’d run afoul of any hundreds of ways to meet an early end, skulls decorated many of the dwellings and streets. Whether nailed upon doors or set up upon poles with open tops where lanterns were set, or even just arranged in piles kicked off the side of the streets by passers by, skulls were a common sight everywhere one turned. 

Even Knobs’ shack had an old pony skull sitting atop the door, with a small red baseball cap atop it. The cap used to belong to one of the familyless foals that had sold scrap at the corner of her street. She’d gone to Skinner’s one morning to find the filly stabbed to death. Knobs had never found out by who, but had taken the cap after carrying the body to one of the dozens of graveyards occupying the edge of the shantytown. While outsiders would probably see this as strange at best, for those living in or around Skull City it was just normal. 

“Where in Tartarus am I?” asked Crossfire, face twisted up in disgust, probably at the smell, and earning a few odd looks from passing ponies. Knobs gulped. She didn’t recognize any gang colors upon the ponies passing by, but really anypony might take note of a clear outsider. Word would pass fast. Local thieves would be sizing up her shack before the evening was out, if only to see if the new mare had any good stuff to snatch. 

“Um, well, this is Skull City. Or just outside it. The east gate Outskirts,” Knobs said, shifting nervously on her hooves, eyes sharply watching the nearby alley entrances, “I figured all the skulls would kinda give it away.”

Crossfire spat, muttering under her breath, “This is what I get for not paying attention to where I’m going. Why?”

“Huh?”

“Why did you help me?” Crossfire said, tugging at the red scarf she wore around her neck, then her leather uniform, specifically the collar, where there was a small iron pin in the shape of a feline creature’s profile, “You know what I am, right?”

“Sorta?” Knobs said, laughing in nervous embarrassment, “Uh, we should go back inside. You hungry?”

“I want my rifle,” said Crossfire darkly.

“We can go see Skinner, my boss, after we eat. Please, your body is still recovering. And its safer to talk inside.”

Crossfire frowned, but relented and they went back inside. Knobs latched the door this time, sliding an iron deadbolt across it before going to a corner of her shack that had her tiny, semi-functioning oven. It was mostly dead save for one barely functioning pilot light she could use to cook things on an old aluminum pot. As she fished out some mushrooms and after a moment of hesitation a box of Flim&Flam brand mac and cheese. The box of well preserved pre-war food was an expensive luxury she could usually only spring for once a month, but Crossfire looked like she could use some cheering up as far as Knobs was concerned. 

While Knobs got some water boiling in her aluminum pot Crossfire stalked back and forth in the limited space of the shack, her light blue tail twitching about in time with her steps and her face cast in a glower. Abruptly the black mare looked at Knobs sharply, “Well?”

“Well what?” Knobs asked, smiling as she put the mac and cheese into the boiling water.

“You haven’t answered my question; why did you help me?” 

“Why not? It’s not like it cost me anything to help out another pony in need. Or, well, okay it did because I had to use two healing potions and a bunch of bandages, then I had to pay Spiked Heels extra protection fees because I had another pony in my shack, and I guess the food I’m making now is also an extra cost, so I’m probably out about three hundred caps. Heheh.”

Crossfire looked at Knobs with blinking eyes, and Knobs could only just keep smiling. Plenty of other ponies had given her that look before. The ‘are you stupid?’ look. Knobs wondered what it was about her that got so many ponies looking at her that way

“So... you helped me just because you wanted to?”

“Pretty much!”

Golden yellow eyes regarded Knobs carefully, and Knobs saw the black unicorn mare gradually slow her pacing until she came to a stop and sat down on her haunches, seeming to finally relax a little. Crossfire then laughed, shaking her head. Knobs decided she liked that laugh. It was a little dry, like the other mare wasn’t used to laughing, but it had a good, full sound to it.

“Then you’re a lot different than what I was led to expect from ponies in this city,” Crossfire said, still shaking her head, “I thought I’d have to fight my way out of here before a slave collar got put around my neck.”

“Nah, that’d only happen if you somehow got on the Labor Guild’s bad side,” said Knobs, tossing in the mushrooms now that the cheese had gotten nice and creamy with the macaroni, “Or if one of the gangs decided to snatch you and sell you off, or if you ended up in debt to somepony so bad you had to sell yourself to pay the debt or end up getting hunted down by bounty hunters.”

At the following silence Knobs glanced over her shoulder to see Crossfire staring at her.

“What?”

“... Nothing,” Crossfire said, giving the door a sidelong look and rubbing one foreleg with the other, not far, Knobs noted, from where she’d hidden her knife, “What’s with all the skulls anyway? Isn’t a tad-”

“Tacky?” suggested Knobs with a smile.

“I was going to say disturbing.”

Knobs shrugged, giving the mac and cheese a quick taste test. Mmm, almost done! 

“I don’t know. Just the way it’s always been. Guess when ponies first settled around here we had a surplus of skeletons just laying around, so somepony probably decided to put them all to use. They’re just for decoration, though sometimes somepony will get creative with some other bones. My favorite bar has this really cool chandelier made entirely out of femurs and vertebrae! It makes this awesome rattling noise whenever there’s a breeze.”

“That’s... insane.”

Knobs chuckled, “So I take it they don’t use skulls as door knockers in Neighlesius?”

Crossfire’s expression soured, “No. We don’t. So you do recognize the uniform I’m wearing.”

“Well, no, I didn’t. Mister Skinner had to explain it to me. Hmm, weird, now that I think about it he was all ‘No, this isn’t any of our business’ one second, then was all ‘Oh, we should totally help this enemy soldier out’ the next. I never knew he was such a flip-flop. Meh, I guess ‘enemy soldier’ is an exaggeration though, because the war ended, right?”

Crossfire was frowning at her, voice measured and level, “Officially hostilities between the Protectorate and Skull City have been suspended with an armistice... but technically the war never ended. We’re just licking our wounds and waiting, though the politicians spout a bunch of bull about ‘seeking a peaceful resolution’. Such a load of crap.”

There was such a strong tone of bitterness in the other mare’s voice that Knobs felt an instinctive urge to go over and give her a hug. Knobs keenly remembered the feel of Crossfire’s hoof on her throat, but while there was an edge around this mare that scared her, Knobs just shoved the fear aside. Crossfire gave a little yelp of surprise as Knobs came over fast as a bullet and wrapped the black unicorn up in a big hug. Knobs’ long legs might be shaky, but when it came to hugs, their strength was unsurpassed.

“Gah! W-what are you doing!? Get off me!” Crossfire shouted, shoving Knobs away, though not with much force.

“Huh? You sounded like you needed a hug!” Knobs said happily, “Like you were really angry about something.”
Crossfire had backed away from her, mane bristling. Knobs wondered if the mare had ever tried styling it. The light blue strands just hung in a unkempt mass. Knobs decided it’d look good if it was pulled back in a tail; but then she was probably just being biased. Ponytails were cool. 

“Right, hugs, fine. Look, I appreciate you helping me Knobbly-”

“Oh, just call me Knobs.”

“Knobs then. Like I was saying, appreciate the help, but let’s just not try not get all comfortable with each other, okay? I’m not sticking around or anything,” Crossfire said, though the hard look she was trying to put on was ruined somewhat by the way her nose twitched at the rich smell of fresh cooked mac and cheese that was now filling the shack, the black unicorn licking her lips and gulping as her eyes slid towards the pot. 

Knobs just bobbed her head in a cheerful nod, getting out a couple of clean, if chipped plates, and spooning the mac and cheese onto them. Crossfire looked at her plate, taking it gratefully in a red glow of her magic while Knobs took hers in her green magic aura. If Crossfire noticed that Knobs had given the greater portion to the black unicorn, she made no comment as they began to eat. Knobs made a pleased hum; mac and cheese, even two hundred years old, was sooooo good! As she ate she found herself glancing at Crossfire, her clothes, her form, even her cutie mark. Crossfire looked to be not much older than Knobs, maybe twenty, at most. She had a lean, rugged look about it, kind of tall but not like Knobs’ gangly form, but rather just naturally saturesque. Not quite pretty, but not hard on the eyes either. The shirt she wore was a light, thin leather, and the red scarf she wore was tied in a triangle down from her neck. 

“Is that what all Protectorate solides wear?” she found herself asking.

Crossfire looked up from her meal, frowned, but answered, “No, each unit has slightly different uniforms and gear. Scarves we wear are universal, though, for showing we’re Neighlesius troops. Applehyde wears blue. Even if they’re in power armor. What about you? That red jacket the only clothes you have?”

“Huh?” Knobs looked down at herself, then grinned and held herself up with a straight, proud stance, “Oh, this was my moms! She always wore it when she went out on a job. It was her lucky jacket!”

Crossfire looked intrigued, “Was?”

Knobs proud demeanor almost instantly deflated, her ears falling back, “I... yeah she-”

“You don’t have to tell me,” Crossfire said quickly, “Wasn’t trying to dig up anything. Its a nice jacket. Let’s just, uh, change the subject.”

Knobs smiled, glad Crossfire seemed to be relaxing a bit, and equally fine with not dredging up unpleasant memories, “Sure sure! So, what’s the story with your cutie mark? What is it? A gem?”

Crossfire’s face screwed up in confusion, “Gem? What are you-?” the mare’s eyes went wide as she looked back at her flank. Her cutie mark, a bright blue shining gem in the shape of a tear, suddenly wavered like it was being obscured by mist. Knobs blinked in surprise, seeing the tell-tale red glow of magic around Crossfire’s horn as she cast a spell. The blue teardrop cutie mark was replaced by a different mark; that of three onions.

“Why did-” Knobs began to ask but Crossfire looked at her and cut her off with a raised hoof.

“Forget what you saw. Its not important, at least not to you.”

“O... kay...” Knobs said, and the meal continued with a few more minutes of awkward silence.

“So why were you running around the east Deadburbs anyway?” asked Knobs, breaking the silence when she could stand it no longer, and Crossfire grimaced.

“Got lost,” was all she said.

“Don’t you have friends that’d be looking for you then? A squad, or platoon, or whatever you were a part of?”

Crossfire huffed, meeting Knobs’ eyes, “You’re a curious sort, aren’t you?”

At Knobs’ enthusiastic nod and wagging of her tail Crossfire rolled her eyes.

“No,” she answered, a desiccated note in her voice, “Nopony is going to be looking for me.”

“Are you a deserter?”

“No!” Crossfire hissed, her horn’s red glow intensifying suddenly and the plate she was floating in front of her cracked in half, splattering mac and cheese all over. Crossfire blinked, then sighed.

“Sorry...” she said, looking at the broken plate with her ears drooped in shame.

“Its okay! I, uh, let me find a rag or something,” Knobs said as she hastily went to get a cloth to give to Crossfire. As the black unicorn cleaned herself off Knobs put away the plate shards in a small waste bin and lamented the loss of the plate. 

“I didn’t desert,” said Crossfire, after they’d settled back down, “It’s... complicated. Complicated, and my own business. Bottom line is I can’t go back home.”

“So what are you going to do then?”

Crossfire finished wiping herself off, and looked away, one hoof tapping the ground, “Didn’t have much of a plan other than putting distance between myself and the Protectorate.“

“Well if you didn’t have any plans then why don’t you stay here for a bit, until you figure out what you’re going to do?” suggested Knobs, lips spread in a wide grin. 

Crossfire frowned, silent for a moment, but ultimately shook her head, “No, I don’t think so.”

“Awww, why not?” pouted Knobs, “You just said you didn’t have any plans.”

“Doesn’t mean I’m keen on making this city my home. I might not know what I’m going to do, but its not going to involve a place that considers the bones of the dead as good additions to their architecture. Also not a fan of crowds.”

Knobs sighed, nodding, but still giving Crossfire a pout, “You should at least stay a few days though, until your wounds are fully healed. And you get the lay of the land. Like you just found out, traveling around the Skull City Wasteland is dangerous.”

Crossfire snorted, “Just ran into some bad luck. Raiders were shit shots, but one of them got a lucky hit in. Bastards were thicker than fleas before I got too deep into the, what did you call them, Deadburbs? Could sneak past most bands, but that last one I just ran shit out of luck. What keeps the Raiders from hitting this city? I didn’t see any defenses for this shantytown, just that huge wall.”

“Oh, the Raiders do hit us every now and then, but its really rare. The feral ghouls that roam the deeper Deadburbs keep them out, and when the Raiders do muster enough crazy or courage to attack, the gangs band together to drive them off. Nothing’s ever threatened the wall before. And don’t change the subject! Seriously, I’d like you to stay at least a day, to make sure that wound of yours doesn’t get infected. Don’t make me beg. I’m really good at it!”

Crossfire held up her hooves, “Alright, alright, I’ll spare us both the embarrassment. But just a day. Long enough to get my rifle back from your boss and get my strength back. Come tomorrow, I’m gone.”

Knobs pumped her own hoof in a victory pose, “Yes, sleepover time! Never had anypony over for the night before! This is going to be so much fun! I need to go get some cucumbers!” 

“Cu... cumbers?” Crossfire could not have sounded more bemused if Knobs had spontaneously grown an additional head.

“Yup! And pillows! Can’t have a pillow fight without pillows. Hm I wonder if I could even find any at the bazaar? Well, nothing ventured nothing gained.”

Crossfire watched her in bewilderment as Knobs trotted to the door. She opened it, her bouncy enthusiasm causing her to not even look as she went out, and she gave a gasp as she ran into something large and solid as a concrete wall. Rebounding and landing on her back, Knobs shook her head to clear the proverbial birdies and looked up at a dark purple earth pony mare with a straight black mane and flinty gray eyes. The mare wore metal armor and had a pair of double-barreled shotguns mounted on a battle saddle, alongside a sledgehammer slung across her back. The mare was easily taller than the doorframe of Knobs’ shack, and was almost too wide for the door as well.

Behind this hulk of a mare Knobs could see a few other ponies, all stallions, and all wearing metal armor and carrying hammers of one sort or another. 

“Uh, heya Bruise!” Knobs said, still laying on her back, “What can I do for you? I, uh, already paid Spiked Heels, didn’t I?”

She heard more than saw Crossfire shift, the black unicorn tensing. 

The purple mare, Bruise, lowered her head and poked it into the shack, not bothering to try and push her bulk through. When she spoke it was in a soft, feminine voice that was utterly at odds with her appearance.

“What you can do, Knobs, is get in the corner, keep quiet, and stay out of the way.”

Knobs had managed to shuffle onto her hooves, raising one of them questioningly, “Can I ask first why you-”

Knobs was harshly cut off by a hoof that knocked her aside like a foal, the teal mare smashing into the wall of her shack hard enough that the 	entire thing shook slightly. Bruise, glowering, lowered herself and tried squeezing through the doorframe. When it became clear she couldn’t clear it she instead fixed Crossfire with a stone eyed glare.

Crossfire met that glare with one of her own, “Knobs, you okay?”

“Blarf.”

“... I’ll take that as a yes,” Crossfire said, eyes narrowing at Bruise.

Bruise for her part had extricated herself from the doorframe with a snort, then she proceeded to say in a commanding tone, “Come on out of there and don’t make this hard, Protectorate bitch.”

Knobs, head still ringing, wobbled to her hooves, and blinked in shock, “W-wait! I paid your boss, Bruise, for the extra pony in my home! She’s got no reason to want Crossfire!”

“You paid the rate for a fellow Outskirts pony. This bitch is from the Protectorate. Spiked Heels wants her, and she’s coming out here, or I’m sending the boys in to drag her out. Don’t make this tough on yourself Knobs; wouldn’t be hard for me to turn this shack into a pile of scrap! You got two minutes!”

“No need for any of that,” Crossfire said, a calm edge to her tone, “I’ll come out.”

“Crossfire, wait, we can talk this out,” said Knobs hurriedly, getting between the black unicorn and the door, “Spiked Heels she’s... she’s got ties to the Labor Guild.”

Knobs voice lowered to a whisper, “They’ll probably sell you off! I got a little secret way out the back of the shack you can take, just move that board over there! Quick, I can distract Bruise for a bit while you run!”

Crossfire shook her head and pushed past Knobs, “Not leaving you to deal with these ponies,” a small, cocky smile creased her features, “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine...”

Crossfire then sighed and grumbled, “Even if I don’t have my rifle.”

Coming out of the shack and onto the street, Crossfire was surrounded by Bruise and the other gang ponies. A few passers by paused to glance at the scene, but apparently this kind of thing was common enough that to many it was only worth the one glance before most ponies continued about their business. Bruise looked faintly surprised at Crossfire’s willingness to come out on her own and stood looming over the black unicorn while her fellow gangers took up flanking positions to either side, blocking any routes Crossfire might use to run.

“So, the Protectorate bitch has enough brains to not fuck around with the Hammer Crusher Gang?”

“Hammer Crusher Gang? Seriously?” Crossfire asked.

“Because we crush things, with hammers!” offered one of the gang stallions helpfully, holding up one of his hammers, as if it were an example prop. He sounded quite proud. 

“Uh-huh... look, Bruise was it? I’m not interested in a fight.”

Bruise leaned forward, as if she was trying to pose for a photoshoot for ‘Looming Dangerously Magazine’. She blasted out a intimidating snort of air that blew some of Crossfire’s mane back. Knobs was watching from behind the corner of her shack’s door, worry plastering her face.

“Good, then don’t fight. Make both our lives easier.”

Crossfire nodded, her face a mask of perfect calm, “Sure, sure. Not going to make this hard on myself. Let’s go meet your boss.”

Bruise looked the black unicorn up and down, gray eyes suspicious, then nodded to one of her fellow gangers, “Fracture, check her for weapons.”

As the rust colored stallion approached Bruise stepped back from Crossfire, aiming her shotguns at the unicorn and putting the firing bit on her mouth. Crossfire smiled.

“Paranoid much?”

Bruise snorted, “You smell like trouble. Spiked Heels wants you alive, but I like me and my boys being alive more, so if you so much as twitch your pretty little tail in a way I don’t like, your greymatter is decorating Knobs’ shack.”

Crossfire’s smile thinned, “Smart mare.”

As Fracture started to pat her down Crossfire looked Bruise up and down.

“What?” the huge purple mare challenged, baring her teeth.

“Nothing. Just noticing your battle saddle looks custom rigged. Make it yourself?”

Bruise grunted, “Don’t try to get all buddy-buddy with me. Lost plenty of pals to you Protectorate bitches and your fancy power armor during the war!”

“Power armor is Applehyde’s schtick, not Neighlesius, but whatever, guess all the Protectorate is the same to you, huh? Anyway, wasn’t trying to be friendly, was asking because I couldn’t help but notice you don’t have a reloader rig.”

Bruise shrugged, “Yeah, so? Two double barrels of buckshot tends to end fights before reloading matters. Sure as shit is enough to end you if you try anything funny.”

Crossfire closed her eyes, nodding sagely as if that went without saying, “Of course, of course. Big mare like you, probably doesn’t rely on guns that much anyway. Bet the sledgehammer is more your preference.”

By now Fracture had done a very thorough job searching her, probably lingering far longer than he needed to on her flanks and the inside of her hind legs, to which Crossfire had stiffened but showed no other outward sign of discomfort. The rust colored stallion had found the knife hidden up her leather sleeve and was holding it in his mouth as he gave her one last pat down.

“Shu luuks cluur buus,” Fracture said around the knife handle.

“Alright, tie her up and let’s haul her to the boss,” said Bruise, then frowned as none of the other ganger’s moved, “Well?”

A brown earth pony stallion with a mop of a dusty blond mane scratched the back of his head with a hoof, “I don’t think any of us brought any rope, boss.”

Bruise groaned, “Did everypony decide to drink out of the fucking toilet today?”

“I have some rope!” Knobs piped in, but then immediately gasped, “I mean, uh, no, of course I don’t have any rope. Why would I need something like that? Ahahaha!”

Bruise glared at the teal mare, “Knobs, just get the damn rope.”

“N-not if you’re going to use it to tie up my friend!”

“Oh for fuck’s sake Knobs, she’s not your friend, she’s just some dumbass mare you and Skinner found on the road!”

Knobs poked her head further out of her doorway, expression pondering, “Wait, how do you know me and Mister Skinner found her on the road?”

“Because he sold us the info on where a Protectorate soldier was hiding out,” Bruise deadpanned, as if it should have been obvious.

For Knobs it was in no way obvious. Her shock was clear in her dropped jaw and wide eyes, “He... he wouldn’t do that!”

Bruise glared at the teal unicorn, “Just. Get. The. Rope!”

Knobs was shaking, legs wobbling like they were in an earthquake, but she didn’t move. Bruise let out a loud groan of frustration and took a step forward, heading for the door.

It was then Crossfire moved. Knobs couldn’t follow it clearly. Crossfire had been standing stock still next to the ganger, Fracture, one second, and the next Fracture was flying head over hooves into one of his companions, both gangers going down in a tangle of limbs. The very next instant Bruise, who’d just started to bite down on her firing bit, was suffused by a red glow and levitated up into the air. The shotguns went off in a quartet of ear splitting booms, but instead of pulping Crossfire, the buckshot tore up the roof of Knobs’ shack. Bruise was thrown into the shacks across the way like a giant purple battering ram, sheet metal tearing and collapsing like cardboard. 

By now the other gangers had recovered from their shock and moved in on Crossfire, whose horn’s glow was just fading with the black unicorn panting and sweating from the exertion of tossing a mare as big as Bruise. 

The first ganger, a lime green mare with a blue mohawk mane, came in with a carpenter's hammer in her mouth, swinging it for Crossfire’s head. Crossfire danced back, the hammer swishing through the empty air her head had just occupied. Another ganger rushed at her from the other side, swinging a hoof clad in a roughly fashioned gauntlet of scrap metal. Crossfire tried to juke away but her shoulder was clipped, sending her stumbling back into the side of Knobs’ shack.

Knobs squeaked, every instinct she had telling her to close her door and hide. She hated violence. Surviving for her seventeen years of life in the Outskirts had necessitated dealing with it, of course, but that didn’t mean she ever got around to getting used to it like so many other ponies did. Now a pony she’d taken into her home was getting beat up by the largest gang this side of the Outskirts. 

Knobs gulped and headed towards the back of her shack as fast as she could, even as she heard Crossfire curse and the sounds of the fight intensify, a ganger crying out in pain after a snapping sound, then Crossfire yelping followed by the sound of a body hitting Knobs’ shack again. Knobs hastily overturned her mattress. Underneath was her little varmint rifle with its silencer and scope. Knobs horn lit up, the soft green glow enveloping the gun and the pair of loaded clips laying next to it. She loaded the weapon and slipped the extra clip onto a carrying pouch hanging off the rifle’s stock. 

By the time she got back to the door she could only wince at the scene.

One ganger was laying on the ground, clutching a hoof twisted in a direction hooves were clearly not meant to twist. Another was on her back, unconscious (or at least Knobs hoped she was just unconscious) with her muzzle stained entirely red with blood. The other three gangers Bruise had brought with her were all piled on top of Crossfire, one atop the other. Crossfire, nose bleeding, eye bruised, was on the bottom of the pile, only her head stick out from the bulk of ponies.

“Get off me you damned cheaters!” the black unicorn shouted as she swung her head back and forth, trying to pry her way out of the pile, “Ganging up on me like this, are you all a bunch of yellow bellied cowards!?” 

“Well, we are part of a gang,” said one ganger, the same stallion who’d been so helpful in explaining why their gang were called the Hammer Crushers, “So I think it's fair to gang up. It's part of the ganger hoofbook!”

“When did we get a hoofbook? I never got a hoofbook!”

“There is no hoofbook Grind! I was being facetious!”

“I think they make a creme for that.”

“Grraah, bitch just broke my leg!”

"Heheh, or maybe she just ‘Fractured’ it?”

“Oh fuck you Cutthroat! No, really, fuck you. You wouldn’t like it if I got to make a joke like that about your name, would ya!?”

Crossfire had stopped struggling, partly because the gangers seemed more focused on arguing with each other and had seemed to forgotten about her, and partly because she noticed Knobs and the rifle the teal unicorn was floating next to her. Knobs looked frantic, sweat dripping along her cheeks as she raised her rifle, pointing it into the air, and pulled the trigger to get everypony’s attention.

Of course the near silent small puff of air from the silencer did nothing to gain the attention of the arguing gangers. Crossfire gave Knobs a dry look. Knobs features heated in embarrassment as she slowly unscrewed the silencer from her rifle, aimed it up again, and fired off a now appropriately loud shot.

The ganger’s squabble petered out as they all turned their heads to look at Knobs, even Facture with his broken (or possibly just ‘fractured’) leg. Knobs, despite her knees knocking together from shaking, managed a somewhat steady voice as she aimed her rifle at them.

“Please, get off her, or, I’ll, um, shoot?”

Before any of the gang ponies piled on Crossfire could respond the sound of grinding metal echoed across the street as Bruise pushed her way out of the shack she’d been tossed into. Another pony, probably the shack’s resident, crawled away with a limp and a bleeding cut on her head, vanishing into an alley. Bruise didn’t even glance at that pony, or at any of the small crowd that had slowly gathered a healthy distance away to watch the entertainment. Instead Bruise’s gray eyes took in the scene at a glance, seeing that Crossfire was in hoof, and that Knobs was armed.

The hulking purple earth pony strode forward, gaze fixed on Knobs and her rifle.

“Knobs, the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“I, I, uh...”

“You’re pointing a gun us?” Bruise said with a stone hard tone, “You got any idea how stupid that is!? Won’t matter we grew up together if you keep fucking with the gang, Knobs. These are our streets, and this mare’s ours if we damned well want her.”

“But... she... I just want to help her.”

If only for a single small second Bruise’s flinty gray eyes softened, “Knobs, go back into your shack. Forget today happened. Some mare you don’t know ain’t worth what’ll happen if you don’t.”

Knobs gulped, eyes darting between Bruise and Crossfire. The gangers still had the black unicorn firmly held to the ground, but Crossfire had stopped struggling and instead looked at Knobs... and shook her head. Knobs felt her heart sink along with her gun. Bruise let out a breath she’d been holding and came up to the pile, looking down at Crossfire.

“Strong horn you got there,” she said coldly, flexing her neck with a few crackling pops, “First unicorn I’ve met that could toss me like that.”

Crossfire glared up at the gang mare, face half snarl, half smirk, “Maybe sometime I can show you what else I can do when you don’t have your ‘boys’ holding me down.”

Bruise shrugged, saying, “Not likely to happen,” and then smashed the other mare in the face with a hoof; knocking Crossfire out cold.

Knobs watched as the gang ponies clambered off Crossfire, Bruise slinging the unconscious mare onto her back. Fracture stumbled on three legs, holding his broken limb close to his chest, while Grind and Cutthroat picked up their other wounded companion who was still down for the count. Bruise gave Knobs one last look over her shoulder as she led her gangers away, but didn’t say anything before leaving the frozen mare behind.

Knobs stood there for a minute or two, mind locked, before she managed to shake herself out of her stupor. She quickly went back into her shack, casting a glance at her rifle as she floated it in front of her.

“What do I do?”

Shooting feral ghouls was one thing; it was like putting down a rabid animal. More mercy than anything. But she’d never been able to bring herself to shoot another pony. It’d been a desperate, foolish act, trying to intimidate actual gang members, especially with Bruise around, who knew her so well. Now Crossfire was being trundled off to be beaten, tortured, and probably sold off to the Labor Guild. Assuming Spiked Heels didn’t decide to just hold onto Crossfire for her own entertainment. Knobs had heard rumors of the gang leader’s sadistic tastes.

Though Knobs couldn't quite get her knees to stop shaking she found she could force herself to move. Not that she had a plan yet, but she did have an idea.

> Chapter 2: Crossfire and Wellspring
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


Chapter 2: Crossfire and Wellspring


Crossfire used her tongue to feel her teeth, noticing a few of them were getting loose.

The burlap sack that had been put over her head kept her from seeing her surroundings, and by extension cast any spells without line of sight, but she could surmise a few things based on what she heard when she’d been dragged in here. She knew she was in this ‘Hammer Crusher’ gang’s stronghold. Stupid name, that, but then again some Neighlesian companies gave themselves odd names. Crossfire still thought the ‘Purple Dragons’ still sounded like a porn studio rather than a military unit.

From the number of voiced she’d heard she gauged the stronghold had at least four or five dozen ponies in it. Open area mostly, some sort of yard. She’d heard the rusty squeal of a gate opening when she’d been brought in so the place was probably surrounded by said gate. The building the huge mare, Bruise, had taken her to was a small one she was pretty sure. Or at least it was a small room. She’d only heard them go through one door before she’d been deposited into a chair and roughly tied to it, so she knew the way out was close. 

Other than that she hadn’t learned much, other than these gang ponies certainly enjoyed beating on tied up mares. Oddly, it sounded like Bruise had left early in the proceedings, leaving behind a trio of guards who worked Crossfire over with hooves and those bloody hammers they seemed so proud of having.

Not my finest hour, she thought with a humorless half smile, Not my finest month.

She thought of Knobbly Knees. Odd mare. Far too soft hearted and curious of mind to be living in a place like this. Was probably beating herself up for letting Crossfire get dragged off, but it was for the best. Crossfire didn’t want to be any trouble to Knobs, and honestly it would be easier on Crossfire to be on her own anyway. She still could hear them... the voices of her squad.

”Faster Tindertwig! Move your flank dammnit!”

“Barley! Where’s Barley!?”

“R-right behind you guys! Thing nearly took my leg off!”

“Less talk, more run! Exit is just up ahead! Crossfire, can you read me? We’re almost out, but this thing is right behind us!”

An echo of a roaring sound in her mind, a unnatural cry like the ripping of age old metal given organic life. The voice of her commanding officer, calm, level, and hard as a mountain.

”Private, detonate the entryway, now.”

“Sir!? Didn’t you hear them!? They’re almost out!”

“I heard their transmission, private. That creature is right on their heels. We cannot risk it reaching the surface. Blow the tunnel, that’s an order.”

Crossfire ignored the pain in her jaw from all the hits she’d taken as she found her teeth grinding. The pain in her memories was well beyond the simple aches in her body. 

”There it is! I see the exit! Crossfire, we’re almost out! Just hold off! We can make it!”

“Tumble, watch out!”

“Shit! Get it off me!”

Crossfire remembered the sound of .308 rifle rounds echoing from the mouth of the ancient stone Ruins, the sound of her squad firing upon the thing they’d woken up after rooting out the Raiders that had made the Ruin their home. She’d drawn entrance guard duty, the job she’d hated the most. Somepony always had to hold the route of retreat, however. It was supposed to be the job that ensured the safety and survival of the squad. 

Not...

”Private Crossfire, blow the damn tunnel, now!”

Crossfire’s unpleasant waltz through the realm of memory was interrupted by the squeal of a rusty door swinging open, followed by hoof clops on tiled floor. A smooth, female voice with just a dash of twang to it spoke.

“She been givin’ you boys any trouble?”

“Nah boss,” said the voice of one of the gangers that’d been working Crossfire over, “Bitch hasn’t made a peep. Kind of infuriating; been thinking we ought to stop playing nice with her. Maybe have some fun other than just smacking her around.”

There was the sound of something smacking into flesh and a painful yelp of surprise, then that same smooth female voice said, “Keep it under your tail, or you won’t be havin’ it much longer. Labor Guild don’t pay much for damaged goods; its why I told you to bozos to not do anything permanent.”

There was a small groan of pain, but the ganger said, “Ugh, y-yeah boss, was just joking.”

Crossfire felt hooves on her shoulders, and she went still, sensing the pony close to her. She was bound so tightly she could barely move, and while she might have gotten a headbutt off if the pony was a little closer, she knew now wasn’t the time to make her move.

“Keep your guns on her. Now listen up missy, I want to talk to you face to face, so I’m takin’ the hood off, but my boys see a trickle of magic from that horn of yours, and you’ll be riddled with holes. We got an understanding?”

“Why not? Not as if I’m going anywhere, and you’ve gone through all the trouble of showing me a hospitable time, what with me being the new girl in town-” Crossfire was cut off as a hoof gave her a curt jab to her barrel, knocking the breath out of her with its precision. As she coughed and sputtered her hood was roughly pulled off, and she blinked at the sudden brightness of a single hooded light shining down at her face from an otherwise darkened room. From the pool of dirty yellow light she could see she was in a bare, empty shed, probably set up specifically for holding prisoners as she saw nothing that could be used as a weapon even if she could get away with using telekinesis. A single wood door was across from where her where two gang ponies stood, one with a pistol, the other with a rifle, both aimed at her while another pony paced in front her.

This pony was a mare, a corn yellow coat showing past a faded red cloak she wore that covered most of her body, and her hooves were covered in spiked metal bracers. Her mane was a dark blue, same as her eyes, and was quite long. Crossfire blinked, at first thinking she was an earth pony, but with a shift of the mare’s cloak Crossfire realized she could see the hint of wings. A pegasus. 

The mare had the hood Crossfire had been wearing in her mouth and seeing Crossfire looking her over, the mare spat it out. The mare’s face was an unreadable mask, neither angry nor malicious, but far from friendly. Crossfire realized the mare wasn’t looking at her, so much as at what she wore. 

“Brown leather, red scarf, iron pin of the lion. That’d make you part of the Neighlesius Bayonet Corps. Frontline infantry, the backbone of their army. Must have killed dozens like you in the war. You fight in the war, missy?”

Crossfire couldn’t stop herself from sighing. If this was supposed to be some kind of lead into a revenge rant she wasn’t impressed. She’d rather go back to the gangers pummeling her than listen to some mare go on a tirade about the war the Protectorate fought against Skull City. 

“My unit was still in training when the armistice was signed,” she said with a shrug, “We didn’t get deployed until after. Missed the fight at Dustwall by just under a week.”

The pegasus scoffed, “Lucky you. Dustwall was a meatgrinder for you Protectorate folk. My gang was there. Big army, with shiny power armor, and you bitches were stopped dead by an a bunch of volunteer gangers, holdin’ that bridge for three days against everything you could throw at us.”

“Is there a point you're getting to?” Crossfire asked.

“Just establishin’ that me and my gang, we got no love for what you are, what you represent. Ain’t easy on them, havin’ to hold back when they got a Protectorate bitch right in front of them they’d rather turn to fertilizer than hoof off to the Labor Guild. You’re worth more breathin’ though, with most your bones intact.”

“Right, so you hate me because of where I’m from, and honestly the feeling isn’t far from mutual. So why are we having this conversation? Whoever you are.”

“Spiked Heels, if you have to know. As for the conversation,” Spiked Heels shrugged her wings, “Labor Guild rep won’t be here until tomorrow,” the pegasus smiled, showing a wide crescent of teeth and a hoof flashed up faster than Crossfire could see, jarring her head from one side to the other.

“And I’m a mare that likes to get to know somepony before I have some fun with them. I’m a mare with standards after all.”

Crossfire, her head ringing, feeling the world tilt a bit, licked her lip, tasting blood, “Yeah, I can see that. No, seriously though, what’s the point of this?”

Spiked Heels let out a light chuckle as she ran a hoof along Crossfire’s chin, then proceeded to jab Crossfire in the throat. Not hard enough to be dangerous, but enough to cause the black unicorn to go into a fit of coughs.

“Well, all Skinner told us was that you were Protectorate military. Old ghoul doesn’t know how to tell rank or unit. Needed to confirm what you were, so I knew what to charge the Labor Guild for you. Officer’s would be worth a couple of thousand, easy, just for the intel they’d have. Private like you, not worth as much.”

“So sorry to disappoint.”

“Oh, you’ll still fetch a decent price,” Spiked Heels said, pushing Crossfire’s chair over hard enough that when Crossfire hit the ground her head cracked against the hard floor and she bit her tongue. Despite the pain lacing her head, she had the presence of mind to realize she had a single moment where the guards couldn’t clearly see her from the angle’s they were standing at. Quikcly as she could she glanced around for anything useful. Despite the emptiness of the shed, there were a few small rocks scattered on the ground, probably from previous gangers who had been in here. None of them were sharp, but she’d take what she could get. A short burst of telekinesis brought one of the rocks to the sleeve of her leather shirt, where she hid it just before Spiked Heel’s trotted around the chair and smashed a hoof down onto Crossfire’s chest.

“Anyway, with formalities out of the way, and having established what you are, I got other things to be doin’. Enjoy my gang’s hospitality. Tomorrow you’re the Labor Guild’s bitch.”

----------

Knobbly Knees gulped as she approached the large razor wire fence surrounding the Hammer Crusher’s base. It was once an ancient bus station from the world that was, the burned out forms of the old inner-city transports refurbished and arranged in clusters around the transit center as makeshift housing, barricades, and even one that was converted in a bar with strings of flickering lights wrapped around its roof. As with all of Skull City and its Outskirts there were the ever prevalent decorations of skulls, some pony, many others of rats or radhogs. With night falling many of the torch posts had skulls blazing with lit fires, casting flickering yellow washing of light across the dusty streets.

Knobs took in deep breaths, trying to calm herself. What she was about to do was stupid, dangerous, and completely crazy, and she knew that. What did she owe Crossfire anyway? She’d barely knew the mare! Knobs had nearly turned back a dozen times while walking the winding streets while on her way here, her mind conjuring every conceivable reason this was a bad idea. However every time she’d been about to turn around and head back home it was, oddly enough, her own shaky knees that got her to stop her retreat and grit her teeth steadfastly.

She was just so tired of being the scared, shaky little Knobbly Knees that nopony expected to do anything brave! Helping Crossfire was the right thing to do. It’d been right on Highway 70, despite Skinner’s grumbling, and it was right now, even though Knobs might make enemies of the gang that basically controlled the section of the city she lived in. 

It’ll be okay, just need to not get caught by dozens of violent gang ponies while sneaking into their home, with no training or skill in stealth whatsoever! Easy. Heheheh... the laughter in her head sounded slightly mad, even to her own inner ears.

She wasn’t walking unequipped. Nopony walked the Outskirts without going armed. Knobs was wearing her lucky red leather jacket of course, which was tougher than most ponies gave it credit for. Why it’d stopped a few attempted knifings from muggers in the past, and Knobs always felt safe wearing it. She had her scoped and silenced rifle, the small light caliber weapon strapped to her back. It was more there to dissuade thieves than anything else. She sincerely hoped to not have to use it. If she did, well, she’d try to aim for knee caps. She cringed even at the thought of going that far, but she doubted she’d be able to rescue Crossfire without shots being fired.

The gate in and out of the the Hammer Crusher’s compound was guarded by a trio of ponies and a single griffin, none of which Knobs immediately recognized. That might make fast talking past the guards problematic, but most the Hammer Crusher’s at least knew that Knobs was kind-sorta friends with Bruise. She cantered on up and put on her largest, most friendly grin and brandished a small cardboard box she carried.

“Hiya guys, how’re things going?” she asked, putting plenty of pep into her tone. 

The gangers eyed her, the griffin, a female with a yellow tinge to her crest feathers and carrying an impressively large belt-fed machine gun that only sported a little rust, floated down from where she’d been perched on the fence to confront Knobs.

“Ain’t any of your business scag. Turn ‘round and walk, unless you got business to make it worth our while not to break your muzzle.”

“Hey Lez, hold up a sec,” said one of the ponies, a whipcord lean brown earth pony with a stringy gray mane, a sledgehammer leaning against the fence next to him. He sauntered up next to the griffin, who gave off a small spitting sound and looked sidelong at him with distaste. The earth pony looked Knobs up and down in a way she was not oblivious too. She knew exactly what the pony was going to say before he said it and gulped.

“You looking to get into the camp, babe?” he grinned at her, licking his lips, “Why’s that, exactly?”

“Oh, I, uh,” Knobs floated the cardboard box towards him and opened up the top with her telekinesis, “Bruise g-got into a fight. I thought I’d come see if she could use any patching up! Yes! Because she got hurt.”

That was technically true. Bruise had been a little beat up after Crossfire had thrown her into that shack. Since none of these gangers had been the ones with Bruise at the time they wouldn’t know the fight had taken place at Knob’s home or that she’d even been involved. Inside the box the ganger would see some medical bandages, a small bottle of what looked like alcohol, and another bottle, this one labeled as painkillers. 

“You know Bruise, huh?” the earth pony said, looking thoughtful, perhaps a little worried. Bruise had a temper, and he was probably calculating how the big mare would react to him trying to take advantage of someopony Bruise might consider a friend. Apparently he thought it worth the risk as his lecherous look returned.

“Sure, I got no problem letting you in, but you’d have to, ah, be escorted by a member of the gang, like myself. Perhaps before you saw to Bruise you’d also show a little gratitude to your escort, yeah?”

Knobs didn’t answer immediately, not having to feign embarrassment as she could feel the warmth bathing her features as she looked away from the ganger. She used that moment to look at the other gate guards. The other two ponies were both ghouls, and looked disinterested in the proceedings, a unicorn stallion and earth pony mare, both sporting the same faded, rotting red coats and stringy pink manes. Probably family. They were just sitting off to the side playing a dice game with each other with little white dice carved probably from bone; that was common in Skull City, and dice games were far more popular than card games, especially Dead Ponies Toss, Reaper’s Eyes, and Rattling Teeth. The griffin, Lez apparently, still looked disgusted, but was standing aside and clearly wasn’t planning on interfering.

Knobs took in and let out a deep breath, and nodded her head.

“S-sure, I’d be very grateful for your help, mister!”

The brown earth pony chuckled, and sadly Knobs had to admit for all his lecherous looks he did have a rather nice laugh, and said “Sweet! Right this way then. No need for that ‘mister’ crap, just call me Craghoof!”

“Okay, um, Craghoof. I’m Knobbly Knees!” Knobs said as Craghoof retired his sledgehammer and looped it across his neck via a leather strap that let the weapon hang across his back.

“Nice name. Hey guys, I’ll be back in, like, half an hour, maybe longer if things get good.”

“Be shocked if it took you five minutes,” said the ghoul earth pony mare without even looking up from her dice game with her counterpart, “Just stick her quick and get your ass back here fast, otherwise we’ll get an earful from Drywall.”

“Ugh...” groaned the griffin, “Swear it's nothing but sex, gambling, and drugs with you ponies.”

“Yeah, all the good stuff,” said Craghoof as he led Knobs past the gate, “Loosen up Lez. You always look like you could use a solid lay yourself.”

“One day, pony, my contract with Spiked Heels will be up,” Lez said, patting her machine gun, “And I’ll remember every word you said.”

Craghoof just laughed again, and soon they were well beyond the gate. Knobs followed him, looking about, already trying to discern where Crossfire might be kept. The bus station had a wide open concrete area where numerous old waiting terminals supported benches where gangers gathered around barrel fires, chatting, eating, gambling, or in a few cases not-so-subtly engaging in the very kind of activities Craghoof was so eager to get to with her. 

The bar itself was lively, a rush of voices coming from it in an upbeat din of noise. Knobs figured they wouldn’t put Crossfire in any of the populated spots. They’d want her somewhere isolated, but easy enough to guard. The central building, a two story concrete structure with a few cobbled together add on metal shacks seemed possible, especially if any of those add ons was meant to be a holding cell. 

“Right, so Bruise is probably at the bar,” said Craghoof with a wave towards the building in question, “Usually is after a scuffle. Bet she’s giving Roughshod a ride, so it ain’t like you’ll be able to see her for a bit. So, how do you know her anyway?” 

“Oh, we grew up together. Same street, up by the gate. My parents and hers worked the same chem-joint,” Knobs said as Craghoof paused at one of the benches where a number of other gang ponies and ghouls were warming themselves by a barrel-fire. For a second Knobs wasn’t sure why he’d stopped until she saw Craghoof was watching a ghoul unicorn, a stallion with a mostly bald head save for a wreath of green mane. The ghoul had pulled out a fairly intact string instrument, a guitar that he began to strum and sing in a surprisingly rich voice for a ghoul.

Give us your trust, said the Enclave on high.
 Upon all our wings we support the sky.
 Trust us to descend and save your land,
 And we will do all that we can.
 But trust is the color of a Raptor’s shadow.
 Trust is the color of promises hollow. 
Trust is the color of a soul's last breath. 
Trust is the color of death.

All of the gangers had joined in, even Craghoof, all with oddly solem looks. Knobs just stood there, quiet, not sure what to do other than wait. She couldn’t run off now, that’d just get Craghoof raising an alarm for her. Besides, something about the song drew her in. It was a slow, sad, almost painful tune.

Give us your trust, said the Lightbringer's kin, 
for we cleanse the world of all of its sin. 
Trust us to judge who deserves to live,
 And question not what it is you give.
 But trust is the sound of a rifle’s bark. 
Trust is the sound of graves dug at dark. 
Trust is the sound of a soul's last breath.
 Trust is the sound of death.

A growing crowd of gangers from nearby fires had wandered over to join in the song, many of them taking long pulls from half filled bottles of alcohol, or popping needles and pills of whatever their particular poison was as the ghoul’s guitar carried its tune over the camp.

Give us your trust, said the NCR's call.
Our nation shall prosper, our enemies fall.
Trust us to restore fair Equestria strong.
And rid the Wasteland of all that's is wrong.
But trust is the scent of a burning town.
Trust the scent from a border closed down.
Trust is the scent of a soul's last breath.
Trust is the scent of death.

Knobs felt her ears flattening, her head drooping. She remembered, back when her parents still lived, the day the news had reached them that to the south a new nation had been born. The New Canterlot Republic. So much hope that things would change. Perhaps for some, but not for Skull City. Not when the NCR closed its border to any who sought refuge there. 

Give us your trust said our very own Guild's.
The voice of the people whose hope they shall build.
Trust we not squander more than we deserve.
Now pay us our dues, all your life you shall serve.
Now trust is the touch of a gun to the throat.
Trust is the touch of the hang pony's rope.
Trust is the touch of a soul's last breath.
Trust is the touch of death.

Knobs grimaced, but hid it quickly. Many ponies might feel resentment towards the Guilds, but nopony could dispute their power, nor that without them, Skull City would’ve fallen into a state far worse than it was now. Sure, the rules could be harsh, but without those rules, they may as well just go Raider.

Give me your trust said your dear closest friend.
To protect your back, against Raiders ‘round the bend.
Trust me to see you through the Wasteland's pain.
For better or worse, 'till death's cold refrain.
But trust is the taste of a knife in your back.
Trust is the taste of this world's hard facts.
Trust is the taste of a soul's last breath.
Trust is the taste of death.

At that the song petered out and the ghoul put aside his guitar. A number of the gangers yelled and cheered, throwing empty bottles to smash against concrete. Craghoof chuckled, wiping at his eyes as he turned to Knobs, “Love that song.”

“Its... kind of depressing isn’t it?” Knobs asked, and the ganger shrugged.

“Hey, if you can’t sing about how shitty things are, what can you sing about?”

Knobs didn’t have an answer to that and simply followed Carghoof as he led her to one of the old rusted busses turned home. Inside was mostly empty, just a couple of ponies sleeping on floor mattresses on one end amid the clutter of ponies belongings littering the floor. 

“Still find it weird you’re Bruise’s friend,” Craghoof said, “Mare never talks much about her time before joining up with us. Like talking to a wall, most the time. Heh, too bad, because I like tall mares, be the wide or skinny,” he gave Knobs a look like he was trying to make out with her using his eyes alone. He then let out that oddly warm laugh of his as he sat down on a pallet of carboard and piled up stained blankets Knobs could only assume was his. He patted the spot next to him and Knobs gingerly sat down.

“Now then,” he said, leaning in close to her and nibbling at her ear, “About that gratitude for letting you past the gate...?”

“Um, y-yeah. Thank you, that was quite nice of you,” she said, wondering if the nearby sleeping ponies were light sleepers or not. It was too bad, really. Knobs liked the ear nibbling, and he did have a nice laugh, but she just wasn’t that kind of mare. Why couldn’t she ever get hit on by somepony who understood the value of taking things slow? Somepony who was willing to maybe take her out to eat, or enjoy a home cooked meal of her own, and maybe actually get to know her some before wanting to jump right into the sack. Knobs was no prude, she just wanted a little romance. Not a lot to ask for, right? 

Craghoof didn’t seem to really pay attention to her response, working his nibbling down her ear and onto her neck, one of his hooves slowly rubbing along her barrel, then down towards her flank. Knobs sighed. He was actually kind of good at this. Such a shame. 

While Craghoof was occupied, Knobs slowly levitated out some of the medical bandages and the bottle of supposed alcohol. She unscrewed the cap and poured some of the liquid onto the bandage as Craghoof worked his way around to her front and pressed his lips to hers, not paying any kind of attention to anything besides the foreplay. Damn, he was even a decent kisser... if only he wasn’t an overeager, sleezy ganger. 

Breaking off the kiss Knobs said, “Sorry for this. I wouldn’t mind a date sometime, but you’ll probably have to try and shoot me if you see me again.”

Craghoof looked confused, but only for a second before Knobs stuffed the sleeping potion covered bandaged over his muzzle, holding it there firmly with her magic. A brief but quiet struggle ensued, mostly with Knobs wrestling a weakening Craghoof to the pallet while the potion took effect. One of the sleeping ponies yawned awake for a moment, raising her head to look at Knobs and Craghoof. Knobs, on top of the now unconscious ganger, thought fast and started to fake kissing Craghoof’s chest while moving his hoof with her own over her back. She moaned to add to the illusion, and despite her horrible acting the mare who woke up seemed to believe the act as she gave Knobs a smirk and went back to sleep.

Knobs kept her up act on the knocked out Craghoof for another minute, just in case, before stopping and sitting up, heaving out a sigh, gathering her box with medical supplies and heading out of the bus. She wasn’t sure how long Craghoof would be out. The sleeping potion was supposed to be ingested, not just inhaled, so she didn’t think she’d have long. She’d had to purchase the potion just an hour ago from one of the local chem suppliers she knew, an old friend of her parents. Tincture hadn’t bothered asking Knobs what the potion was for. Knobs had figured it’d be useful, though she’d expected to have to sneak up on guards to use it, like in those spy comics from the old world her mother had collected; ¡La Pinkie! 

Stepping off the bus she cast a quick glance around. None of the Hammer Crusher’s in the area were paying her any attention, at least for the moment. Trying her best to just trot at a casual pace and not draw attention to herself she headed towards the concrete building she suspected Crossfire was being kept in.

----------

Crossfire’s everything hurt. Once all pretense to chatting was done Spiked Heels had demonstrated rather thoroughly where her name came from. Nothing was broken. Spiked Heels had kept to her point that she wanted Crossfire intact enough to be worth selling, but that still left plenty of room for pain of the non-permanent injury variety. Crossfire felt like one giant pony shaped bruise. Which was odd considering she’d already met a giant pony named Bruise. 

She had been moved to a different room, though in the same building. The hood was still on, but without anypony around watching her, she could finally get the thing off. The gangers knew unicorns couldn’t cast spells easily on things they couldn’t see, hence the hood. What they didn’t seem to realize was that unicorns could cast spells on what they could touch as easily as what they could see. Floating the hood off her head wasn’t hard and she could get a look around at where they’d stuck her. Apparently one of the building’s old restroom was now converted by the gang into a holding cell. A very messy, highly unpleasant smelling holding cell. Fluids stained the once white tile floor that Crossfire was in no mood to even try identifying. 

Still better than sleeping out in the Wasteland. At least nothing will try to eat me in here. Maybe. I’m really hoping that’s just mold, and it hasn’t developed hunter/gatherer culture yet.

Crossfire tried to keep her mood up, but it wasn’t easy. With everything that had gone wrong since losing her squad she could feel the cracks around the edges of her calm. It’d been easier to ignore while she’d been moving, traveling across the Wasteland and focusing on survival. Sitting in this restroom without windows, a single heavy locked door, and a barely flickering lantern providing the only light, she had nothing to do except think. She was still thoroughly tied, but could scoot around if she worked at it. There wasn’t much in the room beside the toilet stalls and sinks. There was some loose debris but nothing heavy enough to be useable as a weapon. All she had was the rock she’d tucked away. 

Damn how she wanted her rifle back. All she knew was that Knobs said somepony named Skinner had it. He better not have sold it! 

Her first order of business was getting the ropes off. They were tied too tightly and effectively for her to just work them loose with telekinesis. Looking about she noticed one of the toilet’s top covers had fallen off and lay cracked on the ground. Floating over one of the pieces she examined the edge. Was it sharp enough to cut the ropes? 

After about twenty minutes of trying, she discovered the answer to that question was a firm “E’nope”. 

With Plan A foiled she moved on to figuring out what Plan B was. Her stomach proceeding to start grumbling, reminding her she had only the one meal at Knobs’ place for the past two days. Crossfire ignored the gnawing in her gut and began scooching around the confined restroom, looking for anything she could use to get the ropes off her legs. 

As she did so her memories returned full force, reminding her firmly of how this had all started.

”Private Crossfire, blow the damn tunnel, now!”

Shell Casing’s voice was breaking with a high tone of panic. Crossfire remembered the Lieutenant’s voice like the clear sound of breaking glass. Just as clear as her own shaking hooves as they hovered over the detonator. The sound of her squadmates fighting the Ruins monster just inside the entrance; gunfire, screams, the beast’s unearthly roaring. 

”Private, detonate the tunnel! That’s a direct order!”

Crossfire felt her teeth grind so hard she thought she could taste the tang of blood in her mouth as she rubbed at her right hoof with her left, mind summoning up the memory with painful clarity. She could all but feel the cool, simple metal of the detonator in her hoof, even now months after the event. Every tiny detail was clear in her mind, from the fuzzy noise over the radio of her squadmates screaming, the heavy snaps of their gunfire as they fought for their lives just inside the Ruins’ entrance, to the unnaturally warbling roars of the monster they fought.

And Shell Casing herself. Crossfire remembered looking up at the Lieutenant’s face, as the mare repeated the order to blow the entrance. Lieutenant Shell Casing, was only a few years older than Crossfire, a brown mare with wide green eyes and a pretty, short blonde mane. She’d gotten her commision on family ties, but had been pretty steady as platoon leader; fair, if a little too hard assed. But the squad had liked her. Crossfire had liked her

Shell Casing’s expression had become one of utter panic, however, now that matters had gone completely out of her control. The mission had gone by the numbers at first, the platoon systematically removing the Raiders, while Shell Casing kept the entrance guarded with Crossfire as the Lieutenant’s backup. It wasn’t cowardice to guard the entrance, it was the most dangerous task in such operations, one Shell Casing had insisted on doing herself. Dangerous because the point was to ensure that, if any Raiders who were outside their lair returned, it was the rear guard’s job to hold the entrance until the rest of the squads could regroup.

Then the creature had shown up. Crossfire had no idea what it was; she’d only gotten a half formed transmission from 1st squad’s radiopony, Wavelength, before he’d been ripped apart. Crossfire’s squad had been the last left alive in the Ruin after a fighting retreat which had finally simply turned into a dash for the entrance... but that had ended in fire. It was standard mission procedure to lace Ruin entrances with explosives in just the event anything appeared in the Ruins that was too dangerous to allow onto the surface. Yet at the same time taking Ruins was part of the Protectorate military directive, otherwise blasting the entrance to end the Raiders would’ve been their first move. 

Shell Casing had panicked, but was following procedure in ordering Crossfire to destroy the entrance. It was a decision that would keep a dangerous monster from reaching the surface to terrorize the local farmsteads worse than the Raiders would. It had already killed most of the platoon, proving how deadly it was. Who knew how many Neighlesius ponies it would kill before the military could stop it? Or how many soldiers would die putting it down? Wasn’t the sacrifice of the three or four remaining survivors of Crossfire’s squad worth it to ensure such a monster didn’t get the chance to take even more lives?

All those questions had run through Crossfire’s mind in that instant of indecision, the detonator in her hooves, her whole body going cold and numb with shock from the inside out. 

And damn her, she’d hit the switch. Strange. As much as she remembered the press of that button on her hoof, and the smell of the dry wind that had surrounded her; she couldn’t remember the explosion itself. She just remembered looking up and seeing the trail of dust, smoke, and fire that marked the collapsed pile of rocks that had once led into the Ruin. The place her squad had died. The place where she’d killed them with the touch of a button.

Afterwards was more a blur. Crossfire remembered the debriefing and following inquiry only in snippets and chunks. The near total loss of a platoon was no small matter and there had been an investigation into just how it had come about. While detonating the tunnel had been part of military SOP, it was also an ironclad rule to never leave behind one’s comrades unless there was absolutely no chance of rescue. Blowing the tunnel while any surviving platoon members had still had a chance of escape had been deemed an ‘act of cowardice’ by the military board. That was why, when pressed for why she had given the order to destroy the tunnel while members of her command were still inside, Shell Casing lied during the inquiry, claiming that Crossfire had panicked and detonated the explosives without orders, while Shell Casing had been insistent upon going into the Ruin to rescue the rest of the squad.

Blatant lie though it was, with no evidence to the contrary, the military board had believed her. Crossfire had suspected Shell Casing’s family ties had something to do with that. Regardless, Crossfire had been dishonorably discharged for cowardice and dereliction of duty.

The unfairness of it had been enraging. Crossfire had not been able bring herself to stay in Neighlesius after that, and had left before the ink on her discharge papers was dry. However, not before stealing her old rifle and uniform out of her former barracks. Wearing the uniform, carrying the rifle, it wasn’t for the sake of her military pride. No, she wanted to keep the rifle as a reminder of her squad, and to keep the uniform so she could try to bring some meaning back to wearing it . But she had no intention of returning home. She’d written one letter to her adoptive family’s farmstead to let them know that she was leaving, but not where, and had given it to a courier she felt she could still trust. Then that had been that, she’d headed east, past the Protectorate border, and into the Wasteland.

On reflection, she probably should’ve planned her course better than walking right into the Skull City territory. She hadn’t known any other direction to walk. Her military training gave her some knowledge of geography. North led to an expanse of thick, dead forest, unsettled save for mutated monsters and scattered pockets of cannibalistic tribal ponies, and beyond that, frozen irradiated snowfields. West beyond the Protectorate’s most heavily held borders was Raider territory of the worst kind, hundreds of miles of baked, blackened earth where the only living ponies were murderous warbands that only knew how to destroy each other. South was a huge desert, uncrossable save for having the right vehicle or being with a huge caravan, but beyond that was the NCR, one of the only fertile, safe countries in the world. And its border was closed tight to outsiders, with the rule enforced by the very weather itself, or so rumor held. That left going east, into inhabited land, but also dangerous. Skull City, Detrot, only a step up from anywhere else she could have gone.

She’d come this way in hopes she might find some way to do somepony some good. Hire her skills out as a guard maybe. Find a somewhat decent settlement to put down new roots in. Find ponies who wouldn’t care where she was from. Find a place where she could forget that her friends were dead. Seemed simple enough.

Now she’d be happy if she could just find a sharp rock!

Inching her way over to one of the metal toilet stall walls, she lit up her horn, using telekinesis to start trying to pry one of its edge panels up. Maybe that’d do the trick. The metal resisted for a minute, but soon pulled up in a little curl with a pointed tip. Crossfire began to work the ropes over that tip. She gave a small, ruthful grin as she felt some of the rope’s strands break. 

“Yes, yes, yes, just a little more...”

The door clanked with the sound of a metal bar being removed and swung open with a loud grinding. From outside Crossfire could hear the sound of one of the ganger pony’s, probably a ghoul from the gruff, wet sounds of her voice, say “Don’t fuck around too long. You got ten minutes.”

Answering this was a melodious voice of a mare, “Of course, of course. Probably won’t even take me five.”

In sauntered an earth pony mare, her coat a faded granite gray, yet with a mane like a long wave of molten gold. Her eyes were angled, thin, and were of a color that reminded Crossfire of the cloud covered sky. The door closed behind the mare and she smiled at Crossfire, seemingly entirely at ease. She wore black leather barding that didn’t quite cover her flank, clearly showing a cutie mark of a line of musical notes. A single revolver, well maintained, with a dark wood finish on its mouth grip, was holstered on the mare’s chest. 

“Hello there,” the mare said after the door was closed and giving Crossfire a searching look, “My name is Wellspring. Wellspring Whistles.”

The mare waited expectantly and Crossfire blinked at her, “What?”

“Ahem, this is the part where you tell me your name?” said Wellspring.

“Riiiight. Crossfire,” she replied while slowly still trying to work her ropes.

Wellspring’s smile deepened and she began to sit down, noticed the state of the floor with a purse of her lips, and seemed to content herself with standing.

“Crossfire, good, I like the name. Now then, you’re probably wondering why I’m here-”

“Not really.” 

This made Wellspring make a small whinny of annoyance, though at the interruption or what Crossfire said was anypoy’s guess. Probably both. The gray mare took in an and let out a slow breath, “You’re going to make this difficult, aren’t you?”

“Maybe. You’re not with the gangers, so I’m guessing that means you’re with the Labor Guild they’re selling me to,” Crossfire said bitterly, already gauging if she could snatch the revolver with her telekinesis. 

Wellspring’s cloud colored eyes went wide, “Labor Guild? Oh, oh good heavens no. Not at all! I’m with the Skull City Radio Guild.”

Crossfire found her eyebrow shooting up. “Radio Guild?”

Wellspring smiled pridefully, flashing white teeth. If anything more clearly showed the difference between Wellspring and any other pony Crossfire had met in this city, it was those pearly white teeth. 

“Indeed. You see I work as a...” Wellspring waved her hoof in the air as if trying to shoo off a fly, “Freelancer. I find stories, information, rumors. By doing so I get paid a finders fee for said information, and even more if I compile it into a proper story to be broadcast.”

“Okay, what does this have to do with me?”

Wellspring’s smile widened, and she reached into a side pouch on her barding and pulled out a small arcano-tech device, a little box with a slot for a tape to be inserted, attached to a wire and mic, “Well, Miss Crossfire, my friend let me know she had a Protectorate soldier in custody, and I thought to myself; what a good opportunity to get an interview!”

Crossfire frowned suspiciously, “Friend? What friend?”

“Oh, Spiked Heels. She’s been a good source of rumor from this end of the Outskirts for years and her gang provide me escort while I’m outside the walls. Can’t very well walk around out here without some gang muscle, you see.” 

“So you want me to just do your interview, after what your ‘friend’ did to me, and plans to do to me. You even realize she’s going to sell me to this Labor Guild!?” Crossfire felt ire rising in her, mostly at how casual this mare was acting around another pony who was clearly beaten and bloodied and going to be sold into slavery. Wellspring was acting like this was business as usual. In fact she was giving Crossfire a look that said that’s exactly what it was.

“I don’t particularly approve of the Labor Guild’s business methods, but honestly you’ll probably be safer there than just being a gang’s prisoner. Much as Spiked Heels is a reasonable sort for a gang leader, living conditions out here are deplorable. The Labor Guild takes care of its ponies, from what I understand. I suppose I can see what you mean, though. Your circumstances are probably not conducive to being all that chatty. Tell you what. Interview with me, and in exchange I’ll ask Spiked Heels about turning you over to me for the same price she’d sell you to the Labor Guild.”

“You’d do that?” Crossfire asked, perhaps a little loudly to cover the sound of more of her rope bindings snapping, “Why?”

“You’re a soldier, yes? If I purchase your freedom I admit it will be somewhat costly, however I can make good on that loss through any stories I get out of you. That, and I need a bodyguard,” Wellspring said, giving Crossfire a calculating look, “You see I seek my stories out in the Wasteland as well, but have to pay either the Security Guild or the Drifter Guild’s rather high fees for protection while doing so. Securing your freedom from Spiked Heels, let us say you agree to work as my escort for a year’s time. Not unreasonable. That should more than make up for what I’d pay for your freedom. Would this arrangement be agreeable to you?”

Crossfire let out a short, choking laugh, “Let’s see... spend a year guarding your flank in exchange for not getting sold into permanent slavery? Not the worst deal I’ve heard. Going to need my rifle though.”

“Rifle?” Wellspring asked with a pensive lilt to her tone.

“Sniper Shark XR, bolt-action .308 rifle with a two foot bayonet blade; standard issue for Neighlesius’ Bayonet Corps. Right now somepony named Skinner has it. You want me to be your bodyguard, you’ll want me to have that rifle. Trust me.”

The gray mare peered at her curiously from behind a fall of her painfully bright gold mane, “I’ll see what I can do about your stipulation, but I make no guarantees. Indeed, I suppose I can’t guarantee that Spiked Heels will sell me your freedom. I merely have confidence in my persuasive talents. Now, since we’ve used up half of my allotted time with you, shall we get to a quick basic interview?”

Crossfire could feel the ropes slicing, nearly enough to be able to break them. She was about to give Wellspring a nod, when she noticed a bit of dust falling down from the ceiling. Crossfire frowned, looking up, and Wellspring did the same. Dust from the dry, cracked ceiling panel was falling down as it shifted once, then indented inward. Crossfire realized that, solid as this bottom floor was, the second floor of this pre-war building was pretty decrepit looking, with black and brown rot from age seeping like spider-webs across the entire ceiling.

“You might want to step back-” Crossfire got halfway to saying before there was a groan and resounding crack of noise as the ceiling gave way in a cloudy shower of mould strewn plaster and wood. Wellspring gave a loud whinny of fright as a red and teal form landed on her in a graceful pile. There was a lot of coughing and groaning as Crossfire watched with a bemused look in her eyes, then Knobbly Knees raise her dust covered head and look about. The teal unicorn mare blinked dizziness from her eyes, then looked at Crossfire with a wide smile, ignoring the stunned Wellspring Whistles she was still sitting on.

“Hi Crossfire! I’m here to rescue you!”

Crossfire held up her now unbound forehooves and sighed, “Was doing that myself, but yeah, thanks. Knobs, could you do me a favor?”

“Uh-huh!”

“Duck.”

Knobs gave Crossfire a confused look for all of a second before the sound of the door banging open followed by a shout of “The fuck’s goin’ on in there!?” caused the mare to yip in fear and throw herself down, consequently smooshing Wellspring Whistles even more. Two Hammer Crusher Gangers tried to fit into the door at once, and Crossfire took her chance. She raised one foreleg, and with a burst of telekinesis sent the rock hidden up her sleeve shooting out like it’d been tossed from a sling. It cracked one ganger in the head, causing the mare to stagger back with her eyes rolling up into the back of her head. 

“What’ the- tou bitch!” the other ganger snarled and started to draw out a pair of work hammers in a field of her own blue telekinesis. Crossfire worked her own horn fast, ripping Wellspring’s revolver out of its holster, much to an indignant “Hey!” from the gray mare.

The gang mare rushed in, seeing the revolver and threw one of her hammers at Crossfire. Crossfire ducked aside, the hammer bouncing off the toilet stall next to where her head had just been. With eyes narrow in concentration Crossfire aimed the revolver as best she could and let off a double-tap of snapshots. One went wide, but the other caught the ganger mare in the side of the throat, a spray of blood painting the wall as the ganger’s eyes went wide and she made a rough gurgling noise, slumping to the ground.

Knobs, shaking as per her usual, rolled off Wellspring and looked back between Crossfire and the downed gangers. The teal mare was breathing hard, and despite the way her legs shook she quickly scrambled over to the dying ganger. Crossfire stood and quickly began to unbind her hindlegs. Other gang ponies would be coming soon and she needed to get moving. 

“What... what happened? Oh... my...” Wellspring Whistles looked dazed, shocked, eyes dilated as she stood and looked at the scene. 

“Just a nice calm situation quickly spinning out of control,” said Crossfire dryly, “Sorry, but I doubt Spiked Heels will listen to your offer now. I’m running. I’d suggest you do the same, unless this gang decide to blame you for my escape. Knobs, stop messing around with that mare. She’s dead already. We got to go.”

“But... but... no, I can... save her...” Knobs said, tears welling in her eyes as she tried to get medical bandages out of a box she’d been carrying with her, trying to wrap the ganger mare’s profusely bleeding neck. The ganger was breathing still, albeit in light, short gasps, and the copious amount of blood soaking the tiled floor already was testament to the fact that Crossfire’s shot had torn an artery. Crossfire strode past Knobs, eyeing the room as she aimed the revolver around. There were a few distant shouts. The gangers were getting their shit together and coming.

“Knobs, we have to go. You can’t help her!”

“You shouldn't have... I didn’t mean for anypony to...” Knobs worked furiously to stem the flow of blood, hooves moving faster and faster to wrap the wound, “I should have bought a healing potion instead of that stupid sleeping potion! Why won’t the blood stop!?”

Crossfire watched only for a moment longer, feeling a stab of guilt she didn’t think she ought to. It was something that happened in a fight. Was she supposed to feel sorry for gangers that had no trouble beating her and selling her off? Damn it all! Knobs made her feel like she’d was in the wrong here! 

Wellspring gingerly stepped out into the room beyond the restroom, which turned out to be a small one-time officer area where old cubicles had been converted into miniature workstations for reloading benches and tiny chem labs. There were two doors besides the one to the restroom, one of which had an old busted green ‘exit’ sign above it. Unfortunately that was the door where the sounds of shouting was coming from. Wellspring looked at Crossfire with wide eyes, gulping as she flicked her eyes towards the revolver.

“Despite my skill with words I do not fancy my chances of explaining myself to Spiked Heels given two of her own are now dead. She’ll want blood, and will not care whose. If you wish to flee, may I suggest following me to the east gate? I can get you into the city. In exchange for our previous mentioned arrangement.”

“Done. Rifle first. Knobs, you’re taking us to this Skinner’s place. Knobs!”

Knobs glanced up, then back at the ganger mare who had gone still. Knobs took in a shuddering breath and closed the deag gang pony’s eyes and stood, levitating her own rifle from where it was slung across her back, “Are you going to kill him?”

“Only if he gives me good reason to. I just want my gun back.”

“Speaking of which, may I have mine back?” asked Wellspring as she hoofed a particular rusted 9mm specimen of the SMG variety that the gang pony Crossfire had beaned with a rock had held, “I don’t fancy using this. I’m a wretched shot with automatics.”

Crossfire rolled her eyes and floated up the SMG while returning Wellspring her revolver. And just in time, as the ‘exit’ door was flung open and around half a dozen gangers ponies rushed in, all of them armed from muzzle to tail. The brief moment the gang ponies had to take to assess the situation was all Crossfire needed to let loose with a burst of fire from the SMG, spraying and praying as she hauled her flank towards the opposite door. 

She didn’t know, and didn’t really care, if she hit any of the gangers. She was just laying down some suppressing fire. It wasn’t as effective as she would have liked, as soon the air around here was getting torn up by a veritable shower of gunfire. Her face was pelted with bits of debris being blown apart among the cubicles as she ducked down, galloping for the door. She heard Knobs yelping, the long legged mare right behind her. Wellspring was trotting along lower to the ground, not even bothering to fire back with her revolver. 

Crossfire hit the door and didn’t slow down, rearing up and smacking it open with her forehooves while running the SMG dry behind her.

“Buck it!” she cursed, realizing she had no extra ammo, tucking the SMG close to her side as she ran through the door, a shotgun blast taking part of the doorframe out next to her. Wood shards cut at her neck as she scrambled through into a short hallway. She didn’t even pause to consider direction and just dashed down the right path. 

“W-where are we... going...?” Knobs asked between huffing breaths.

“Anywhere! Just keep moving!” Crossfire shouted.

“There’s a back gate built into one of the busses,” said Wellspring, frowning as she turned her revolver on the door they were fleeing from and let off a shot to make a gang pony duck back who’d come through to draw a bead on them, “Spiked Heels uses it to move packages and ponies she doesn’t wish other gangs to take note of.”

“You know this how?” Crossfire asked as the hallway turned to the left and led to another door, this one opening out into a small garage. Tool benches lined one wall and there was a cobbled together buggy half assembled in the middle of the garage. Fortunately the aluminum garage door was already open. 

“Spiked Heels is quite talkative between the sheets,” Wellspring said with a coy smile, then sighed, “I suppose there will be no more of that. You’d best be worth the trouble, Miss Crossfire. I’m losing a valuable and enjoyable partnership due to your actions.”

“I’ll keep you breathing. Can’t do anything about your pillow time though, my barn door doesn’t swing that way,” Crossfire replied as she made a run for the door. A gang stallion, his white coat stained with grease, emerged around the corner of the door, but he dropped almost before he could glance at them with a small bloom of blood appearing on his hindleg. 

As they ran past him Crossfire gave Knobs a look. The teal unicorn cringed, her rifle still floating by her side, “Just a leg. He’ll be okay... I hope.”

Crossfire shook her head as they kept running. Now out in the open they had the benefit of being able to get up to a full gallop, but they were also clearly exposed. Fortunately it seemed most the gangers were gathered in the building or at least near the front of it, so there were few out here that even knew something was up. 

“Which bus are we going for!?” Crossfire asked, while Wellspring took the lead.

“Follow me, its right this way!”

A trio of piled up busses broke up the chain link fence line ahead, one of them cut in half with its open end facing the inside of the base, a few gangers milling by it who were only now taking note of the ponies rushing them. From the way the gangers shuffled unsteadily and the prominent amount of booze bottles strewn on the ground it was clear they were all sloshed. Crossfire grinned and threw the empty SMG as one of the gang mares raised a single-barrel shotgun with copious amounts of duct tape keeping it together. The SMG bounced off the mare’s skull and she staggered back, losing her grip on her shotgun just enough for Crossfire to snag it with her magic and turn it on the stallion right her and pull the trigger. A single blast sent the other ganger sprawling to the ground, his dirty metal barding getting a chunk ripped off from the buckshot, but taking enough of the punishment to save its owner’s life. 

By now the other two gangers had gotten their senses together enough to start shooting, a bullet ripping past Crossfire’s ear. The loud booming of Wellspring’s revolver was followed by a shower of sparks above one of the ganger’s heads, causing the ragged looking pink mare to duck into the bus. The other standing ganger went down with his leg taking one of Knobs bullets, the teal mare whinnying a quick “Sorry” as they rushed into the bus.

The pink ganger mare who’d ducked inside had pulled a large machete spotted with rust and lunged at Crossfire. She threw herself to the side but felt the blade rip through her light leather shirt and score deeply across her shoulder. Crossfire bit back a scream, her body already a mass of pain from her earlier beating, and rolled on the ground, bucking out at the ganger’s legs, tripping the pink mare.

As the ganger tried to scramble to her hooves Wellspring reversed her revolver and pistol whipped the ganger across the face, knocking the mare cold. Wellspring sighed at the blood on the revolver's mouth grip, “I think I hit her too hard.”

A echoing series of heavy gunshots split the air from above and Wellspring let out a gasp and crumbled to the ground, a bloody hole in her left hindleg. Crossfire cursed and quickly pulled the gray mare deeper into the bus, leaving a bloody trailing behind as Knobs also scrambled inside. Crossfire caught a brief glimpse of a griffin flying by, a large machine gun grasped in her talons. 

“That’s just bucking great,” muttered Crossfire as she dragged the whimpering Wellspring towards the front of the bus, Knobs crawling next to her. 

More machine gun fire roared from above, the bus behind them getting torn up by a shower of heavy rounds. Wellspring, despite her wound, did her best to pull as much of her own weight as she could as Crossfire helped her to the front of the bus, speaking through clenched teeth.

“Door will be locked... just buy me a few seconds.”

Moving Wellspring up to the bus’ front door, which was chained shut with a heavy padlock, Crossfire began to levitate bus chairs into a pile in front of them. It would do next to nothing against the heavy machine gun, but it would slow down and provide cover against any gangers that got to the back of the bus. Knobs crawled up next to Wellspring and got out the last of her medical bandages, quickly wrapping the gray mare’s leg while Wellspring got out, of all things, a bobby pin and screwdriver that she expertly manipulated with her mouth and hooves on the padlock. 

When the machine gun fire slacked Crossfire thought for a moment that they’d lucked out and the weapon had jammed. Soon, though, a familiar voice spoke up, loud and clear.

“Knobs! If you’re in there, I’m giving you this one chance to come out!” shouted Bruise, “I don’t know what in Tartarus is going on here, but Lez told me you’re in there. Surrender, and I promise you I’ll get you out safe. Please Knobs, before its too late for me to-”

“Enough Bruise,” snarled the voice of Spiked Heels, “It is too late. I tolerate none who kill my own! No matter who they are! Blow it!”

Blow it? Crossfire felt her eyes widen and her ears fall flat against her head as she heard stems being pulled from the tops of grenades. 

“Wellspring, we want that door open now!”

The gray mare gulped, face a frozen mask of concentration as she worked her bobby pin and screwdriver with quick, delicate movements. Knobs tried to look around cover, perhaps planning to use her horn to try and deflect the incoming grenades, but a barrage of gunfire forced her to duck back.

Crossfire cursed as she heard the metallic rolling of the grenades into the bus. Their meager cover would do nothing for them. Her heart nearly leapt from her chest when she heard the click of the padlock opening and turned around, savagely ripping the bus door open with her magic and all but throwing Knobs and Wellspring out first before leaping through the exit herself.

She only had a few seconds to scramble alongside Knobs and Wellspring down the narrow alley the bus led to before her hearing went dead from the sound of multiple explosions right behind her, bathing her back in shrapnel, fire, and searing pain. 

> Chapter 3: Crossfire and Nightbane
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


Chapter 3: Crossfire and Nightbane


“Ow... ow... ow...”

Crossfire’s words dripped as quiet, subdued punctuations to every twitch of the needle Knobs worked through Crossfire’s lacerated hide. Knobs wiped sweat from her teal brow, bits of her red mane sticking there no matter how many times she brushed the strands aside. Nearby Wellspring poked her muzzle past a faded, moth eaten blanket that covered the only entrance to the tiny shack they’d taken refuge in. 

“Any- ow - anypony out - ow - there?” Crossfire asked between stitches.

Wellspring pulled her head back, licking her lips nervously as she settled down next to where Knobs worked on Crossfire, “Aside from the normal crowds I’m having trouble seeing any of the Hammer Crusher’s, but that griffin is still in the air. I can see her circling. I doubt we can afford to hide here much longer. Heheh, I’m not used to having to do this kind of thing, I’m just not built for it. Whew... head’s still swimming.”

Wellspring had lost a fair bit of blood from her leg wound, and Knobs had helped dull the pain the other mare was feeling by giving her a diluted bit of sleeping potion; not enough to knock Wellspring out, just enough to ease the pain.

They’d crawled into the shack after a mad scramble following their escape from the gang’s stronghold. Darting and ducking through alley after twisting ally the three mares had taken refuge in this small, seemingly abandoned shack to catch their breath and lick their wounds. Knobs had used the last of her medical bandages to make some makeshift thread to start stitching up the worst of Crossfire and Wellspring’s wounds. Wellspring had been first, getting her leg wound cleaned and stitched, though Knobs had insisted that it wouldn’t be enough and the mare would need a healing potion to help keep the leg from getting infected. 

Skinner’s home, as it happened, was well stocked with supplies, including healing potions, at least according to Knobs. Getting to the ghoul wrangler’s place was already their objective, but now it was paramount for their health. 

“Knobs, how far is this Skinner’s place anywa-aarrgh! You did that on purpose!” 

Knobbly Knees’ eyes fluttered in a look of surprise that Crossfire couldn’t tell if it was sincere or not. From what little she’d seen of the mare so far Knobs didn’t seem to have a dishonest hair on her coat. Knobs’ surprise soon turned to a subdued frown, her ears drooping as she muttered, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you. Just thinking. What was the question?”

“How far to Skinner’s? Assuming we’re keeping to the narrower streets with more cover and trying to move as fast as we can, wounds considered,” Crossfire said, wondering what was eating at Knobs. Was it the gang pony that’d died in front of her? Crossfire was no more fond of killing than the next pony, but she was a trained soldier. It was part of the job. She hadn’t taken any pleasure in watching that ganger bleed out, but she imagined she’d feel more guilty about it if the Hammer Crusher’s hadn’t been planning to sell her into slavery. Crossfire felt worse for just having to put Knobs through watching a pony die. The mare had a softness to her that just didn’t seem to fit the nature of Skull City. 

Knobs thought about the question for a second, finishing up the stitches as she did so, “With your injuries, taking back alleys, it would take, I don’t know, half an hour maybe? He lives close to the edge of the Outskirts, just south of the river.”

“That’s a lot of time to be spotted,” muttered Crossfire, “But its not like we have much choice.”

“Everything would’ve been so much simpler if your friend had not crashed the party, so to speak,” said Wellspring, blinking, her eyes drooping from the sleep potion as she looked at Knobs, “I still don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced. Wellspring Whistles, Skull City Radio Guild. Now, who are you, how do you know Miss Crossfire, and really more importantly, what were you doing in the ceiling?”

Knobs cringed a bit at the pointed tone of Wellspring’s questions, saying “I’m Knobbly Knees, apprentice ghoul-wrangler. Its, um, nice to meet you? I didn’t mean to fall through the ceiling like that! I was trying to find Crossfire. After I got into the camp I went to the biggest building I could see. I thought that would be the best place to keep prisoners, so it made sense Crossfire would be there too. Only I’m not good at sneaking, I had to move quickly before anypony noticed me! Once I was inside I just went to the top floor, thinking that would be where they’d keep Crossfire-”

“Why?” Crossfire interrupted, cocking her head.

“Huh? I don’t know, that’s how it is in the comics? The bad guys always lock up the prisoner in the tallest tower of the castle. Besides, when I first came in I was almost spotted and the only place for me to run was up the stairs, so I figured ‘well I’m up here already, so I’ll start my search here’! Anyway, I was just trotting along, looking for you, Crossfire, when I felt the floor creak really loudly and start to shift under me. So of course I decided to take a closer look.”

Crossfire blinked, “Wait, so you feel the floor shift under you and you decide to take a closer look?”

“Well... yes! How else would I learn why the floor was shifting and creaking?”

Crossfire decided not to question that any further, and instead tried standing up. Her stitches ached in pain, little pulling stinging pains that covered her back, but she could move. Her thin leather uniform was shredded on back, however, and had been sitting in a pile in the corner after Knobs had removed them to work on the stitches. Crossfire looked at the torn up leathers with a solemn frown. The uniform was probably beyond repair, at least in their current circumstances, and it’d just give her away. Her hoof went to the red scarf she wore. 

Wellspring was giving her an odd look, but Knobs came up next to her, searching Crossfire’s face with concern, “Um, you okay?”

Crossfire smiled slightly, trying to keep her real emotions off her face, “Fine. How about you? Holding up alright?”

Knobs swallowed dryly, looking at the ground that she scuffed with a hoof as she floated her rifle, which she’d set aside to work on treating Wellspring and Crossfire, to sling over her back, “I... I guess I am? I didn’t know the mare who died. Its not like I’m friends, exactly, with any of the gang. Even Bruise, we don’t spend much time together anymore. I see ponies die a lot. But I just... I never get used to it. I’ve heard others say it gets easier over time, dealing with death.”

Knobs wiped at her face, clearing a few tears she was holding back, “For me though, it never does. It just doesn’t.”

“Is that why you learned medical skills?” asked Wellspring suddenly, having floated out a small notebook and pen. Crossfire gave the gray mare a look that seemed to say ‘Seriously?’.

“Huh?” Knobs blinked, “Oh, not really. My parents taught me about alchemy because we pushed chems. After they died, and I started running with some local foals, my chem knowledge just sort of made me the group healer. I learned from there by trial and error. Lots, and lots of error.”

“But did you not just claim to be an apprentice ghoul wrangler?” pressed Wellspring, seeming to not notice her injuries now that her eyes were alight with the desire to ask questions; Crossfire could see how this mare could make a living on gossip and stories, “It is an odd choice of vocation for a mare with knowledge of medicine and chems. You could have joined the Healer’s Guild. Combat oriented Guilds like the Security Guild would pay well for trained medical ponies. So why the Skull Guild itself?”

Knobs cringed even more at the line of questioning and Crossfire stepped in, giving Wellspring a stern look, “Okay that’s enough. You can get your stories after we’re in the clear. We hit Skinner’s, then you take us to the gate and get us inside the city. I’m assuming the Hammer Crusher’s won’t be able to follow us in there, right?”

Wellspring sighed, but nodded, putting away her notebook and running a hoof through her mane, “Yes, if we can get past the gates, the gang will not be a problem. Gangs rarely have the clout needed to send ponies into the inner city, except on very special business, as passage without Guild authorization is expensive. Certainly they could, but the investment of caps would hardly be worth it; even for revenge. Besides, once inside we can rely on my Guild to protect us. I think.”

“You think?” Crossfire asked.

“Nothing in life is ever guaranteed,” Wellspring said with a shrug, “You’d be quite foalish to expect 100% safety, even within the inner city. Still, better than taking our chances out here, no?”

Crossfire couldn’t argue with that logic. Before they left she went to her shredded uniform and retrieved the red scarf, folding it and tying it around her neck with her magic. 

I can keep this much to remind myself of where I came from. Heh, that and my rifle, if I ever get the bloody thing back. This Skinner buck has got some things to answer for.

Wellspring had to hobble slightly, though Knobs had created a splint from some sheet metal and torn bits of the cloth door to the shack. Fortunately, moving fast wasn’t the goal, but rather going slow and keeping to cover. The layout of the Outskirts aided this desire, offering dozens of overhangs and winding pathways between its mounds of cobbled together metal structures. The wider, more open areas were usually crowded with ponies and other species, griffins and even a hoof full of bipedal canine creatures Crossfire had never seen before.

Knobs identified those creatures as Diamond Dogs. Apparently there was a few small dens in the sewers beneath the city. Crossfire found the big limbed canines with their thick claws and squat faces interesting, but paid them little mind, her eye more focused on watching the sky. There were enough griffins and pegasi around that it was hard to tell if any of those flying were from the Hammer Crusher’s. She didn’t see the one with the machine gun, but that hardly mattered. With her limited field of view, beyond the stacks of metal shanties criss-crossed with makeshift bridges and railings, that griffin could come into view instantly and lay into them before they had much time to react. 

That, along with keeping a constant watch out for pursuing gang members, made for a gut churning and tense trot through the streets. Crossfire found it particularly harrowing due to being unarmed. If they were caught, her only weapon was her horn. She took it as an object lesson; she needed to expand her spell knowledge. Right now all she knew was telekinesis, like any other unicorn. Learning to sling some arcane attacks seemed like a fantastic idea, now that she was bereft of any weapons. 

Crossing one busy market square, Crossfire started as she saw four ponies from the Hammer Crusher gang coming out of a side alley. She pushed Knobs and Wellspring towards the opposite alley, saying, “Move!”

The gangers gave chase as both groups wove through the crowd of the market, the shoppers and passers by quickly getting out of the way or throwing themselves into cover. Two of the Hammer Crusher’s had guns, and were sending hastily aimed shots at the fleeing trio. Crossfire winced as she saw a nearby market vendor get hit in the chest, the mare letting out a gurgling scream as she fell behind her junk stall. Knobs spun on her hooves. Crossfire presumed the teal unicorn wanted to go help the vendor, but Crossfire pushed Knobs along with a growl of, “No time! Keep running!”

Knobs gave her a pained look, but didn’t argue, continuing to flee. Crossfire could hear the other mare sob at doing so. Crossfire suppressed a pang of guilt. They couldn’t stop. Knobs wouldn’t be able to help anypony if she got killed. 

Getting into the alley, Wellspring leading the way, they turned left, then right as the dizzying maze of tightly packed buildings forced them down a narrowing path. The high pitched twang of bullets striking metal accompanied them. Crossfire hated this. She wanted to stand and fight, but without a weapon, she was left with her hooves and magic. If cornered, she’d fight with what she could grab, but as long as they had a path to retreat, it made far more sense, much as it went against her grain to do so.

The alley led out into a broader street finally, with a thicker crowd of ponies, and soon the trio lost themselves in it. Wellspring slowed, and Knobs and Crossfire followed suit, keeping their movements in pace with the street traffic. Long, slow seconds passed. Crossfire could hear the yelling of the gangers behind them, wondering where their quarry went. Being a pony had both benefits and drawback when it came to trying to hide. On one hoof, a colorful coat and mane color made one stand out in the wrong circumstances. On the other hoof, if you were surrounded by other colorful pastel ponies, you blended in remarkably well. 

The gangers didn’t find them and soon they made their way out of the crowd, and with Knobs taking the lead followed her towards Skinner’s place.

Fortunately there were no other surprise encounters, for which Crossfire was grateful. She didn’t like having to push Knobs ahead when she’d wanted to go back and help the shot vendor, but it’d needed to be done. Still, she seethed at the fact that those gang ponies had fired into a crowd, not caring about who they hit. This was why armed gangs were not tolerated in the Protectorate! Ponies who cared so little about the lives of their fellow pony were booted across the border at best, or put to work in the mines. Like civilized ponies. 

Before much longer they found themselves at the domicile of the ghoul-wrangler, Skinner.

Much as Knobs had explained, it was just a little south to the river that cut across the Wasteland north of Skull City; a muddy brown band of water several hundred meters across. 

The shanty town was a little thinner here towards its edge, with the inhabited metal shacks gradually replaced by the scorched walls of old houses and piles of rubble from the pre-war suburbs of Detrot. There was no fence, wall, or clearly marked border between the tangled forest of burned pre-war ruins and the inhabited shanty town, just a gradual bleed from one to the other, like bruised flesh mixing into infected flesh; all ugly, just different shades of it. 

Skinner’s home was a mostly intact former convenience store, a metal pole with a oblong faded sign with unreadable letters sticking up from a small parking lot that was enclosed with a batch of razor wire topped with a tangle of bones and skulls, all well maintained and relatively fresh; the ghoul wrangler's never lacked for having materials of that kind. A simple gate in the razor wire fence was already open. Skinner usually left it that way when he was home. Said the occasional attempted theft kept his shooting skills sharp. 

As they went through the gate Crossfire was stopped by Knobs, the teal mare looking at her worriedly.

“You’ll get your rifle back, but please, don’t be upset with him.”

“Why would I be upset?” asked Crossfire with a low, too-even tone. “He only stole my property and set that gang on me by telling them I was a Protectorate soldier.”

“Crossfire, please?”

“I just want what’s mine. I’ll play nice if he doesn’t give us any trouble.”

Wellspring, who was having trouble maintaining a smooth, graceful walk with her leg causing her to hobble, pain straining her otherwise composed features, said “I can probably smooth things over. I find most stallions react well to a mare who knows how to... act in a certain way.”

Crossfire gave the other mare a look, as did Knobs.

“Let’s just get this over with,” growled Crossfire as they got to the door, Knobs reaching up with a hoof and giving the door a soft knock. 

There was a short wait before the doors swung open in a glow of magic, showing the molted, scabby gray unicorn ghoul. Skinner looked at Knobs and started to say, “Knobs, girl, what are you doing here? I don’t need you unti-” then he caught sight of Crossfire and his eyes shot wide, the door instantly slamming to close.

However Crossfire caught the door with her own magic and shoved it back open, pressing past a surprised Knobs and 	into the building as Skinner backed up. The ghoul started to float out a semi-automatic pistol from the fold of his cloak but Crossfire was faster, smacking the gun to the floor and stepping on it before Skinner could get a shot off. She then wrapped Skinner in a field of red magic, holding the ghoul aloft.

Knobs was shouting, “You promised not to hurt him!”

“Okay, first; no, I promised nothing. Second; he pulled a gun,” said Crossfire, “Besides I’m not going to hurt him, I’m just keeping him from hurting us.”

“G-grr, let go of me!” said Skinner as he looked between Crossfire, Knobs, and now Wellspring who’d stepped inside, “Knobs, what have you done girl!? This mare’s on the Hammer Crusher’s chopping block.”

Knobs heaved a saddened sigh, lowering her head, “So it's true, you sold info on her to the gang? Mister Skinner, I... how could you do that!? You knew I was trying to help her, that I took her under my care!”

The ghoul grimaced, a brief look of shame crossing his gnarled, decomposed features before he held his head up, “Ain’t got to justify it to you girl, I saw an opportunity for caps, and I took it. Not my problem you wanted to take in a stray.”

His milky eyes narrowed, focused now on Crossfire, “Seeing you all shot up, going to guess you’re on the run now. Well whatever you think you’re going to get out of me, forget it! Nightbane, the hell you doing, taking a crap!? Help me!”

At the mention of a new name it suddenly occurred to Crossfire she hadn’t really looked to see that Skinner was alone in his home. The main room was a wide, mostly open space, the main floor of the former convenience store converted in equal parts lounge, kitchen, and bedroom, with the requisite furniture for such spread across the area where once there would have been shelves for junk food and sodas. There wasn’t anywhere for anypony to hide, and indeed the moment Crossfire looked over she saw there was another occupant in the room.

Not that he was bothering to try and hide.

“Skinner, Skinner, Skinner, if you have issues with these lovely ladies,” said the griffin as he took a long drag on a cigar he held between his blackened beak and blew out a stream of smoke a moment later, “I’m not terribly inclined to interfere. Show’s too good to not watch.”

The griffin was a well muscled male in his middle years. Shades of chestnut brown tinged the tips of his crest feathers and he wore a thick black jacket and underneath that a green shirt that covered his chest, along with a red tie. He didn’t appear armed, but he carried himself with a steady confidence of someone accustomed to violence, even as he sucked on the cigar and grinned at the scene before him as he lounged on a large plush couch.

“Damnit it all Nightbane, don’t leave me hanging here!” shouted Skinner.

Nightbane laughed, a sound like rough sandpaper grinding over wood as he blew out another stream of smoke.

“You’re a riot Skinner, that’s why I like these little visits to your place. That and you have some of the best hooch this side of our craptastic fair city,” the griffin said, as he held aside his cigar just long enough to take a long drink from a bottle of clear liquid. Crossfire suspected the liquid was some kind of home-brew moonshine. Nightbane let out a satisfied grunt after draining a good fourth of the bottle and looked at the gathered mares, his beady eyes cold and calculating as opposed to the mirth on his beak.

“Suppose since that ghoul you’re colt-handling is a kind-sorta friend I’ll ask what your beef with him is.”

“Weren't’ you listening?” asked Crossfire, trying to gauge how dangerous this griffin was and coming up with nothing, though Wellspring and Knobs both had gone oddly silently and still and it put Crossfire on edge, “He told a local gang that I was with Knobs, me being from the Protectorate apparently being something someponies around here don’t take kindly to. Oh, and he has my damn gun and I want it back!”

Nightbane nodded slowly, “Hmm, hmm, yeah, plenty of folk around here aren’t at all fond of Protectorate folk. You blame them? You started a war, tried to steal our only farmable land, and killed thousands before we got you to run on back home. Even if its been a few years, you can’t be expecting everyone who lives here to forget the loved ones they lost to that fight.”

Crossfire let out a long, slow sigh, “Yeah, well, I don’t see how that justified beating me unconscious and trying to make a slave of me,” then she blinked, “Wait, what? What do you mean ‘started the war’!? It was Skull City that started the war by invading our farmland, not the other way around!”

“I’m afraid that just isn’t accurate,” broke in Wellspring, still giving Nightbane a strange look, both fascinated and fearful at the same time, “We did not start the fight until our farmsteads to the north were occupied by Protectorate forces.”

Crossfire shook her head, “That’s not how... no, it was Skull City gangers that started burning farms on our land! Then we moved troops onto your territory to secure our border!”

“Not to interrupt the conversation but could you put me down already!?” Skinner said with a frantic look in his eyes. Crossfire glared at the ghoul, but relented and dropped him. When Skinner looked from her, to his gun that she was still standing on, then back to her, Crossfire snorted.

“You get your gun back when I get mine back,” she said, then glanced at Nightbane, “Who are you anyway and why are my companions staring at you like your Princess Celestia reborn?”

Nightbane threw back his head and started to laugh heartily while Knobs squeaked in fright and Wellspring stared with wide eyes at Crossfire. Skinner just shook his head, muttering something unintelligible under his breath.

“You... I guess you wouldn’t know, not being from around here,” said Wellspring slowly, “Though it is a little surprising. I thought all the Protectorate military would know the names of the Drifter Guild’s S-Rank members.”

Crossfire twitched, ears flicking as Wellsprings words slowly sank in. Of all the losses the Protectorate suffered during the war, the worst incidents were when Skull City got its Drifter Guild involved. The Drifter Guild, from what she understood, was some kind of mercenary organization that sold the skills of its members for any random job they were paid for. She’d heard stories that, during the war, the Drifter Guild was contracted by the whole of Skull City to participate, including using some of its strongest members. She didn’t know any of their names, but she knew that any battle one of these top Drifters got involved in, the Skull City forces invariably took victory. She didn’t believe any of the rumors though, as they had all sounded so ridiculous. A swordsmare who could cut through power armor with ease? A cybernetic monster that fired rockets from its arms? A... griffin who couldn’t be hit in battle, no matter how surrounded and outnumbered he was?

“So you’re a Drifter?” Crossfire asked, suddenly feeling naked without a weapon. Granted, scarf aside, she was naked, but now she felt it. Nightbane grinned at her.

“Top gun of the Skull City Drifter Guild, Nightbane Auckland, at your service. Well, not really, don’t think you could afford my fees, but you get the idea.”

Wellspring Whistles suddenly had her notebook and pen out, scribbling something down furiously, muttering, “... so juicy...”

Nightbane frowned and in a single eyeblink there was a flare of wings, a flash of movement, a gunshot, and the notebook went flying from Wellspring’s hoof, causing the mare to make a nicker of fright and duck. Nightbane was holding in one talon a gun that looked like an oversized sub-machine gun, sporting both a grenade launcher and small serrated knife as a bayonet attachment. Crossfire could appreciate the fine guncraft of the weapon, the thing looking clean and well maintained, unlike most of the rusty deathtraps she’d seen ponies carrying while crossing through the Outskirts. From the sound of the guns’ report she’d estimate the SMG was of the 12mm variety, but she couldn’t be sure. The muzzle flash had been... silver? She’d never seen a muzzle flash that color before.

Nightbane smiled grimly, “Kindly prefer you didn’t write anything down about me visiting my old friend Skinner her, Miss Whistles.”

“Y-you know my name!? You recognize me!?” Wellspring gushed, seeming more engaged than horrified, but she quickly composed herself from her apparent fanfillying and coughed, “Ahem, may I ask how you are familiar with me Mister Auckland.”

“Just Nightbane. Really not fond of the last name, but not going to toss it aside either. I know you from the radio, of course. When is your next song coming out anyway?”

Wellspring gulped, “I… well, soon, I hope. I only have two out, and they don’t get played often. I’m surprised a gentleman of your... means, actually paid them any mind. They’re just amateur works.”

“Hardly,” said the griffin, putting away his weapon, snugly hidden in a holster within the inside lining of his jacket, “In any case, didn’t mean to give you a fright there, but I don’t want it common knowledge I come out here to visit a friend. Guy in my line of work, his friends can be liabilities. No offense Skinner.”

The ghouls shrugged, “None taken, I know how it is, and find it honestly warming to the cockles of this old dead heart of mine you even bother these days, what with the kind of caps you make. You can afford better friends.”

Nightbane shook as he laughed again, holding up the bottle of booze, “But none that brew better brain-killer than you. So, you giving the lady back her property?”

“Technically its your property now,” said Skinner, and Crossfire narrowed her eyes at him.

“What?” she asked, taking a half step towards the ghoul, ears flattened. 

Skinner gave her a dry look, not backing away from her, and pointed a hoof a Nightbane, “I sold your rifle to him.”

Nightbane tapped a talon to the underside of his beak, “Right, Protectorate soldier. Thought I recognized that ridiculously large bayonet. Always wondered who came up with that design. Has to be tough to swing that thing around. Makes a good addition to my collection though; especially to the tune of just two hundred caps.”

Crossfire’s jaw tightened. Two hundred caps!? She didn’t know the exact exchange rate between Wasteland caps and Protectorate minted bits, but she knew her Sniper Shark XR was worth at least a thousand bits! The rifles were of fine manufacture, built in the capital’s own foundry! And this walking rotting corpse sold it for that cheap? Nightbane noticed her look and waved a talon at her.

“Whoa, don’t be too hard on old Skinner. For him, two hundred caps is a nice night under the tail of any number of professional working mares. Or stallions. Can’t remember your preference, Skinner.”

“Mares, not that that’s important,” said the ghoul with a grumbling tone, “Besides, I originally wanted, four, but your cheapskate griffin flank talked me down to two. Still don’t know how.”

“The fine art of barter, and getting you plenty buzzed before we struck the deal,” said Nightbane.

“I don’t care who sold it for what!” growled Crossfire, “Its my rifle and I’m getting it back.”

“Um, Crossfire, could you please stop choking my mentor?” asked Knobs as she put a hoof on Crossfire’s leg, giving her a bit of a shake, and making Crossfire blink and realize she had wrapped the ghoul's throat with telekinesis and had been putting pressure on it. She took a deep breath, calming herself, and loosening her magic's grip, but not quite letting Skinner's throat go.

The ghoul glared at her hard, his cracked flesh peeling a little more at his scowl, “How about you let go of me and maybe I won’t call every feral ghoul in a half mile radius down on our heads.”

Wellspring gave Skinner an incredulous look, though Crossfire just raised an eyebrow as she had no idea just what the ghoul was babbling about. Knobs looked scared, knees shaking as she said, “D-don’t even joke about that Mister Skinner.”

“Who’s joking? Nightbane can fly, and I got safe ways out of this house. One spell from me and I can call all the wandering ferals in hearing range, and they’ll come hungry. Don’t want to deal with that? Then let me the fuck go!” the ghoul roared.

Crossfire looked at him, considering. Really it wouldn’t be that hard just to shove his head through the ceiling or batter him against the wall, probably before he could do his little ghoul calling spell. However that wouldn’t get her rifle back any faster, and besides, he’d just said something that interested her. She let go of the magic she had around his throat and said, “You said you had ways out of this place. What ways?”

“Why in the holy bloody Goddesses clenched plots should I tell you that!?” asked Skinner with a growl of his own that reminded Crossfire too much of the ferals that had chased her, “Far as I’m concerned you three can park your plots anywhere outside my door until Spiked Heels and her gang shows up to deal with you!”

“Mister Skinner, please, we need help!” Knobs said, “I’m sorry my friend was treating you rough, but we really, really need her to get her gun back, and if you have a secret way out of the house, that’d help too!”

Crossfire twitched a little at hearing the word ‘friend’ leave Knobs lips. Were they really friends? 

Shit, Crossfire, she put her own hide on the line to pull you out of that ganger’s camp, and is in the frying pan with you now because of it. If you can’t call her a friend, what can you call her?

Crossfire didn’t have an answer for her own question, and put it out of her mind as she watched Skinner’s leathery face contort with conflicting hesitation and frustration at his apprentice. The unicorn ghoul, stringy remnants of his mane falling across his eyes, lowered his head.

“Blast it mare, that pouty look won’t work on a bullet! It ain’t my problem you got a bleeding heart. Thought you’d grow out of it, but guess that was a pipe dream. It ain’t worth my trouble to cross a gang the size of Heels’!” 

“What if I were willing to make it worth your trouble, Mister Skinner?” interjected Wellspring as she gave the ghoul a bright smile and taking a step towards him. Nightbane let out a guffaw, and Crossfire shot him a sharp glance. The griffin was still just watching the proceedings, seeming content to enjoy his cigar and lounge. Crossfire wondered where he was keeping her rifle; she didn’t see it from where she was standing. 

Skinner looked Wellspring over, eyes lingering over her hind legs and flanks for a moment, but his cracked half rotted lips were still pressed in a thin frown, “Mare, if I want what you got, I’d just go pay a good, honest whore for the privilege, and get a better lay out of it.”

Wellspring looked like she’d been slapped, but quickly composed herself, a small tremor of anger in her otherwise pleasant voice, “You misunderstand me. I mean I am willing to pay for both Miss Crossfire to have her weapon returned to her and to have access to any secret way out of your domicile.”

“Pay? Doubt you got enough caps to make it even remotely worth considering having Spiked Heels as an enemy,” Skinner said with a snort.

“As a sanctioned ghoul-wrangler of the Skull Guild surely you’re not afraid of a simple Outskirts gang?” asked Wellspring with a bat of her eyelashes, continuing on quickly as Skinner scowled, “Who controls Skull City, after all, the Guilds or the gangs? If Spiked Heels gives you trouble, why, isn’t that interfering with Guild business? Surely the Skull Guild would not tolerate one of its own suffering the indignities of a mere gang’s whims.”

“Now listen here, that’s all well and good in theory,” said Skinner, “But my Guild can’t help me if one of the gangs decides to torch my house and string me up by the neck from the nearest second storey window and leave my guts hanging in the wind! Which is exactly what Spiked Heels will do to me if she knows I helped out ponies she’s got a mind to kill.”

Wellspring laughed, waving a dismissive hoof, “Were you not just saying how easily you could summon local packs of feral ghouls while escaping to safety? Even the Hammer Crushers should feel some concern when facing a member of the Skull Guild, and with Miss Knobbly Knees here as your apprentice, why, they’re technically facing two such members. And there is a member of the Drifter’s Guild here as well, their highest ranking member no less! Plus I myself am a member of the Radio Guild, which while not having the same reputation as the Skull or Drifter’s Guild, remains a Guild nonetheless. Between the three of us, Spiked Heels would be crossing three Guilds by trying to harm you, so you should be safe.”

The old unicorn ghoul’s face was a bunched up frayed mask of thought, bits of flesh hanging off his jaw as he rubbed it. At length he said, “Still ain’t hearing how you’re going to pay me though.”

Crossfire was wondering that herself. Wellspring wasn’t carrying much on her and Crossfire didn’t imagine Wellspring had many caps stuffed in her dainty little saddlebag. During the conversation Crossfire had floated up Skinner’s gun and held it steady in her red magical aura, then slipped over to one of the windows to peek out onto the streets. A wind was kicking up outside, blowing swirling dust devils through the graveyard of broken walls and half intact buildings. Crossfire’s yellow eyes narrowed. There, perched atop the roof of a mostly collapsed house was the griffin from the Hammer Crusher’s gang, the one with the massive machine gun. The griffin was looking directly at Skinner’s convenience store turned home, and as Crossfire watched her the griffin spread her wings and took off, flying east deeper into the Outskirts.

“Shit,” Crossfire swore quietly, turning to Knobs, who’d come up next to her, “We don’t have a lot of time.”

Knobs looked at Crossfire worriedly, biting her lip. Meanwhile Wellspring kept negotiating with Skinner.

“I can pay you two hundred caps now,” Wellspring said, and at Skinner’s scoff she added, “Plus another eight hundred once we reach the safety of the inner city gate.”

“I’m not dumb enough to take an I.O.U, mare, you ain’t got the caps now, in full, I ain’t helping,” Skinner said, then blinked as Wellspring’s happy smile.

“So one thousand is enough then? Good!” the mare said, golden mane bobbing as she reached back into her small saddlebag and pulled out hoof full of small steel coins. Crossfire could see the coins were stamped with two symbols, though she couldn’t quite make out what they were. Skinner looked at the slates, letting out a small whistle.

“How’s some gutter snoop like you got that much Gella on her?”

Wellspring’s smile turned wry, “A professional doesn’t share her secrets. Now, Mister Skinner, will this be enough for us to reach an accord?”

The ghoul took a moment, staring at the coins and licking his lips, “You’re a sly one aren’t you? Throwing some hypothetical number at me, pretending you’d pay me later, but had the damn money all along? Can’t throw money at every problem though, mare... but yeah, this’ll work for me. I’ll show you my route out of here, but you got to work your own deal with Nightbane over the rifle.”

At that Nightbane stretched and rolled smoothly off the couch, cracking his neck and striding over to the group, “Got an offer of my own on that matter.”

All eyes turned to the griffin in the dark coat as he walked with strong, confident steps right up to Crossfire. He was practically beak to snout with her, and this close the griffin’s greater bulk and height was apparent as he looked down at her with an eager twist to his features. Crossfire didn’t back away, looking up at Nightbane without flinching. 

“You want your rifle back? I’ll give it back to you. On the condition that you do me a favor.”

Cigar smoke stung her eyes and made her nose itch, but she didn’t cough and kept meeting the griffin’s gaze, “Quit staring at me and just spit out what you want.”

“Simple; when you get into the inner city, you and me, we have ourselves a little friendly bout at the Gunner’s Heaven.”

Crossfire frowned, “Gunner’s Heaven?”

“Its Skull City’s sanctioned combat arena,” said Wellspring, looking between Crossfire and Nightbane with surprise, “Its not some low class fight club either, but the highest profile venue for violence in the city. Thousands of Gella exchange hooves on the bets taking place on the events there.”

Crossfire had guessed by now that Gella was some kind of Guild related currency, and imagined it had to be worth a lot given the few Wellspring had flashed at Skinner had been enough to secure the ornery ghoul’s cooperation. So Nightbane wanted to fight her in some kind of betting arena? What was he going to get out of it? Crossfire looked at the griffin suspiciously, wanting to question him, but they didn’t have any more time to waste. The Hammer Crushers could be arriving at any minute.

“Fine, you got your fight,” she told Nightbane, “Now where’s my rifle?”

“Sitting behind the couch.”

The words were barely out of Nightbane’s beak before Crossfire was darting over, practically flipping the couch over, eliciting an annoyed “Hey!” from Skinner. Crossfire ignored it and instead looked down at the weapon laying on the floor before her, a strange tremble coming over her body as she ran a hoof along it.

“Hey, did you miss me?” Crossfire said as she lovingly caressed the wood finish of the large bolt action rifle with the massive bayonet blade. She floated the weapon up, discarding Skinner’s gun, to which the ghoul swore and caught it with his own telekinesis before the gun could hit the floor. Crossfire examined her rifle, opening the breech. Satisfied the rifle was undamaged she smiled to herself and turned to the others, enjoying the feeling of her magic over the weapon’s surface. Holding it she finally felt like herself again.

Knobs was hiding a giggle, “You look so happy Crossfire. You really like that gun so much?”

Crossfire shook her head, “Don’t make fun. Bayonet Corps pounds it into our heads to care for our rifles like they’re out damned lovers. Hey! Don’t laugh, I’m being serious!”

Knobs was still giggling and Wellspring was giving Crossfire a coy look, “I’ve heard some ponies get attached to their weapons, but that seems a bit extreme.”

Crossfire snorted and looked away, “Whatever. Let’s just get going. Skinner, where’s this way out?”

The ghoul led them with a grumpy grumbling through a back hallway past a bathroom and bedroom, Nightbane following behind them, filling the hallway with cigar smoke. We went through a door into a backroom that was darkly lit, filled with tables and shelves lined with chemicals and equipment that reminded Crossfire of some kind of old achelmic lab. Everything from jars of strangely colored powder to a small botany bed growing a strange blue leafed plant underneath a flickering equally blue light filled the room. 

Skinner unceremoniously flipped over a well kept rug on the floor, exposing a trapdoor in the tiled floor that the shoul opened with his magic. The door exposed a dark, widely dug hole in the ground that led straight down, the shaft too cloaked with shadow to see where it led. 

“Where does this go?” Crossfire asked, shining red light from her horn down into the hole, seeing it only went down about five hooflengths before opening into some kind of shaft.

“It leads into the Detrot sewers,” Skinner said, and Crossfire wrinkled her nose. That would explain the unpleasant smell assaulting her. “That tunnel’ll take you straight to the sewer system. From there you got hundreds of ways to get to ground level again, or you can just stay down there and try and make it all the way to the wall.”

Wellspring looked at the hole with a slight nervousness and distaste, “No small number of dangers down there. Feral ghouls, the Diamond Dog dens, mutated animals, not to mention the Gobs.”

“Gobs?” Crossfire asked.

“Unpleasant little bipedal creatures,” Wellspring said, “They war with the Diamond Dog dens for control of the best drainage points, and make trouble on the surface, occasionally raiding food stores, or just murdering ponies in their homes for fun.”

“Joy,” Crossfire said, then laughed, “Well, its this, or take on the gang.”

Wellspring sighed, “I suppose you’re correct. I like our chances in the sewers better than trying to deal with being shot at up here. I do hope you’re as good with that rifle as your love for it seems to indicate.”

Crossfire grinned, patting the rifle, “I’ll keep your pretty little mane safe, don’t fret.”

Knobs, trotting over to one of the tables lined with alchemy supplies, floated up a few bottles, "Mister Skinner, is it okay if we take a few of these?"

The ghoul let out an irritated snort, "I ain't a free health-care clinic! You mares paying for those too?"

Knobs made a low whining sound, and Skinner shuddered, "Girl, you just can't keep... stop that! Stop with the whining and the giant doe eyes and wagging your tail! No, I'm not... gah! Nightbane, make her stop!"

"You make her stop. I'm enjoying this," Nightbane said, leaning back against one of the other tables with a content smirk. 

Skinner slapped a hoof to his cracked, rotted face and groaned in frustration, "Fine! Fine! Just take the damn healing potions. I'll make more later."

"Yay! Thank you Mister Skinner!" Knobs went up and hugged the ghoul, who made a grimacing face. Soon Knobs was distributing the healing potions between herself, Crossfire, and Wellspring. Crossfire took one and immediately felt the cool wash of the healing magic working on her stitched up back and bruised up body. Knobs had given her two, but she saved the other for an emergency, having a distinct feeling she'd need it. Wellspring downed both of her potions, shuddering as she did so, and notably limping less after she'd taken them. Knobs held onto her potions, which didn't surprise Crossfire. She had a hunch the teal mare intended to save her potions in case she had to heal others, and wasn't even thinking of using them on herself. 

"Alright," said Crossfire, approaching the trap door, "Time to go."

“Remember,” said Nightbane as Crossfire began to clamber into the hole, “Gunner’s Heaven. You don’t show, I’ll come looking for you, and we’ll have ourselves a little discussion about the importance of sticking to one’s contract.”

The griffin pulled back his black coat and patted his huge SMG with a meaningful, wry smirk. Crossfire gave him a hard look, “You’ll find I stick to my word. You’ll see me there, count on it.”

As she and Wellspring headed into the tunnel, Knobs stayed just a moment longer, looking at Skinner with a worried crease to her features, “I’m sorry for all the trouble Mister Skinner. I’ll be back as soon as this all blows over-”

“Don’t bother, girl, just go,” Skinner said with a tightness to his old eyes, “Don’t get dead. Damned soft hearted sop.”

Knobs smiled at him, throwing her forelegs around him in a quick hug that the ghoul was fast to fend off with an annoyed look. “I’ll be okay! You stay safe too!”

With that she hopped down into the hole, leaving a muttering Skinner as he closed the trap door and replaced the rug atop it. The ghoul gave Nightbane a glare as he noticed the griffin grinning at him.

“What are you looking at!?”

“Nothing, just didn’t take you for liking them that young.”

“Go fuck yourself, you old bird.”

“Ha! Let’s get back to the hooch, old corpse, before those gangers show up asking about where your friends went.”

Skinner groaned, “Don’t remind me. What was that filly thinking, getting mixed up with that Protectorate mare?”

“Ain’t much for reading folk are you Skinner?” said Nightbane as the went back into the living room, “You weren’t seeing the way that little apprentice of yours was looking at that mare?”

Skinner’s face went thoughtful, then screwed up, “You saying Knobs is a filly fooler? That she’s all moist beneath the tail for that bitch?”

“Let’s just say if I was laying bets on it, my money would be on there being more to that cute little filly’s motivations than just the kindness of her heart,” said Nightbane as he took a swig from the bottle he’d retrieved, and tossed it towards Skinner, who grabbed it in a field of magic and took a long pull from the bottle himself.

“Well, not my damned business,” said Skinner, then glanced over as there was a knock at his door. He tossed the bottle back to Nightbane, “Guess its time to say hi to my friendly local gang.”

Nightbane chuckled, “You gonna sell those three out?”

Skinner paused, glancing back at the griffin, then huffed out a tired sigh, “I’m an old ghoul, who likes his caps. You blaming me, Auckland?”

Nightbane laughed, “No, caps are the most honest motivation in this world. Just surprised. You seemed pretty choked up a second ago, didn’t think you were faking caring about that filly.”

“Care about her just fine... just not so much I’ll turn down caps. Spiked Heels will hem, haw, and threaten, but she’ll pay me to know where they went just the same. I’ll draw out the negotiation some, give those three time to get a head start... “ Skinner left the rest unsaid. 

It was nothing personal against Knobs, Wellspring, or even Crossfire, who Skinner really didn’t like nor have any reason to care about. He liked Knobs, thought she was a good pony with a lot of potential. But she was just too naive and had too big of a heart. Wasn’t personal at all. Skinner just liked his caps. 

----------

The sewers beneath the Skull City Outskirts were not small. The short tunnel they’d entered from Skinner’s place led quickly into wide, cavernous sewer tunnels that were in remarkable working order, given the dilapidated state of most the surface. 

“Thousands of ponies live in Skull City,” said Wellspring, her nose twitching at the smells of the hoof high water they trotted through, “All that waste is still disposed of down here, for the most part. The Sewer Guild keeps the sewer functioning, though most of its work takes place beneath the inner city, with the Outskirts taking a lower priority.”

“We going to run into any of this Sewer Guild down here?” Crossfire asked.

“Not likely, not until we get closer to the wall,” Wellspring replied, grimacing as she stepped in something, shuffling uncomfortably, “In any case we should keep our voices down. Oh, and don’t touch anything.”

Crossfire snorted, “I’m not stupid.”

She was providing most of the light they traveled by, bathing the tunnel ahead in a blood red glow. She kept her bayonet rifle out before her, poised to strike at anything slimy that might rear from the darkness ahead. 

“Be careful about firing that thing down here,” Wellspring said, “I’d prefer not to go deaf.”

“No chance of that,” Crossfire said, “I don’t have any ammunition for it.”

“Oh...” the earth pony mare blinked, “Well... I guess you’re right. Will that weapon by of any use, without ammo?”

“The bayonet isn’t for show,” Crossfire replied.

For a long time the three mares had nothing but the soft echoing splashes of their own hoof falls and the old cloying smell of mold, rot, and waste to accompany them. Knobs and Crossfire followed Wellspring’s advice and kept quiet, what little conversation that passed between them said in whispers. Crossfire noticed Knobs casting concerned looks back the way they’d come, and having gotten to know a bit about how the teal unicorn mare thought, Crossfire could guess what Knobs was worried about.

“Doubt they’d hurt him,” she whispered to Knobs, “Wellspring’s right, if these Guilds are so powerful, doesn’t figure that the gangs would get much out of hurting member of one.”

“Gangs don’t always do what’s sensible,” said Knobs, ears dipped against the side of her head, “Their blood gets up, they’ll do crazy things. A lot of them aren’t fond of the Guild’s either. The might hurt Mister Skinner anyway.”

“Unlikely,” said Wellspring, “Not with Nightbane there.”

“He really that good?” asked Crossfire.

Wellspring gave her a look, “You’ll find out yourself, once we reach the inner city.”

Crossfire frowned as they reached a series of branching tunnels, taking a moment to glance down them as she replied, “Don’t know why he wants to fight me. What would he gain from us having a fight anyway?”

“Who knows?” said Wellspring as she examined some faded lettering and numerals etched into the stone walls along each branching path, “Boredom, or perhaps he intends to make money off of a side bet on the fights outcome? Or its part of another, unrelated job? Really, with Drifter’s, it could be anything, but my bet would be that he wants competition.”

“Huh?” Crossfire cocked her head, while Wellspring kept looking over the lines of letters and numbers...

“This is just my hunch, but I think he wants to just have a good fight. It was small, but I noticed a glint in his eye, when he looked at you. Um, how to put this? A predatory gleam, if you will? He may just be looking for an evening of entertainment”

Crossfire grunted, running a hoof over her mane, then making a face as she realized all that did was get sewer gunk in it. “Fun. So what are you doing there?”

“Just trying to recall how these sewer system route numbers worked and which way leads us east,” Wellspring said, rubbing her chin, and much like Crossfire, grimaced as she realized all that did was get the sewer’s filth on her.

Knobs peered at her curiously, “How do you know what all these numbers mean?”

“Had a coltfriend once who worked for the Sewer Guild,” Wellspring explained, “I pick things up.”

“Wait, coltfriend? Thought your barn door swung towards the mare’s side of the barn?” asked Crossfire. Wellspring just gave her look, to which Crossfire looked away, mumbling “Nevermind.”

Wellspring apparently found a tunnel she liked and soon the three were moving again. Twists, turns, more branching paths. Crossfire quickly lost track of where they were, stuck trusting in the sense of direction of Wellspring. Knobs had joined her light with Crossfire’s, keeping their path well lit as they came out into a large cylindrical room with numerous offshoot tunnels. Wellspring stopped them, raising a hoof, her eyes frowning at something sticking out of the floor ahead. It was a large iron pipe jammed into the ground, hanging from it a rotted pony corpse so decomposed that there wasn’t even any coat or mane, just pale, spotted flesh. 

The corpse was painted with black symbols, harsh and unrecognizable as any kind of pony writing. 

“What is that?” Crossfire asked in a hushed tone, eyes already checking the other entrances to the room for movement, her mane tingling. This was a horrible place for a fight, so of course her soldier training stated this was exactly where an ambush would take place. 

“A warning,” Wellspring said, “Gob writing, on the ghoul there. They’re marking their territory.”

“That’s a ghoul?” Crossfire asked, and as she did the corpse came to life, raising its head and letting out a dull hiss as he looked at them with white, empty eyes. Its hooves weakly flailed at them, but impaled upon the pipe, and seeming lacking in strength, the ghoul couldn’t do more than wave its hooves at them useless and snap its jaws.

Crossfire felt disgusted. Ghouls were uncommon in the Protectorate. Feral ghouls, nonexistent. This was just... a wretched way for a pony to end up. Crossfire felt an urge to go and run the ghoul through with her bayonet, just to put an end to the pitiful creature’s suffering existence. She held back, however, remaining wary as she eyed the room.

Knobs clearly had the same thought, however, as she raised her own silenced rifle and whispered a small prayer, “Goddesses look over you, lost one,” and with a soft ‘pfft’ of air the ghoul’s head jerked, and then went still. Knobs sniffed, her knees shaking a bit, and Crossfire put a hoof on her withers. At Knob’s look, Crossfire gave her a nod.

Wellspring glanced at them both, but said nothing, instead carefully taking a step into the room, drawing her revolver and holding it in her mouth. Crossfire joined her. At this point she was more or less acting as this mare’s bodyguard, and would be doing this for the foreseeable future, assuming they survived to get into the inner city. Might as well get used to this routine. Wellspring went to the left of the dead ghoul, and Crossfire went right, while Knobs followed behind Crossfire by a few paces.

The attack came faster than even Crossfire feared it would, and she’d expected something fast. Something flew out of the shadows of one of the tunnel entrances across from her and cut along her back, causing her to instinctively drop down and aim her rifle, despite its lack of ammo. A metallic clang made her glance back, seeing an single edged small axe clatter to the water. An axe? 

Suddenly the room came alive with harsh, high pitched grunts and forms bursting into the room. They were short bipedal creatures, most about a head shorter than the average pony. The had broad, flat faces with sharp angled features, beady slanted eyes, and the most ridiculously wide mouths Crossfire had ever seen on a living creature. To a critter, each one wore a wide, ludicrous grin, with teeth that looked sharp as knives. Or axes. Each creature carried makeshift axes, seemingly made by tying together sharped scrap metal to pipes, sticks, wood boards, or anything else the creatures had gotten their hands on. Oh, yes, hands. Crossfire knew what hands were, having met a few minotaurs from the one colony that was within the Protectorate borders, and she found the things to be horribly creepy. Things shouldn’t have digits like that coming off their extremities. Wasn’t natural. These creatures were mostly green or dark brown in color, their faces wreathed in thick beards and huge manes of wild unkempt hair. They wore loose clothing of stitched together makeshift cloth and garbage, not quite Raider chic, but close.

Since these were neither feral ghouls, nor did these creatures look particularly canine Crossfire was going to assume these were the Gobs that Wellspring had mentioned. She didn’t have time to count how many creatures had rushed them, only having a second to react. She surged up from where she’d ducked under the axe that’d been thrown at her, and went to meet the first Gob that came at her.

The Gob chattered at her in an incomprehensible gibberish and swung an axe that looked like it’d taken a fan blade sharpened it, and married it to a lead pipe. Crossfire sidestepped the whistling blade and smashed the Gob across the face with the butt of her rifle, then swung it around and thrust the bayonet into the creature’s throat. Red blood splattered out, spraying Crossfire’s face. She wasted no momentum though, kicking the twitching Gob off her bayonet as two more came at her from either side. 

She heard sharp gun retorts, made horribly loud within the confines of the room, but couldn’t glance to see how either her companions were doing as she backed up from one axe swing, only to get clipped by the other Gob’s axe along her right foreleg. She almost buckled, but stood firm and with her magic pulled her rifle around and slashed it in a wide arc that forced both Gobs to dodge. Using the opening that it created she rushed in, and bucked one of the Gobs square in its wide face. Though that Gob went flying into the wall with a satisfying crunch, the Gobs’ partner leapt at her and forced her to roll aside to avoid getting her skulls split by its axe; this one looking like bolted together, sharpened sheet metal tied to half a street sign. 

“Gobgob! Killkillkill, kee kee, flesh eat, kill! Gob!”

“Oh, bet you’re a bucking charmer at dinner parties,” Crossfire said as she dodged away from the Gobs rapid berserk series of axe swings. She waited for her opening, seeing the Gob over extend its swing, and she took advantage with a hard slash that opened up the Gob’s stomach. While that Gob went about trying to figure out why its guts were no longer inside its body, Crossfire took stock.

Wellspring and Knobs were fighting back to back, having fallen back to the tunnel they’d come from. Wellspring was reloading her revolver, having ran it dry killing two Gobs, one whose brains decorated the dead ghoul in the middle of the room. Knobs was still firing, but from the terrified and sickened look on her face she was moments from bolting. One Gob lay dead at Knob’s hooves, but that was it. 

At least six Gobs were still in the room, all of them focused on Wellspring and Knobs, Crossfire having taken out the ones that’d come for her. Despite the pain from the wound on her leg she broke into a short gallop to reach her allies before they got overrun, but it proved unnecessary. 

Just as one of the Gobs was about to leap upon the frightened Knobs as her rifle clicked dry, a deafening gun blast roared in the room and the Gob all but exploded in mid-air in a shower of limbs and blood. A hulking purple mare entered the room and turned on her hooves, launching a buck that crushed another Gobs’ skull in a burst of blood. Other ponies entered the room as well, firing away with small arms, and a bulky griffin followed them, bringing her massive machine gun to bear.

However the griffin didn’t need to open fire, as by now the few surviving Gobs had run away into the shadowed tunnels beyond this junction. For a few seconds there was just silence, mostly from how deaf everypony in the room was from all the gunfire.

Crossfire stood in the middle of the room, tense, wounded, and looking at a bunch of ponies she couldn’t believe had caught up to them so quickly. 

“That fucker, Skinner, is a dead pony,” Crossfire growled under her breath.

As Wellspring and Knobs were both grabbed by the ponies near them, with guns pointed at them, the big violet mare with the black mane looked at Crossfire.

“Don’t blame him. Boss was going to get where you went out of him one way or another; he was just smart and spared his hide the pain,” said Bruise with a hard set to her features, her oddly feminine voice subdued as she glanced at Knobs, “He did say to tell you he was sorry, if we caught up with you.”

Knobs looked at Bruise with pained disbelief, and Crossfire winced at the teal mare’s struggle as she said, “He... wouldn’t... he told me... but...”

Bruise shook her head and looked at Crossfire. There were half a dozen gangers in the room now, all of them with guns pointed at Crossfire. Crossfire tensed her muscles, ready to charge or...

...or run?

Could she do it? It wasn’t likely she’d make it to the tunnels out, even if she bolted, but lighting in here sucked, and if she flared her horn bright enough she’d blind these ponies and be able to have a shot at getting away.

If she was willing to leave Knobs and Wellspring behind. 

Of course fighting was all but suicide. The only reason she hadn’t done either was because the gangers hadn’t fired yet, suggesting they wanted to take her alive; presumably so Spiked Heels could sell her just like they’d originally planned... or take her vengeance on Crossfire for the ganger’s she’d killed personally. 

“Oh, do it,” said Bruise with a smile, “Just fucking make a move and give me an excuse. Only reason you’re not a splatter on the wall is because the boss wants you herself. You done fucked up, Protectorate bitch. Spiked Heels will tolerate a lot of shit, one of the most damned reasonable gang leaders in the Outskirts... but kill her ponies, she’s gets far less reasonable.”

“If you’d let me talk to her perhaps I could explain why-” Wellspring began by a pony next to her smacked her across the face with a hammer, knocking a tooth out. 

Bruise ignored the Raido Guild mare and never took her eyes off Crossfire, waiting for Crossfire to make a choice. 

Before she could choose, however, one way or another, she heard something else. A beating sound, fast, without rhythm, but deep and echoing. Drums. And following it, the noise of dozens upon dozens of guttural high pitched cries. 

“What is that?” asked one of the gangers. The griffin’s feathers were standing on end. 

“If...if you’d let me finish,” said Wellspring past blood dripping from her cracked lips, “I was trying to say I could explain why we need to run. Gobs defend their territory fiercely, and while you can beat them briefly, they will be back... with their whole clan.”
> Chapter 4: Crossfire and Bruise
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


Chapter 4: Crossfire and Bruise 


“Drop the rifle,” Bruise said with a hard scowl, mouth less than an inch from the firing bit of her battle saddle, “Or don’t, and we can see if your looks are improved by a direct injection of buckshot. Your choice. You got until the count of three.”

In the distance, echoing off the countless sewer tunnels so the sounds seemed to come from all directions at once, the howls and shrieking hoots of what had to be scores of Gobs reached Crossfire’s ears. Along with those unearthly cries was a steady, deep pounding of drums that seemed to match the tense heartbeat in Crossfire’s chest. The Hammer Crusher gangers looked about tensely, guns aiming at the darkened tunnels around them, while Bruise kept her eyes solely fixed upon Crossfire as she began counting.

“One...”

Crossfire ground her teeth, her tail flicking like a whip behind her. She just escaped this gang, and gotten her rifle back. There was no way she was going to just surrender. Narrowing her eyes, she looked left and right, scanning the room for anything she could use to gain an advantage she’d desperately need to escape. She resisted the urge to smile as she caught sight of a set of pipes that ran along sewer’s ceiling. The pipes were rimmed red with rust, and spotting a few pressure valves spaced along them, she surmised that whatever was in there was compressed to one degree or another. 

Should have paid more attention in my advanced spellcasting training. Being able to teleport, or pull off a shield, would be pretty bucking useful right now! Note to self; if I survive this, I’m learning more spells! On the bright side, they seem to want Knobs and Wellspring alive. That’s something at least.

“Two...” Bruise licked her lips and put her mouth on the firing bit of her battle saddle; the dual double barrel shotguns aimed squarely at Crossfire’s chest. 

Even if Crossfire pulled the same trick she did last time, using telekinesis to throw of Bruise’s aim, there were still plenty of other gangers to fill her full of holes, not the least of which was the griffin with the machine gun, who unlike the other gang ponies wasn’t looking around nervously and had her eyes fixed on Crossfire along with her gun. However, none of the gangers seemed to have realized they were standing beneath those pipes. Crossfire knew it would be a gamble, but she’d have to bet on her rifle’s bayonet being able to break one of the pipes open.

Of course, even with whatever distraction that’d provide, it was still just here against a lot well armed ponies and a griffin, and her without any ammo. She might be able to escape if she just ran after breaking the pipe, but that’d mean leaving behind Knobs and Wellspring. In her mind’s eye Crossfire could see herself back at the Ruin where she’d lost her squadmates, and a flash of anger and shame mixed with the more recent memory of Knobs, who’d looked after Crossfire’s wounds, and come to rescue her from these very gangers that now held Knob’s hostage. 

No, there wasn’t any way in Tartarus that Crossfire was leaving Knobs behind. Wellspring... meh, jury was still out on that one, but certainly not Knobs! She’d just have to bet on being able to take out the ponies holding Knobs and Wellspring before the gangers recovered from her distraction, assuming she managed to break the pipe before getting shot. 

Bruise smiled in satisfaction, seeing Crossfire wasn’t tossing her weapon down as ordered.

“Hoped that’d be your choice.”

Just as Bruise started to bite down on her battle saddle’s firing bit, Crossfire’s horn flashed red and she threw herself to the side. At the same instant a burst of telekinetic force slammed into Bruise, Crossfire’s rifle flew up and the bayonet jammed into a particularly rusty section of pipe above the ganger’s heads. Gunfire slammed around the confined sewer junction, deafening in the close quarters. Most of that gunfire didn’t come close to Crossfire, the burst of brown, brackish liquid spraying from the broken pipe throwing off the aim of the ganger’s who were caught off guard by the putrid shower of sewer waste. Bruise herself had been braced for Crossfire’s telekinetic shove, but had still been pushed back a few meters and her twin double barrel shotguns tore up chunks of brickwork from the wall next to Crossfire, but failed to strike her.

In the immediate confusion following her breaking the pipe, Crossfire charged forward, and directed her rifle at the same time. The rifle, held tightly in a glow of red magic, flew down and stabbed the ganger holding Knob’s through the back, causing the stallion to cry out and fall in a heap. Crossfire herself leaped in at the ganger holding Wellspring and while that ganger was still trying to clear sewer gunk from her eyes, Crossfire spun on her forelegs and bucked as hard as she could. She felt her hooves crack ribs as that ganger went into the wall with a grunt.

“Run!” Crossfire shouted, hauling a confused Wellspring away and looking back at Knobs.

Knobs, shocked, but quickly reacting, snatched her own small rifle from the back of the ganger that’d confiscated it, using her own telekinesis, and bashed the ganger over the head with the butt of the rifle before making a gallop for the nearest sewer tunnel.

By the time Crossfire and Wellspring started doing the same, though, the gangers had recovered from the impromptu sewer shower and fired upon the fleeing mares, the heavy rattling sound of the griffin’s machine gun loudest of them all. Bullet’s tore apart the sewer around them as Crossfire, Wellspring, and Knobs rushed into another sewer tunnel. Crossfire felt a bullet graze past her neck, and another tear a painful flesh wound across her flank. There was nothing for it though except to keep running. She slowed only enough to let Wellspring and Knobs take the lead, deciding that she’d be the group’s rear guard.

“After them damn it!” she heard Bruise shout, and knew the burly mare would be leading the charge to hunt them down. 

If that wasn’t bad enough, the howls of the Gobs were now so loud they sounded as if they were practically on top of them. 

“H-how did you...” Wellspring panted as they galloped full tilt down the tunnel, “How did you know they wouldn't shoot me or Knobs back there!?”

“I didn’t...” Crossfire admitted with her ears flattened, “Would you have rather I’d surrendered?”

“No!” said Knobs, “Totally glad that you decided to do the not-surrender thing! Bruise was really, really, really mad though!”

“Well, I did just bathe them all in sh-”

“Shouldn’t we be focusing on running, not talking?” interrupted Wellspring, who Crossfire couldn’t see frown, but the mare certainly had that ‘frowny’ tone to her voice, “And in case you failed to notice, you bathed me and Knobs in that filth as well!”

“Sorry, I’ll remember to find a pipe of clean sudsy scented bath soap the next time I need to rescue you two from murderous gang ponies!”

“Bruise isn’t murderous,” said Knobs defensively.

“Did you not see the same pony I did, pointing shotguns at me?” Crossfire shot back.

“Can’t we talk about this when we’re not running for our lives?” asked Wellspring between heavy breaths as the trio tore through several more sewer junctions without slowing down. 

Crossfire kept looking left and right as they galloped past numerous sewer tunnels, only hers and Knobs’ horns illuminating the area around them. The sounds of the Gobs was so close now she expected to see the monstrous little beasts leaping from the shadows at any given moment. The three ponies followed a curve in the tunnel that lead into a larger, open chamber. Crossfire didn’t know what the room could be for, perhaps some kind of maintenance area? It was too large, and filled with boiler-like machinery that honestly Crossfire couldn’t imagine served much purpose in a sewer, but yet there it all was, clustered at the bottom of the chamber. 

The tunnel she, Knobs, and Wellspring came out of led to a metal catwalk that ran above the machinery, with a curved arch of a ceiling hanging above with a hooful of old barely flickering lights; indicating this area was still getting power from somewhere. Crossfire saw a broken set of stairs to her left, long ago rusted away, that would’ve led to the bottom of the room, where she could see a few doors leading to other parts of the sewers. Just as the ponies started to run across the catwalk Gobs started to boil out of the entrances on the floor of the chamber, their shrieking gibberish filling the room like the buzzing of mad hornets. Crossfire was grateful for the fact that the stairs up the catwalk were busted, but that gratitude was short lived. Before she and the others got halfway across the catwalk, Crossfire heard a wrenching sound of twisting metal, and the entire catwalk lurched.

Crossfire barely kept her hooves under her, but heard a gasping yelp as Wellspring teetered and nearly went over the catwalk’s railing as the entire thing swung to the right, the moorings holding it to the ceiling starting to break loose. Wellspring would have fallen, if Knobs hadn’t quickly caught the other mare’s mane with her teeth and hauled her back from the brink.

“T-thanks,” Wellspring said, then yipped in pain as something flew by her, cutting her flank. Crossfire caught sight of rusted metal glinting off of the room’s dim light and saw more such objects flying up at them; the Gobs were hurling their makeshift axes, and seemed to have no shortage of the things packed into the bulky bags many wore on their squat shoulders. 

“Keep going!” Crossfire yelled, feeling the catwalk lurch again. She didn’t know if the thing was coming apart due to bad luck or an intentional trap on the Gobs’ part, but either way they had to get across before the whole thing came down! The bottom of the chamber was already filled with Gobs, too many to fight if they landed amongst them. 

Ducking by flying axes, Crossfire resumed her gallop, pushing Wellspring and Knobs before her. 

“There they are!” shouted Bruise’s feminine lilting voice behind them, and Crossfire didn’t have to look behind her to know what was coming next.

Leaping forward she shoved Wellspring and Knobs to the floor of the catwalk as shotgun and machine gun fire tore up the air above them. The move caused the catwalk to buckle once more, and with a snap of metal the entire back half came loose and fell to the ground, leaving the affair tilted. On the bright sight that cut off the Hammer Crusher gangers from following them. On the ‘oh shit’ side, that gave a route for the Gobs to start surging up after the three fleeing ponies.

Oh, and the catwalk was now three times harder to get up due to the steep incline along with the swaying.

Nevertheless there was only one route to go in order to get out of this deathtrap, so Crossfire kept pushing the ponies in front of her along a Wellspring and Knobs struggled to start climbing the tilted catwalk. Knobs levitated her rifle around and without looking fired into the advancing horde of Gobs. Crossfire was grateful the teal mare remembered she had a gun, but wished she’d at least glance over her shoulder before shooting. Crossfire felt a bullet snip past her cheek and shouted, “Little higher, Knobs!”

“Sorry! Sorry!”

As Knobs adjusted her aim while still focusing on climbing alongside Wellspring, Crossfire turned and started to slowly climb backwards while leveling her rifle in front of her. The first of the Gob horde was nearly upon her, the little humanoid creatures scrambling up the catwalk with the jerking movement akin to insects. Crossfire grimaced at their sour stink as one reached for her, swinging a gunk covered hunk of axe-shaped metal as it gibbered at her.

“Horsey flesh, horsey flesh, yummy horsey flesh!”

Crossfire used the butt of her rifle to knock away the axe and quickly countered with a straight thrust that went clean through the Gobs’ lightly armored chest. She heaved with the rifle, tossing the body at the next Gob, which caused a snowball effect sending more Gobs tumbling away, yet more flowed upward like a hairy tide of gnashing teeth and swinging weapons. A thrown blade like a half broken kitchen knife bounced off Crossfire’s chest, her torn up leather armor barely keeping the blade from causing worse than a shallow cut. 

Above all this, at the lip of the entrance they’d used to get into the room, Bruise and the other ganger’s watched. Crossfire glanced at them, and saw that the only reason they hadn’t kept shooting was because Bruise and the griffin were both reloading their weapons while the other gangers were shooting down the tunnel, towards another mass of Gobs that had come up the tunnel behind them. The gangers had their own hooves full now with the Gobs, and Crossfire knew she and the other’s best chance of getting away was now, while the gangers were distracted.

Fiercely she fought, crawling up the catwalk step by step while keeping the Gobs at bay. Her horn was starting to feel strained from telekinetic bursts she sent to toss Gobs away, and even levitating her rifle around, slashing in huge swinging arcs with the bayonet, was getting tiring. Every Gob she killed seemed to only spawn another one, and her body was starting to rack up a disturbing amount of cuts from near misses or glancing blows from the Gobs makeshift blades. 

Finally she felt hoove grab her from behind and yank on her, pulling her into the tunnel at the top of the catwalk. Knobs gave her a smile and wink as she and Wellspring both turned to the catwalk and reared up at the same time, bringing their hooves down on it and causing the entire thing to break free and spin to the ground, sending Gobs bouncing off of walls and the machinery below. Crossfire, catching her breath, grinned as Knobs offered her a hoof up.

“Nice,” she said.

“That was remarkably satisfying,” said Wellspring, looking at the carnage below, then ducked as an axe hit the tunnel wall next to her, “Okay, satisfaction had, leaving now.”

The three ponies resumed their flight, running down the tunnel and away from the noise of screaming Gobs and the gunfire of the gangers they were leaving behind.

----------

“Oooooh, I hope Bruise will be okay...” said Knobs as they trotted.

They were no longer  galloping along, the noise of the Gobs having faded behind them. All three of them needed to catch their breath, but Crossfire didn’t want them slowing down too much. She was still nervous, eyeing cross sections of tunnel as they went by.

“Why, precisely, are you so concerned with that brute of a mare?” asked Wellspring, “I gather you two were friends at one point; but clearly she does not share that sentiment any longer.”

Knobs chewed her lip, not looking at the other mare, “I... Well, do I need a reason? I don’t have to stop thinking of another pony as a friend just because they... drift away from me a bit, right? If it wasn’t for Spiked Heels orders I’m sure she wouldn’t be doing any of this. She’s not bad, just, well, the Outskirts can make anypony a little hard around the edges.”

“It certainly hasn’t appeared to have had that effect on you, Miss Knobs,” pointed out Wellspring, not unkindly, but with an even tone that suggested what she thought of Knobs’ reasoning.

Knobs just sighed, “I’m nothing special. There are plenty of ponies that do more than I do, ponies that actually make the Outskirts a better place to live. I just... live there. I don’t do anything that helps other ponies.”

Wellspring gave Knobs a pensive look, her tail twitching, “I’ve been visiting the Outskirts for many years in pursuit of stories. I’ve met few ponies who have your kind of relentlessly positive outlook. Don’t sell yourself short, Miss Knobs. But don’t oversell others either, even if you care for them. Your ‘friend’ is trying to kill us.”

Knobs made a small, pained nicker as she looked at the ground, and Crossfire stepped between the other two mares.

“Let’s just focus on getting out of here. Wellspring, do you have any idea where we are?”

Wellspring paused at one of the tunnel junctions, examining the numbers on the wall. She frowned, eyes narrowing in thought.

“Well, I can give you some good news, and some bad news. Do you have a preference on which you want to hear first?”

Crossfire snorted, “Doesn’t matter, just tell us what’s up, and then I’ll decide how much we need to panic.”

“Very well. The good news is that our little dash from danger has covered quite a bit of ground. If I’m reading these numbers right and my memory of the sewers isn’t entirely faulty, we’re very close to the wall of the Inner City, perhaps even already under it. The unfortunate news is that I don’t recognize the exact tunnel numbers, and am unsure how we can reach the surface. More than that, these particular numbers indicate we’re rather deeper than I ever dared venture when down here before.”

“So... you don’t know which way to go from here, do you?” Crossfire asked, already knowing the answer. Wellspring nodded, maintaining her composure despite the grave light in her eyes.

“I’m afraid so, yes. As of now, the best I can offer is we look for any tunnel that leads up, and hope we make our way to the surface.”

“Any chance we’ll run into those Sewer Guild ponies you went out with?” asked Crossfire, sniffing the air, trying to get a notion of which tunnel had the fresher scent. Unfortunately everything smelled equally stale and rotten in the sewer, and not just because by now all three mares were covered in filth and sweat themselves. Crossfire didn’t even want to guess what kind of things were getting into her wounds. 

“First of all, I only dated one Sewer Guild pony. As to your question, the chances are low. They do most of their work on the sewers beneath the Inner City, true, but this deep, they don’t maintain a presence beyond a few scouts. Too many Gobs, or other creatures.”

“Fan-bucking-tastic,” muttered Crossfire, “How are you two doing on ammo?”

Knobs’ ears drooped, “Not much. One clip, plus a few extra rounds. I, uh, didn’t bring much with me to rescue you.”

Wellspring examined her own pistol, “I always ensure I bring plenty of reloads when I venture outside the Inner City, and honestly I haven’t run through very much. That said, I don’t favor getting into too many more scraps if we can avoid it. None of us are in top form at the moment. No offense, Miss Crossfire, but you look... rather wretched. As if a quick tap will topple you over.”

“I’m fine,” Crossfire grunted, ignoring the fact that the way Wellspring called attention to her wounds made the pain of them all the sharper, “Alright, so we don’t want to get into another shootout. Only thing for it is to push on, following any way up we can.”

She was about to pick a tunnel at random when Knobs spoke up, her entire form perking up like an alerted puppy, “Hey, what’s that?”

Crossfire looked over to where Knobs was pointing with her her snout like a pony-shaped bloodhound, and blinked. It was so dirty it all but blended into the sewer wall’s dirty brown coloring, but there was actually a door that looked little like the other sewer maintenance doors they’d seen so far. Crossfire approached it, taking in the details as she wiped some of the grim off with a hoof.

“Is this... an elevator?” 

The doors were of a sliding variety, with no obvious handle or knob, but a quick enough examination showed a call button built into the wall next to the doors. Crossfire laughed, “Buck me, I think it is.”

Wellspring and Knobs gathered around her, Wellspring quirking an eyebrow.

“Does it have power?”

Crossfire shrugged and pushed the call button. For a second nothing happened, but then a small light above the doors lit up, and with a rusty chug the doors slide open, revealing a surprisingly clean and well lit interior large enough to hold half a dozen ponies with room to spare.

“I guess it does,” Crossfire said, poking her head in, frowning. There was only one other button on the inside, indicating this elevator only went to one location. And there was no way to tell if that location was up or down. She glanced back at the others, “Want to give it a try?”

“Can’t make our situation much worse can it?” asked Knobs innocently. Wellspring groaned, and Crossfire joined her.

“I can think of a few ways it could, but its not like we got a more promising option,” said Crossfire.

“Agreed. Shall we?” Wellspring said, stepping in. Soon all three ponies were inside and after a moment, Crossfire hit the button.

The doors chugged closed and soon the elevator car shuddered, and started to move. It wasn’t long before all three ponies looked at each other, feeling the same motion.

“Looks like we’re going down,” said Crossfire with a grim tone. 

--------

After a minute Crossfire’s mind was realizing several things at once, and she felt the need to vocalize to her companions.

“Alright, Wellspring, Knobs, riddle me a few things.”

“Huh?” asked Knobs, and Wellspring nodded silently.

“Either of you,” Crossfire continued, “notice that this elevators is in a lot better condition than the rest of the sewer?”

“I did,” said Wellspring, “I’ve come to the same conclusion. This was recently built, relatively speaking.”

“Like, how new are we talking here?” asked Knobs curiously, “It can’t be that new.”

“I doubt this was made by anypony from the city, but I don’t think this is from two hundred years ago either,” said Crossfire, “Just the fact that the elevator works at all suggests that much.”

“That seems unlikely to me,” said Wellspring, “Skull City was fairly lawless until the Guild’s formally organized about fifty years ago, and only the Guild’s could have the resources to build an elevator like this down in these sewers. If not the Guilds, then only a pre-war organization could build something of this nature.”

“So you think this is a Guild thing?” asked Knobs, sounding nervous, “Like, maybe a Labor Guild base? I heard they tried enslaving Gobs at one point, but it didn’t pan out.”

“If it is, it's probably been abandoned for some time,” said Wellspring, “But if we’re lucky and if they have a back way in like this, then there will be a front way out that will lead to the surface.”

Crossfire let the two mares muse, keeping her other thoughts to herself. She wasn’t convinced this was a Guild built affair. It just felt... off to her. 

A minute or so later the elevator came to a halt and the doors opened, leading out into what looked like a large storage facility. It was mostly empty, but there were still pallets containing metal piping and other building materials, and several loading forklifts parked to the side. Opposite the elevator was a large metal sliding door, halfway opened up, and leading to darkness. There was no lighting down here aside from what the two unicorns were providing, but Crossfire knew this place had power, from the blinking lights on a terminal sitting on a metal desk in one corner of the storage room.

“I think must retract my earlier assessment,” said Wellspring, her tone growing distasteful, “I don’t see any Labor Guild symbols, and they do so enjoy plastering their logo on their property.”

“I... don’t like this place,” said Knobs, shrinking back towards the elevator, “The air doesn’t smell right.”

Crossfire sniffed, and found there was a faint acidic tang to the air. She had no idea what to make of it, but it was barely noticeable. More like the memory of a scent rather than the actual scent itself. It didn’t burn the nose, and you wouldn’t notice it unless you were paying attention, but it left an uncomfortable sense in the air that’d put anypony on edge. 

“If you want to Knobs, we can try going back,” Crossfire began, not really liking the idea, but worried about the other mare’s nerves. However just then the elevator doors closed and they heard the hum of the elevator going back up the shaft.

“What the hay?” Crossfire said, then her eyes widened, “Oh shit...”

Knobs gulped, “Why is the elevator going back up on its own?”

“Its not,” Wellspring said before Crossfire could, “Somepony called it.”

“My money’s on the Hammer Crushers,” said Crossfire, “They had enough firepower to fight past the Gobs, and they’ve already proven they can follow our trail. Its not like we hid the fact we used the elevator; we pretty much cleaned off the doors so anypony could spot it now. Come, we got to move. Its about three minutes up, then three back down. We don’t want to be here by then!”

She received no argument and the three ponies quickly galloped across the storage room. Beyond it they found themselves in a wide, tube shaped corridor, with metal supports lining walls of natural rock. The corridor spanned to the left and right, and without any talk the ponies naturally gravitated to the left, Crossfire in the lead. As she ran she took note of the size of the corridor, wondering at why the space was so large. The reason for the size of the hallway became clearer when they ran past a large autowagon that was crash into the wall; this corridor was built to accommodate vehicles, not just ponies. 

“Wait, wait,” Wellspring said, slowing down, “Did you see the logo on that wagon?”

Crossfire shook her head, saying in a rough voice, “Wasn’t really paying attention!”

“That was an Equestrian military wagon.”

Crossfire slowed down slightly, turning to look at Wellspring curiously, “How do you know that? Equestria military symbols aren’t exactly common knowledge these days, are they?”

Wellspring just looked back at her with a guarded expression of her own, “You’d be surprised the kind of things a pony learns when your lifeblood is ferreting out stories for a radio show. Trust me, that wagon was part of the Equestrian army from before the balefire bombs.”

“That’s interesting and all,” said Knobs, “But what does that mean for us?”

“Right now? Probably nothing,” said Crossfire, then laughed, “Unless this is a secret base where a portion of the Equestrian army hid from the balefire bombs, and now have transformed into an army of zombies due to a viral outbreak and are just waiting for a chance to unleash their undead fury upon the world. Then it means we’re running to our deaths.”

At the looks she got from Knobs and Wellspring, she cringed, “Okay, sorry, stupid joke.”

The pain and stress must’ve been getting to her; if she was resorting to her own limited sense of humor to try and stay calm. She wanted to stay as strong as she could. Between the three of them she was the only one with military training, and when it came down to it, she owed it to these two to get them out of this mess alive. Neither Knobs or Wellspring would be here if not for Crossfire, and she was all too aware of the fact. 

As they ran on more signs of the Equestrian pre-war military became evident. First was a blockade, ruined and torn apart. Crossfire knew the signs of a desperate firefight when she saw one, and the pair of armored wagons, combined with the strewn and skeletal remains of at least twenty ponies was a clear sign of a battle. The armored wagons looked as if they’d been gutted by heavy ordnance; but Crossfire couldn’t tell what. Not missiles or other high explosives. It looked more like the armor had been melted by extreme heat. 

The dead ponies were into deteriorated a condition to really guess what specifically had killed them, but the old green combat armor had burn marks and scorched through holes that Crossfire could tell it wasn’t conventional weapons that had done these poor ponies in. 

“Anypony else getting the feeling we really shouldn’t be going this way?” asked Knobs nervously as they slowed down to work their way around the remains of the old battle. 

“Too late to change our minds now,” said Crossfire, “Your pal Bruise is going to be right behind us with all of her heavily armed, pissed off friends. Our only choice is to keep going... though first...”

She started picking around the bodies. The weapons were all in poor condition, not the kind she’d willingly pick up and use for fear of the things misfiring and taking her snout off. But the ammo was still good, if she could find the right kind.

“Come on... come on,” she muttered, picking up and tossing aside assault rifles and shotguns, “Has to be one of you that was the designated sniper...”

Neither Knobs or Wellspring questioned what Crossfire was doing, instead taking the time to also check for useable ammunition or other supplies. Despite the danger of the Hammer Crusher gang being close, they didn’t spend more than half a minute at scavenging. Crossfire let out a soft sigh of joy as she managed to find what she’d been looking for, a skeleton bearing a battle saddle with a mount for a long, scoped sniper rifle. The rifle itself she had no interest in, but the battle saddle’s packs of spare ammunition, all .308 rounds, was the prize she wanted. Levitating the ammo from the battle saddle she started to quickly unload the rounds from the Equestrian military clips and transfer them over to the single clip she had for her own Protectorate rifle. 

She glanced at her companions, seeing they’d managed to snag some spare ammo as well, Knobs fiddling around with transferring ammo between magazines, while Wellspring was fortunate enough that her pistol, being a revolver, didn’t need to be concerned with magazine compatibility. She just loaded up on rounds for it, finding several from similar revolvers carried by what had probably been the officers’ bodies. 

“Won’t go down for a lack of shooting back, now.” Crossfire said, slapping her freshly loaded clip into her rifle with a satisfying metallic click.

“Preferably we can avoid the messy affair of having to shoot back at all,” said Wellspring, honey gold tail swishing behind her as she holstered her pistol, then looked at Crossfire and Knobs with a look of prim calm that belied a fearful gulp, “Shall we resume running for our lives?”

Crossfire kept a wary eye behind them as they started down the tunnel once more. They hadn’t wasted much time at the ruined blockade, but she had a icy feeling at the back of her neck that told her that danger was coming up fast. The only problem was she wasn’t sure if this instinct was being triggered by the threat of what they were running from... or what they were running towards. 

Minutes crawled by with disturbing slowness, the only sound being the panting breaths of the three galloping mares and the loud, echoing clang of their hooves on the smooth tunnel floor. The faint wafts of acidic scent seemed to grow stronger the deeper they went, and Crossfire noted a shift in the air, a buzz of energy that wasn’t unlike walking into some kind of magical field. 

“Anypony feel that?” Crossfire asked. 

Wellspring gave her an odd look, but Knobs nodded, her eyes skittishly looking around, “Yeah. I... I don’t know what it is, but my horn’s humming.”

Wellspring licked her lips, letting out a soft, worried whinney, “We’re not walking into a magical trap or somesuch, are we?”

Crossfire frowned, then shook her head, “I don’t think so. It just feels like the air itself is charged with magic, but from what I can’t...”

She trailed off as the tunnel suddenly opened up into a vast darkness. The wall spread out to either side of them, but in front the tunnel let out into a wide, open room, though no clear ceiling or far wall was visible. The floor continued on, but switched from being hewn stone to clear metal platform. Crossfire looked up, but couldn’t see the top, and to either side of her she could barely make out walls a good fifty or so meters away, which simply curved away like the edges of a cylinder.

Before the three of them, directly across the tunnel opening, the metal platform ended in a void of black, but was connected to something out there via a much more narrow walkway, a bridge across the blackness. But it wasn’t total darkness. No, Crossfire could make out something out there. Something massive.

“Where are we?” Knobs asked, voice going soft with awe as she slowed to a light canter, her horn glowing brighter to try and illuminate the huge open area.

“Somewhere important enough to die defending,” Crossfire said as she noticed that, upon the metal platform they were walking across, dozens of more skeletals bodies lay, along with a few more armored wagons either turned over or burned out. 

Wellspring, who was looking up towards the seemingly non-existent ceiling, rubbed her chin in wonderment, voice musing, “I think we’re actually beneath the Inner City now. Not directly under the center, but close enough that we’re beyond the wall. I never imagined a chamber this large would be down this deep. This place... nopony in Skull City knows it exists, I’m certain.”

“Great, but that doesn’t help us much,” growled Crossfire as she started a fast canter across the platform, towards the bridge across the void. She wanted to get a closer look at what was out there, and hopefully find something that’d indicate a way out of this place. Preferably before a band of screaming, bloodthirsty gangers showed up behind them.

“Oh, hey guys!” shouted Knobs happily, who’d gotten ahead of Crossfire, “Look, there’s a tram over here. Well, a tram station anyway!”

Crossfire and Wellspring caught up with Knobs to see what she was talking about. Next to the bridge that spanned out into the empty air of the chamber was a small collection of buildings, like storage shacks, all stacked up alongside a raised platform with a guardhouse next to it. Connected to this platform was a metal tube with magical gems glowing softly along its surface. Crossfire hadn’t seen the like, and gave Knobs a curious look.

“What is it?” Crossfire asked after a moment, a little embarrassed she didn’t know, since both Knobs and Wellspring were wearing looks of interest that said they knew.

“Its a MagLev tram line!” said Knobs happily, “Magical Levitation! The Inner City has one that runs the length of the city! Skinner...” she paused, sighing, tail flattening, “Skinner told me all about it, once. Said that when I... I made it as a full ghoul-wrangler he’d take me on it when I got inducted to the Skull Guild.”

Crossfire lowered her own head, trotting up and, after a second of hesitation, nudged Knobs, “Its not your fault Knobs. The bastard took advantage of your trust, but that’s not your fault.”

Knobs chewed her lip, giving a silent nod, but quickly seemed to shake off her funk and wiped at her eyes, “It’s okay! I figure if this MagLev line still has power, then the tram has to be around here somewhere! I bet we can call it from the control booth, once we find it.”

“I suggest one of us do that, while another keeps an eye behind us for our approaching... fans,” said Wellspring, coming up on Knob’s other side with a comforting nudge of her own, “The third one should check the bridge, just to see where it might lead.”

Crossfire nodded, surprised a little at the good sense of the plan, “Works for me. Knobs, you see about calling the MagLev. Wellspring, you keep watch. I’ll check the bridge.”

By her estimate they had three, maybe four minutes before company arrived. That would be just enough time for Knobs to hopefully find the controls for the MagLev and call it from wherever it was, and give her enough time to take a look at where that bridge led. If the MagLev was broken the bridge would be their only available route, so Crossfire wanted to know what lay in that direction. 

As Knobs quickly trotted off towards the guardhouse on the platform for the MagLev and Crossfire started for the bridge, Wellspring came up to her and whispered, “Listen, if we find ourselves truly cornered with no way out, then I ask that you... consider surrendering.”

Crossfire shot a sharp glare at the earth pony mare, “What?”

Wellspring didn’t wilt under the stare, holding Crossfire’s gaze with a steadfast look in her own cloud gray eyes, “I appreciate your heroic efforts in freeing us, but you could have just as easily gotten us killed earlier, with that stunt using the sewer pipe. If we’re cornered again then think about just letting them take us captive. The chances of talking Spiked Heels down may be small, but its still a chance. Better than fighting a hopeless battle.”

Crossfire drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly, “Just get to watching that tunnel,” she said without giving Wellspring’s advice any comment. Wellspring pursed her lips, not liking being brushed off by the way she flicked her tail, but she did as Crossfire bade and took up a position near the MagLev platform, eyes aimed towards the tunnel they’d come from.

Meanwhile Crossfire quickly trotted out onto the bridge. It was wider than she’d thought when seeing it from afar, easily large enough that two wagons like the one they’d seen earlier could move across it abreast. It was suspended in the air with rings of metal that glowed faintly with magic; levitation magic like the kind in the MagLev pip. Crossfire glanced over the side of the bridge’s railing, seeing the darkness below. This entire chamber was like one huge vertical pipe, and Crossfire couldn’t see where the bottom was. Pushing back some vertigo with a shudder Crossfire trotted further down the bridge.

Ahead the huge dark shape she’d seen began to take sharper focus and she could start to make out details.

What she saw sent a frosty shiver down her spine, all the way to the tip of her blue tail, which flicked about in agitation. 

Before her was the wall of a monolithic tower, the curved surface spanning down into the depths and up towards the unseen ceiling. It was made from a material that was clearly metal, but of a dark, violet hue, like rotten flesh. Along the metal walls countless curving bright orange metal protrusions snaked along like the veins inside a living creature. From those metallic veins even more bands of orange light flowed, a web of dense, glowing circuitry. The tower was made from vast, tiered segments, widening out into larger bases further down, and tapering upwards towards the ceiling; and along the rim of each tier Crossfire saw smaller towers rise, capped with gigantic orange crystals.

The air was thick now with that buzzing magic she’d felt before, and she realized this unnatural looking tower was the source. A tower that she felt certain wasn’t built by ponies. In fact the strange construction of it, it reminded her immediately of a Ruin. This was one of those ancient, unexplained Ruins that the Protectorate had been excavating in their own territory. The same kind of Ruin that had contained the monster that had killed her platoon. 

The scale, though, of this Ruin was utterly dwarfing in comparison to the Ruins she’d seen before. The tower could contain a city of ponies... or a veritable army of monsters. 

So wrapped up in staring at the sheer immensity of the tower Crossfire almost didn’t sense the magical energy in front of her before she ran into it. Luckily she pulled herself short of the faintly incandescent glowing field of green that bisected the bridge in front of her. Carefully she poked with the tip of her bayonet, and felt hard resentance, followed by a ripple of green magic that coursed along a curving cylindrical barrier in all directions.

“A shield...?” Crossfire wondered aloud, eyebrow raising. She wasn’t the greatest expert on magic in the world, but her basic training told her enough to realize that the magical barrier encasing the tower was not only ludicrously potent, but it couldn’t possibly be powered by any one unicorn, or even a group of unicorns using matrix casting techniques. The barrier surrounded the entire tower, and just from a slight prob with her own magic Crossfire could sense the density of the barrier. Somepony wanting to get in there would need something akin to a megaspell to shatter this level of barrier. Crossfire couldn’t even begin to guess at what was powering it, or what it was meant to keep out...

...Or meant to keep in.

“We’re definitely not going this way,” Crossfire said to herself, not that she was that disappointed by the fact. She didn’t want to go any closer to that tower than needed. Its very presence felt wrong. But what was it? What was it doing down here? And perhaps most worrisome, what had the Equestrian army been doing down here with it?

Leaving those questions to linger in the back of her mind she turned and started trotting back towards the main platform, every step making her more anxious. Wellspring hadn’t shouted a warning yet, but the gangers had to be nearly upon them. As she got about halfway back Crossfire halted in her tracks as she heard a noise, a keening, distant roar that echoed up from below. The sound froze Crossfire, her yellow eyes widening. For a second she remained still, convinced that what she’d heard was just some trick her stressed mind was playing on her; rattled by the sight of the huge tower Ruin.

But no, the roar came again, rising from the darkness below, louder than before, and now quite unmistakable. 

Can’t be! That Ruin was a hundred miles away from here. There’s no way it’s the same one...

As the roar reached her ears again, now clear and vibrating off the walls, she knew it to be the same. The very same roar of the Ruin creature that had slaughtered her squadmates back in the Protectorate. Even as she broke into a gallop the logical part of her mind was trying to explain things away. Obviously this wasn’t the exact same monster that her platoon had run afoul of. It was probably another Ruin monster of a similar type. That was hardly unheard of, and the Protectorate military was filled with reports of engagements with Ruin monsters of relatively similar build and ability.

That thought wasn’t much of a comfort, however. If this creature was at all similar to the one from before, then they were in a great deal of trouble. That monster had wiped out a fully armed and trained platoon of soldiers, and Crossfire had with her two civilians, one a kind-hearted mare, the other a slight snooty reporter. 

“Wellspring! Knobs!” she shouted as she reached the MagLev platform, “We’ve got a serious problem!”

Wellspring came rushing up, pistol drawn in her mouth. She gave Crossfire a worried look, pointing back the way she’d come. Crossfire glanced to see lights from flashlights and glowing horns flickering by the tunnel entrance. The Hammer Crushers had arrived. Crossfire narrowed her eyes. Good. That’d give the monster something else to chew on. As she and Wellspring went up onto the platform, the creature’s roar reverberated loudly, coming from somewhere close beneath the platform.

It’s under the platform, Crossfire realized, It must be clawing its way along, looking for a way up.

She could hear the wrenching screech of metal being rent by something sharp, but couldn’t tell quite where along the platform the sounds were coming from. She shoved aside fear and looked around for Knobs, spotting the red maned, teal head of the mare poking out of one of the larger shacks on the opposite side of the platform. She scampered out, long legs carrying her quickly over to them.

“Found the control room over there!” she chirped, “Hit the call button, but the tram’s on the other side of the chamber; won’t be here for a couple of minutes.”

The creature’s high, ear grinding roar sent a visible shiver over Knobs, her mane practically standing on end. She had an odd smile on her face as she said, “That’s not anypony being hungry, is it?”

Crossfire sighed, “No, something else being hungry.”

Knobs put a hoof to her face, “This must be karmic payback for all those times I played pranks on Nightmare Night.”

I doubt that, we just have crap luck... wait, you Skull City ponies celebrate Nightmare Night too?” Crossfire asked, askance.

Knobs nodded with a smile, “Uh-huh! Its a big holiday here! I always dressed up as a mummy!”

Crossfire cocked her head, trying to see it, “You strike me more as a vampony, really. Me, I prefer ghost. Simple, effective, always a classic.”

Wellspring raised a hoof, “Not to interrupt this fascinating conversation, but-” she pointed towards the fast approaching gangers, “-slightly more pressing concerns than our Nightmare Night habits!”

Crossfire frowned. She’d actually been trying to keep Knobs calm, not to mention calm her own nerves, with a little levity, but Wellspring had the right of it. If they had to survive a few minutes for the tram to arrive there was only so many options they had open to them. They had to hold the platform, as it was their point of egress from this hole in the ground. They had a dozen well armed gangers coming up fast, and a monster with unknown qualities. Crossfire formulated a plan fast enough.

“Knobs, Wellspring, go to the far side of the platform, and use the shacks as cover. Hold your fire and wait for the tram, only chip in if you absolutely have and can get clear shots.”

“Uh, okay, but what about you?” asked Knobs worriedly, brow furrowing, shifting from hoof to hoof. 

Crossfire turned towards the approaching gangers, floating her rifle at her side, and really hoping she looked a lot more confident than she felt, “I’ll decoy them away from the platform. If they see the tram, they’ll just rush us here. I got to get their attention elsewhere.”

“Can you, well, survive getting their attention?” Knobs asked fearfully.

Crossfire laughed without much mirth, “I’ve lived all these years without dying once; so the empirical evidence would suggest I’m actually immortal. So no worries.”

“Don’t joke,” Knobs said, choking back more words as she used her own magic to levitate off her red jacket. Crossfire gave Knobs a surprised look as the other mare floated the jacket over to her.

“Also, don’t die,” Knobs said quietly. There was no more time for conversation, the gangers flashing their lights towards the platform and only a few dozen paces away, so Crossfire silently nodded and slipped on the jacket over the tattered remains of her leather Protectorate uniform. It fit with remarkable snugness, more sized for a pony Crossfire’s size than Knobs’ long legged frame. 

The trio exchanged final looks of encouragement, then Wellspring and Knobs sprinted off towards the far end of the MagLev platform where they dove down around the corner of the metal shack tucked up against the platform. Crossfire didn’t think any of the approaching gangers saw them move. The gang ponies and one griffin were approaching at a slow, wary pace, apparently put on edge by the clear roaring of the nearby monster. They were lined up in a rather spread out semi-circle, shining small flashlights or glows from their horns around. Crossfire counted eleven of them, with the huge, broad form of Bruise leading from the center. 

Time to earn my pay. Only I’m not getting paid for this. I should looking into fixing that, if I live through the next twenty four hours. Mare’s gotta eat, and I can’t always impose on Knobs.

Knowing her little mental banter was just a delaying mechanism to help her work up the nerve to do what she was about to do, Crossfire took in a deep breath, let it out, and stamped her hooves in preparation to charge. At about that same moment one gangers finally spotted the red glow of her magic around her rifle and shouted a warning to his comrades. Crossfire burst into a full gallop, springing off the platform and rushing across the line of sight of the gangers, firing off a few half-eyed shots with her rifle as she went. That got their attention.

Adrenaline surged through her and she felt her heart pounding against her ribs as bullets ripped through the air around her. Only her speed combined with the surprise of the gangers kept her from being torn to pieces in those first few seconds; too many of the gang ponies overcompensating their aim as Crossfire’s form darted across their field of vision. Crossfire’s own aim was a shade more accurate, because she’d marked in her head the ganger’s locations and movement before starting her dash. She still wasn’t looking, knowing that even if she didn’t intend it a simple glance at her targets would slow her down, and she needed speed. Moving would keep her alive. Stopping, she was dead.

Still, she was satisfied to hear at least one scream of pain from her rifle’s sharp retorts. Even if she hadn’t killed, she’d undoubtedly gotten the entire gang’s attention focused on her now, and nopony would be paying the platform, and hence Knobs and Wellspring, any mind. 

Now with the gang ponies focus entirely on her, Crossfire ceased firing and put on as much speed as she could, pistoning her legs, lowering her head, and working her lungs like bellows as she galloped full tilt towards the far end of the platform. The pop-corn scattering of gunfire continued, bullets whipping by her or striking the metal grating of the platform in small showers of sparks. The gunfire was joined by the heavier rattle of a machine gun, a long burst stitching its way across her path from above. Crossfire didn’t need to look to know the griffin had taken advantage of the wide open spaces of this chamber to take to the air.

Crossfire didn’t bother to try shooting back; her sole goal was to get to the end of the platform, while getting the gang to make as much noise as possible. It wasn’t long before she heard their angry shouts as they started to give chase, the pounding of pony hooves on metal joining the sporadic gunfire. 

She reached the end of the platform, which ended in another railing, and more empty space beyond. She could see the gentle curve of the chamber’s stone wall sloping off into the distance, following the curve of the tower, but for her there was nowhere to go; just the sharp end of the platform blocked off by metal railing. Turning to face the onrush of Hammer Crusher gangers, Crossfire readied her rifle, and hoped her gamble was about to pay off. If not... well at least Knobs and Wellspring had a good chance of getting away now. 

Looking up, she spotted the griffin getting closest first, arching in from Crossfire’s left, taking aim with her bulky machine gun. Just as the griffin opened fire, Crossfire snapped off a shot of her own while throwing herself to the side. She felt the blast of pain in her side from a bullet tearing into her hide. At the same time she heard a piercing squawk of pain, and looked to see the griffin wheeling through the air in a downward spiral, one wing crumpled. The griffin hit the ground at an awkward angle, one of her legs snapping as she skidded a score of yards. Crossfire didn’t see if the griffin got back up from that, but she painfully managed to get back up on her own hooves. Glancing at her side she could see where Knob’s jacket had caught the bullet, not quite breaking. Her pain was from impact, not the bullet going in. Crossfire laughed, wincing; lucky jacket indeed.

Her exchange with the griffin had given the other gangers time to catch up, and Crossfire soon found herself facing down a whole line of guns with angry, glaring ponies behind them; chief of all Bruise. Just one look told Crossfire there wasn’t going to be any more banter. Bruise had murder in her eyes, and so did the rest of the gang. They also had Crossfire completely cornered, with no further places to run or dodge, and certainly nothing to use to create a distraction like last time.

However the gangers in their rush to get Crossfire had forgotten that there was something else in this chamber with them. Crossfire hadn’t, and was betting her life on the chamber’s hidden guardian finally making its appearance, agitated by all the gunfire and the smell of sweaty, angry ponies. 

The bet paid off as, with a horrendous rending of metal, a massive claw burst through the bottom of the platform. Ruby claws impaled one gang stallion in a shower of blood and viscera, the pony barely having a moment to gurgle a half drowned scream before the four crimson claws rapidly clenched and unclenched, pulping the pony like one might squish a grape. The claw itself was part of a bright orange, metallic hand; like the metal protrusions upon the tower. A second later another claw grasped the torn hole in the platform and ripped it wider. Then the creature itself pulled its body through the whole and up upon the platform.

Crossfire felt her mouth turn dry. She’d never seen the monster that killed her old platoon, only heard its cries over the radio. Seeing the beast, or at least a similar beast, she wondered what her squadmates must have thought, seeing the thing’s form. It wasn’t entirely organic. Its dark green hide had a metallic sheen to it, covered with segmented armor of that bright orange metal that seemed to glow with an inner light. The creature’s body was a hunched, faintly reptilian form, with bent hind legs tipped with red claws that were just a sliver smaller than the ones on its hulking, oversized hands. Its neck was long, serpentine, and ended in a pointed maw capped with two, solid gold eyes that held neither iris nor pupil, and seemed more like the dead glowing eyes of a robot than a living creature’s. Spine-like armored plates lined across the creature’s back, all the way to the tip of its long whipcord tail, tipped with a final, curved orange protrusion like a scythe. 

“Buck me...” somepony breathed, and Crossfire wasn’t entirely sure it wasn’t her. Even if this had been her idea, she hadn’t been prepared for the size of the creature, or the menace it exuded. 

Then the monster let out its painful howl and the gangers reacted instantly, with the kind of brutish, cold practicality a lifetime of violence had taught them. Gunfire erupted, drowning out the roar, and sparks danced up and down the beast’s body; its metal-like hide taking the bullets with the same indifference a tank’s armor would.

“Scatter!” Crossfire heard Bruise shout in a commanding tone, even as the monster brought a claw down on one of the other gang stallions, turning the pony into a red smear and a pile of disassociated body parts in a mere split-second. 

As the gangers started to dart off in different directions Crossfire took her window of opportunity to start galloping back towards the distant MagLev platform. As she did so she caught sight of distant movement, a shadowy object with a pair of brightly glowing lamps hanging from the top of it moving along the MagLev line; the approaching tram. The gang ponies were by far too busy dealing with the rampaging monster to pay Crossfire any attention, and she wasn’t even shot at as she galloped back the way she’d come.

To her left she saw the griffin she’d downed earlier getting up, the half-lion half-eagle hybrid keeping her shot through wing held tight against her side. The griffin saw Crossfire, and halfway raised her machine gun, which she’d miraculously kept a hold of during her crash, to shoot at the fleeing unicorn. However one glance back at the monster that was chasing down the scattering gangers one by one seemed to switch the griffin’s priorities and she switched targets, spraying a burst of heavy rounds at the sizeable creature that had run down one gang mare and had been about to smash its claw down on her.

Crossfire didn’t bother watching to see if the griffin’s shots were effective. It didn’t matter. She wasn’t planning to stick around and fight the monster herself. Her only goal was to get out of here with Knobs and Wellspring, and with the tram arriving, and the gang busy, this was their best shot.

However there was a hitch in that plan, as Crossfire saw as she got to the platform. The problem was that Knobs herself was rushing past Crossfire, galloping away towards the monster.

“What the-!?” Crossfire skidded to a halt, almost tripping over herself trying to turn around, “Knobs! What are you doing!? Our ride is already here!”

“I can’t leave her!” Knobs shouted back, “That thing will kill her!”

Her? Crossfire cocked her head in confusion for a second, before she remembered. Bruise. Knobs, naive and apparently made of pure distilled forgiveness, was going to try and save her one-time friend. A friend who, not half an hour ago, was more than happy to kill any of them for her gang. Crossfire let out a loud, heartfelt groan of annoyance as she turned to gallop after Knobs. Wellspring, Crossfire noted, was nowhere in sight. 

Crossfire didn’t know if she was grateful Wellspring was doing as she was told and keeping out of sight, or angry she hadn’t stopped Knobs from rushing out into the open.

“Knobs! Wait! Dammit! We can’t kill that monster! We have to run!” Crossfire shouted, voice turning desperate. 

Knobs didn’t respond, instead aiming with her small rifle and popping off shots at the monster, which didn’t even notice the attack as it skewered another helpless ganger pony with its tail, flicking the body across the entire platform to slam into one of the old broken military wagons. 

“Hey! Over here, you big ugly jerk!” Knobs shouted, jumping up and down, “Look over this way!”

“Knobs!” Crossfire reached the teal unicorn and had to force down the urge to clobber Knobs over the head right then and there, “You bloody idiot, get back to the platform!”

Knobs halted her shouting just long enough to give Crossfire a pleading look, “But I can’t let it kill Bruise.”

Bruise and the surviving Hammer Crusher gangers had retreated back to where their griffin comrade was, rallying around the heavier firepower offered by the machine gun. The monster itself, its metal hide still sparking from the bullets scratching at it, seemed to pause as if considering its target rich environment. It paid the bodies of those it had slain already no mind, and Crossfire wondered if it even ate meat, or killed for an entirely different reason. Glancing back at the ominous tower Ruin, its orange metallic protrusions eerily similar to the material of the monster’s armored plates, Crossfire had to wonder, was this monster born... or built?

Was my platoon killed by what amounts to a security robot? Fuck it, doesn’t matter. Have to get Knobs away from here.

Even as the monster started to stomp its way towards the remaining Hammer Crushers one of them looked towards Crossfire and Knobs, then nudged Bruise with his hoof, pointing them out. Bruise cast a narrow eyed look at them, then kicked her battle saddle to pop the breeches on its double barreled shotguns open, which she began to reload while directing the other gangers to start running for the tunnel back the way they’d come.

The monster saw its quarry trying to flee, roared, and began to charge to run them down. Crossfire expected to see Bruise run alongside her fellow gangers, but the bulky mare stood her ground, acting as a rear guard, steadfastly staring down the onrushing monster as she rushed to reload her battle saddle.

The sight sent a lance of pure shame and guilt through Crossfire. 

A damned Skull City ganger was showing more loyalty and courage to her comrades than Crossfire had to her own platoon, willingly throwing her own life on the line to cover their retreat while all Crossfire had done for her squadmates was push a detonator trigger that’d sealed their fate.

If that wasn’t bad enough, Knobs, seeing what Bruise was doing, immediately galloped over to stand by the ganger mare’s side, leaving Crossfire to stare in surprise. Bruise glanced at Knobs in equal shock, but at Knobs’ simple smile Bruise just shook her head and huffed out a small laugh as she kicked her battle saddle again to make the mechanisms close the breeches on her freshly loaded shotguns. 

Both Knobs and Bruise fired together, Knobs’ tiny rifle barely making any noise in comparison to the quadruple roars of Bruise’s shotguns. The rounds barely slowed the monster, which was less than a half dozen strides from the two mares by the time they’d fired. Crossfire, growlingly under her breath, did the only thing she could, and charged to intercept the monster just before it bowled over Knobs and Bruise.

With a shove of her magic she hit the monster in the leg, managing just enough force to send the thing stumbling, and buying Bruise the extra second the ganger mare needed to grab Knobs and dive out of the way. The monster righted itself, turning its serpentine head towards Crossfire, and roared just in time to receive a rifle round to its forehead. Even the .308 bullet did little more than rock the monster’s head back and daze it slightly, but that gave Crossfire another second to get close and thrust her bayonet at the creature’s knees, trying to lodge the blade through one of the joints in its armored hide. 

The blade sliced in, and Crossfire felt her magic struggle to maintain a grip on the floating weapon as it dug into hardened flesh that couldn’t possibly be natural. But dig the blade did, eliciting a small spurt of strange, white blood. Crossfire ripped the bayonet out as the monster screamed and slashed with its claws at her. A diving roll barely saved her as crimson claws sliced gouges through the metal platform behind her. 

Crossfire fired again, trying to hit what looked like weaker armor under the monster’s neck, racking the lever on her rifle as fast as she could fire off the rounds. Again and again the .308 rounds of the Sniper Shark XR sparked off the monster’s hide, just not seeming to be able to penetrate, and all the while Crossfire scrambled to stay away from the creature’s lashing talons.

It tail snaked around and flashed at her with its curved blade, and Crossfire jumped to get over it, but she tripped over the ropey appendage and was sent head over flank to sprawl painfully on the hard metal floor. The monster loomed over her, its soulless, merciless eyes boring down on her as it raised a claw to finish her off. 

Then the monster reared in pain as the air was filled with a high pitched whining sound followed by a tearing peal of rapid gunfire. Tracers rounds that couldn’t have come from Knobs’ tiny rifle or Bruise’s shotguns tore into the monster from the side, and Crossfire scrambled to her hooves and looked to see where the shots were coming from. Across the way, near the platform, one of the military wagons was firing on the monster; its top turret mounted mini-gun spewing forth a stream of fire that forced the creature back through sheer volume of fire.

Stunned, the creature took several steps back, raising its huge claws in front of it like shields against the pouring rain of mini-gun fire. All too soon, however, there was a sound of breaking metal and the mini-gun stopped firing. Steam and smoke rose from the old, broken down wagon and out from its hatch stumbled a the gray, gold maned form of Wellspring, coughing up smoke.

“Oh my, that was, well, perhaps not my smartest of ideas. Everypony, the tram is here! I would suggest running, now!” Wellspring shouted, stumbling back towards the platform where the MagLev tram had arrived.

Crossfire glanced around to see Knobs and Bruise nearby. Bruise and Knobs exchanged looks, and Knobs gestured at the tram. Bruise looked to see that her gang had run off down the tunnel and were well gone by now, and that the monster had been driven by Wellspring’s intervention to now stand between her and that very tunnel Bruise would need to take to rejoin her gang. With a sour look on her face Bruise nodded at Knobs, who made a tiny ‘squee’ sound and smiled as they both started galloping for the tram.

Crossfire sighed heavily and started galloping as well.

It wasn’t long before she heard the monster roar and the sound of ripping metal as it started to give chase, bounding forward with large, jerking motions. It didn’t seemed designed for sprinting, however, whereas ponies, even the most physically weak among them, were natural runners. Came with being a species of four-legged herbivores that had evolved in a world filled with mystical predator monsters. 

“Get. Tram. Moving!” Crossfire shouted between breaths just as she reached the platform right behind Knobs and Bruise. Wellspring had already galloped into the tram, and the huge, vaguely train shaped vehicle was already in motion by the time Crossfire leapt into the open door in the final car. 

The MagLev tram consisted of four cars, the three lead ones seemingly made purely for passengers, but the last one that Crossfire had jumped into was a mostly empty cargo car. Each car was connected by a short walkway with a detachable latch, and the cars themselves were suspended over the MagLev line with purple glowing levitation crystals that extended from the bottom sides of each car.

Crossfire rushed up to the next car, where Knobs was there with Bruise, her legs wrapped around the big mare in a tight hug, and Bruise looking particularly uncomfortable, as if she wanted to be anywhere else, doing anything else. 

“I’m so glad you’re alright Bruise! I thought that thing was going to get you!” Knobs exclaimed, sounding nearly tearful.

Bruise made a sound that was one part uneasy grunt, one part frustrated sight, “Knobs, will you let go of me? We ain’t... my gang... “

Bruise gave Crossfire a look, and with that one look Crossfire knew things were hardly over between her and this mare. Bruise’s eyes were boiling over with barely contained anger and violence, all of it directed now solely at Crossfire. Crossfire considered if it wouldn’t be worth it to just shoot Bruise right then and there... but she couldn't do that in front of Knobs. Maybe if Bruise shot first, gave Crossfire some kind of excuse...

“You two alright?” Crossfire asked, more as way to just let Knobs know she was there than anything else. She could look to see they were both mostly uninjured. Bruise had a lot of lite cuts and scrapes, much like Crossfire had. Probably from the Gobs. 

Knobs started, letting go of Bruise and stepping back from the big mare, and then looked herself over, turning in a circle once before giving Crossfire a smile, “Looks like I’m fine! Can’t believe we got away from that thing! What do you think it was? Did you see those huge claws!? And I thought it was bad enough just keeping the ghouls in check up top; them Sewer Guild ponies got a lot of guts working down here with things like that crawling around.”

“Doubt that monster goes into the sewers much,” said Crossfire with a low tone as she cast a suspicious look at the tower, which the MagLev tram was slowly following the curve of as it went around the tower’s massive form. 

“You figuring that critter was guarding this place?” Bruise asked, though from her tone she didn’t think it much of a question. 

“If I had any caps, that’s where my bet would go,” Crossfire said, trotting past Bruise and heading towards the front of the tram, intending to check on Wellspring. Just then though, the tram shuddered, and there was a metallic crunching sound from outside. 

The three mares all looked around fearfully, readying weapons, while Crossfire whispered, “Anybody see where it is?”

The windows showed nothing, and the sound had been too indistinct to tell its location. But something that large couldn’t be that stealthy. 

When the monster did strike, it was from below, just as it had with its first appearance, with one claw ripping up through the bottom of the tram car.

Sparks of arcane energy went flying as debris smashed arcano-tech lights, and internal wiring was shredded by the claws. The car was plunged into dark, only illuminated by the now flickering lights from the adjacent cars. It didn’t matter, Crossfire had seen where the claw had struck, and roared in anger at the sight of Knobs hind legs both being sheared off by the monster’s thick crimson talons. 

“Knobs!”

Both Bruise and Crossfire had shouted at the same time, both rushing to the hole the monster had torn in the floor of the tram, both aiming their respective weapons down the hole and emptying them down there in a twin thunder of gunfire. The lights inside the tram flicked over to a dull red emergency lighting, and Crossfire saw Knobs laying against the side of the tram, looking dazed as she stared at the two stumps where her hind legs had just been. Already blood was pooling underneath the horrible wounds, the blood appearing black under the harsh red glow of the emergency lights.

Crossfire didn’t waste a second; because there weren’t any seconds to waste.

“Keep it busy!” she shouted at Bruise and was at Knobs’ side in an instant, ripping at the tattered remains of her uniform, using her bayonette to cut long leather strips off of it, while also pulling off her red Neighlisus military scarf.

“Whoa... I don’t have legs...” said Knobs, voice the detached dullness of a pony in shock. 

“Quiet, and focus on me,” said Crossfire as she started to tie the leather strips as tightly as she could around one stump, a few inches above the wound, and used the scarf on the other leg, also tying as tight as she could could, using her magic to make fast work of the makeshift tourniquet. 

This somewhat slowed the flow of blood, but Crossfire knew she’d need to pinch off the arteries, or cauterize them. Feeling it out with her magic, knowing that with Knobs in the state of shock she was in that the pain would be a secondary concern for now, she sought out the open arteries, and used magic to forcibly pinch them closed. 

“I... I can hold them,” said Knobs, gulping, “I can keep pressure on my legs, Crossfire. You gotta go help Bruise.”

Crossfire looked, to see that Bruise had gone into the cargo car, and was shooting. Crossfire could see the muzzle flashes and hear the gunshots, even if she couldn’t see the ganger mare herself. 

“Knobs, are you sure-” Crossfire began, but Knobs, with remarkable strength, used her own magic to overpower Crossfire’s own, the teal mare’s horn lighting up and taking over putting telekinetic pressure on her own bloody stumps.

“Go; help her!” Knobs said, eyes lucidly focused on Crossfires, “Please.”

At that moment Wellspring came in, fearfully looking about, “Don’t tell me... Oh, oh no,” the mare put a horrified hoof to her mouth as she saw Knobs. 

“Take care of Knobs,” Crossfire told Wellspring, then rushed through the door to the cargo car.

Inside she saw Bruise, carefully reloading her battle saddle as she slowly backed up away from a fresh hole in the floor. Crossfire saw there were several such holes torn into the tram car, and as she entered there was a screeching sound as another hole was torn open, the monster’s massive claw coming in through the roof to try and skewer Bruise. Bruise, nimble for a mare her size, jumped away, and retaliated with her shotguns. The quadruple blast hit the claw, and Crossfire saw some of the creature’s unusual white blood spurt across the tram wall.

Apparently Bruise’s shots were wearing out the monster’s armor. Crossfire grimly smiled, raising her own rifle. If the creature could be wounded, then they could also kill it. 

Bruse gave her a fearful look as she came in, her features tight, her tone stiff, “Knobs?”

Crossfire nodded once, “Alive. But not for long if we don’t get her to a hospital.”

Bruise ground her teeth in a pained scowl, “There’s one inside the Inner City, but we’ll never make it.”

“Screw that noise. I owe that mare. We’re going to make it, and we’re going to bucking kill this monster while we do it!” Crossfire said as she galloped across the tram car, heading for the back hatch, “Get ready to separate this car the second I give the word!”

“What!?” Bruise shouted back, but Crossfire ignored her as she rushed past a slashing claw that ripped in from the side of the wall, diving and rolling, and coming up galloping again as the claw withdrew. 

Crossfire, ignoring Bruise, reached the back of the tram and tore the door open, then headed out onto the tiny back platform, which had a ladder that led to the tram’s roof. The tram wasn’t moving that fast, so it was easy enough to keep balance as she climbed the ladder and clambered on top of the smooth, flat roof of the tram. 

To her right the unnatural form of the tower was slowly turning by as the tram got to its opposite side, and Crossfire saw it looked the same from this end as well. In the distance she could see another tram station, with what looked like an entire series of large cargo lifts nearby, leading up. That looked like their way out. There was just one final bit of business to take care of before saying goodbye to this underground Tartarus.

“Hey!” she called out the monster, which was leaning over the side of the roof, preparing to strike inside the tram again, but it raised its head at hearing her voice.

Crossfire glared at the monster, raising her rifle. In her minds eye she was back at the Ruin she’d lost her squadmates at, back with the detonator in her hoof, and Shell Casing screaming at her to hit the switch. She could hear the screams of her comrades being torn apart by the monster, heard their pleas for her to wait, that they were almost to the entrance. She felt the same heart thundering fear, and had to face the unpleasant truth.

She hadn’t hit that switch out of a sense of duty, or because of orders, or for any kind of ‘greater good’ that would’ve come from preventing that monster from reaching the surface.

She’d hit it because she’d been scared. She hadn’t wanted to die, facing such a horrific monster.

She accepted that fact and let the pain of it pass through her. With that, she found the strength to confront that fear again, and calm her heart as she faced down the monster as it turned and roared at her. 

“That’s right,” she said, “Come right at me.”

The monster obliged, ripping its way across the roof as Crossfire started shooting, aiming for the head. Bullet after bullet ricocheted off the monster’s head, slowing it, but only barely. It lunged at her, and Crossfire jumped back right off the roof. The creature’s claws snapped over her head as she fell, and she just managed to catch the edge of the cargo car’s back platform, her forelegs feeling like they might snap from the force. 

Grunting, she pulled herself up and into the cargo car as the monster roared and scrambled down after her. She slashed back with her rifle’s bayonet, cutting a glancing blow on the monster’s hand. It screeched and snapped at her with its teeth as she rolled through the door into the cargo car.

“Bruise! NOW!” Crossfire shouted at the top of her lungs, and a second later she felt the car she was in lurch as it was disconnected from the rest of the tram. Knowing she had moments at best, she hauled herself to her hooves and galloped for all she was worth towards the opposite end of the cargo car.

Behind her the monster literally ripped the back of the car off, pushing itself inside and clawing after her, enraged and focused solely upon her. Crossfire felt it behind her, could feel every shudder of the car as more and more of it was ripped away as the monster tore after her. On she ran towards the open door ahead, seeing the passenger car with Bruise standing by the entrance as the space between the two cars started to lengthen. 

Crossfire put on a final burst of speed and soared through the door of the cargo car, for a second completely suspended in empty air over the deep void towards the towers’ bottom. Behind her the monster ripped its head through the back of the cargo car and snaked towards her. Crossfire couldn’t move her rifle in time to try and shoot the creature away...

A harsh bark of shotgun blasts tore past her, hitting the creature’s in its snout and snapping its head up, away from Crossfire. It roared and fell back into the cargo car, which now fell back well behind the passenger car. Crossfire flailed with her limps, trying to catch the edge of the passenger car, and just missed it, for a moment feeling gravity take over and pull her down into the black. Then a mouth was around her trailing tail, and rather painfully hauled her up into the passenger cars.

Drawing in powerful lungfuls of air, not quite able to calm her racing heart, Crossfire looked up at Bruise.

“Tha-” she began, but Bruise shoved a hoof into her mouth and fixed her with a hateful glare.

“Don’t. I did that for Knobs. Not you.”

“Fair enough,” Crossfire said, turning to look back towards the detached cargo car. The car had fallen back a good few dozen yards, slowing down now that it was no longer attached to the rest of the tram. The monster had recovered from Bruise’s last shot, and was standing at the end of the car, staring at the tram that was escaping it with its emotionless, glowing eyes. Crossfire looked into those eyes, and found herself raising her rifle, aiming.

“What are you doing?” asked Bruise, “You’re just going to waste bullets, trying to kill that thing.”

“Am I?” asked Crossfire, as she lowered the aim of her rifle away from the monster, and instead targeted the levitation crystals along the bottom of the cargo car. 

Her rifle barked, and one of the crystals exploded in a shower of purple sparks and faint arcane energy discharge. That alone did nothing, but Crossfire worked the bolt of her rifle, and fired again, then again, and again. Each time a levitation crystal shattered, all along the right side of the cargo car. When the last crystal was destroyed the entire car tipped over like a capsizing boat. The monster scrambled with its claws to keep a hold on the car, but this proved to be pointless. With half of its levitation crystals gone, the remaining crystals couldn’t hold the car onto the MagLev line, and after tipping over, the cargo car pulled off the line and went sailing down into the dark; taking the monster with it. 

Its roars echoed up at them for a few seconds, then couldn’t be heard at all.

----------

The MagLev tram came to a stop at the station on the opposite side of the tower, and four ponies emerged at a fast, but cautious trot.

Knobs, conscious but growing weaker by the minute, was riding on Bruise’s broad back. Flanking the big mare, Crossfire and Wellspring both had their weapons at the ready as they emerged from the tram. Just because they’d dispatched one monster didn’t mean there couldn’t be more. Crossfire almost dared any monster to try and attack them now, however. To get Knobs to medical aid she’d tear through an army, if she had to.

Fortunately there was no immediate danger on this platform. It was roughly the size of the one they’d left behind, with a similar guardhouse to watch over the tram station, but without the same collection of metal shacks the other platform had. Instead much of the space seemed taken up with piled cargo crates near four massive lift platforms, all attached to rails leading up.

There was a hatch of some sort between those four lifts, but Crossfire didn’t get a good look at it, her attention drawn to Wellspring as she rushed over to the guardhouse.

“What are you doing?” Crossfire asked, and Wellspring was quick to shout back.

“Might be a first aid kit in here!”

No further explanation was needed and Crossfire left the gray coated earth pony to it while she and Bruise made for the lifts. Getting closer, they saw that each lift was labeled in bold, black lettering alongside the wall by each lift. Crossfire frowned at the names.

Central Hangar, Fabrication and Processing, Residential and Barracks, then finally, Surface Access. 

“Pretty bucking obvious which one’s ours,” said Bruise, hopping onto the platform labeled as ‘Surface Access’.

“Yeah, but what in Tartarus is this place supposed to be?” Crossfire wondered, looking at the one hatch that was on this level, something about it seeming faintly familiar. It was a huge metal door, shaped almost like a gear, circular, surrounded with spokes. 

“Who cares? Its just some buried deathtrap,” grunted Bruise sourly, “Nopony with brains in their head would ever come down here.”

From the tone of her voice, and the hateful glare she was giving Crossfire, it was clear who the ganger mare blamed for her being here. Crossfire met that glare with one of her own, getting more and more fed up with Bruise.

“You got something to say, say it,” Crossfire said, teeth bared.

“No. Not until Knobs is safe,” said Bruise, matching Crossfire bared teeth, “Then, only then, we’ll... sort things out.”

The hardness of her voice suggested that ‘sorting things out’ would involved gunfire and blood. Crossfire was fine with that. But Bruise was also right. Not until Knobs was safe.

“Please, you two, don’t fight...” Knobs said, and Crossfire blinked in shock, having forgot that Knobs was still awake and listening to them. She sighed, ears flattening back, mane wilting slightly.

“Course we won’t, Knobs, we just got some frayed nerves right now,” she said, coming over to look at Knobs, “How you holding up?”

Knobs chuckled, weakly, “Oh, you know, feeling like I’m on my last legs, heheh...”

Bruise made a choking sound and Crossfire blanched, “Knobs, that was terrible.”

Knobs just smiled, sticking out her tongue, despite the pale cast of her features, beaded with sweat, “That’s what makes it a good pun. Um, yeah, but to answer the question, I’m still breathing, so yay? I don’t know. I can’t feel much down there, but I can still hold my magic.”

Crossfire frowned, looking where Knobs magic was holding her wounds closed, “I can take over, now. You should save your strength.”

“These should help, too,” said Wellspring as she came trotted onto the lift, something balanced on her back. Crossfire glanced over and saw the object was a roll of medical bandages. Curious, she washed some of her magic over them, and found the bandages had a light cast of magic to them as well.

“Was that all you found?” she asked Wellspring, who gave Crossfire an apologetic look.

“Unfortunately, yes. The guardhouse was... damaged. It looks as if whatever fight occurred on the other side also happened here. The first aid kit was broken open, and the healing potions inside cracked. No potion left. But these bandages were in one piece.”

“It’ll help,” said Knobs, “Crossfire, if you can hold my wounds closed for a bit, I can wrap them myself.”

Crossfire nodded, and lit up her horn, letting her red glow of magic take over for Knobs’. As she did that, Knobs levitated the medical bandages from Wellspring’s back and floated them over, beginning the process of carefully wrapping the bloody stumps of her hindlegs. 

While that happened, Wellspring looked over at the giant, gear shaped hatchway, and let out a small gasp.

“Is that... a Stable!?”

Crossfire blinked, and Bruise stiffened, both mares giving the door a double-take. Crossfire couldn’t believe she hadn’t noticed it before, but Wellspring was right, that door was shaped like the ones that sealed Stables! The Neighlesius army rarely encountered the pre-war shelters, but each soldier was briefed on how to identify one, and on first-contact procedures in the event one was ever discovered in Protectorate territory. To her knowledge that had never occurred, which was partly why the knowledge of what a Stable door looked like hadn’t sprung up immediately, but she knew enough about what a Stable was to be surprised to see one here. And also to notice something odd.

“Where’s the Stable-Tech logo and identification number?” she asked, confused. To her knowledge, a Stable door was marked not only with the logo of Stable-Tech, the company that built the Stables, but also the number that identified which Stable it was. This door, however, was completely blank.

“That’s strange, there doesn’t appear to be one,” said Wellspring, “Curious. Could it just be coincidence? A similar looking door design, but not actually a Stable?”

Bruise snorted, “Again, I got to ask, ‘who cares’!? I swear, its like you two are just fascinated by all this mysterious bullshit! Let’s just get out of here! Somepony start this damned lift already!”

Crossfire couldn’t really argue that the hulk of a mare had a point. Ultimately the mysterious of this place were secondary to surviving, especially given Knobs’ condition. Even with the stumps now thoroughly bandaged Knobs looked like she might pass out at any moment. Crossfire didn’t want to think about how much blood the young mare might have lost already.

Without further prompt Crossfire found the controls for the lift and hit the button. The lift rose silently upward, the mysterious and foreboding shape of the Ruin tower remaining an ominous view before them. Up and up the lift took them, easily a hundred feet or two before the ceiling of smooth hewn stone came into view. The tower’s form continued into the ceiling itself, as if the tower was spearing itself into the solid rock and just kept going up. Directly above the lift a metal hatch was visible, and as the lift reached it a few flickering yellow lights came on around the hatch, which grinded open with the hiss of hydraulics.

Beyond the hatch was shrouded in darkness, giving no clue as to what was waiting for them ahead.

Casting a worried look towards Knobs’ pale face, noting the teal mare’s labored breathing, Crossfire could only hope that whatever lay beyond this lift, the surface and safety would not be far away. 

> Chapter 5: Crossfire and Gunner's Heaven
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


Chapter 5: Crossfire and Gunner’s Heaven


Darkness surrounded the four mares. Crossfire tensed, not liking the lack of light, but it was only a second for the lift to grind to a halt and for yellow emergency lighting to flicker on. The lights were coming from dusty long unused magical gem lights fixed upon the ceiling. Crossfire could see now that they’d been lifted into what looked like a hub for several different tunnels, each with a rail line leading off into the gloom. Brick masonry suggested these tunnels might have once been part of the sewer system but had been repurposed some time ago. There was a raised section next to the lift that was enclosed, a room with a few desks and old, dark terminals sitting on them. It might’ve been possible to get one of the terminals working, perhaps dig up some clues as to the purpose of this whole place, the tower, the Stable, all of it, but Crossfire didn’t care.

Her only focus now was getting Knobs to someplace that could help her. 

Luckily one of the tunnel rails had a tram car on it, similar to the one down below but smaller in size, more suited to moving just a few dozen ponies instead of over a hundred. 

There was little conversation between the four mares at this point, all of them too tired to really muster up much in the way of small talk. Except for Knobs. Even down two legs and probably too much blood, the teal mare seemed to be trying the hardest to keep everypony’s spirits up.

“Looks like we’re petty lucky ponies, because that’s looking like a way out to me”

“Assuming its working,” said Bruise with a low, worried tone.

“Aw c’mon Bruise, you know ponies built everything to last,” said Knobs with a weak laugh, “If a two hundred year old toilet can still flush, I’d be willing to bet this train thingie will be a smooth ride.”

You arebetting Knobs. We’re betting your life that this machine still works, Crossfire thought, but kept it to herself as they trotted up to the tram and carefully loaded Knobs onto one of the seats. Bruise stayed close to Knobs while Crossfire and Wellspring headed to the front of the care to figure out the controls. The small open driver’s compartment had little to it beyond a few levers attached to a plain console with a couple of gauges, lightly coated with dust. While the controls looked simple enough for a foal to use, Crossfire grimaced at the sight of a ignition switch, but with no key in immediate sight. 

“Shit,” she muttered, then felt a hoof touching her leg lightly, Wellspring looking at her and gesturing at the room with the terminals.

“Maybe in there?”

Crossfire gave Knobs a concerned glance, seeing that Bruise was holding the teal mare gently. Knobs’ coat was showing a paler cast to it, and Crossfire could see a sheen of sweat on the mare that probably didn’t signify anything good. Knobs was still smiling, but her eyelids were starting to droop and her breathing seemed irregular, her breaths coming in short gasps. Crossfire grit her teeth and gave Wellspring a nod as they both quickly trotted to the room with the terminals. The door was locked but the door itself was little more than rotted wood and splintered under a single hefty buck. 

Inside Crossfire immediately went for the desk drawers, throwing them open and hastily rifling through the random papers and debris within. She ignored what any of the papers might’ve said, ignored the items she casually tossed aside, only interested in anything that looked like a key. With each drawer she pulled open her motions got more violent, until she was practically bashing the drawers open, or ripping the table apart to get at whatever lay within. Finally at the last table, a hefty desk pushed up against the far corner of the room, yielded the result she was after. Inside the central drawer she found a keyring, and snatching it up in her magic she turned, but halted when she saw Wellspring sorting through some of the things that’d been tossed from the other desks.

“What are you doing?” Crossfire barked, lips drawn down in a hard grimace,  “Stop wasting time, I got the keys.”

Wellspring glanced up, frowning at Crossfire, “Calm down. I’m merely collecting a few things that may shed light on what was down here.”

Crossfire, ears flat against her skull, let out a frustrated growl. Nearly stamping the floor with each step she roughly pushed past Wellspring, giving the other mare a hard glare as she did so.

Wellspring huffed, stuffing what she could into the pockets of her clothes and followed Crossfire out. Bruise gave them a hopeful look and Crossfire answered by jangling the keyring up and down as she went back to the controls. It took her a few seconds to discover which key fit the ignition, and when she did Crossfire licked her lips, a trickle of cold sweat on her brow as she started to turn the key. She resolved if this didn’t work she’d put Knobs on her own back and gallop down the tracks to wherever they led, tunneling to the surface herself if she had to.

She let out a heavy breath as magical energy sparked to life inside the console and streams of purple electric arcs played along the tracks and the engine of the mini-tram let out a gurgling, throaty roar to life. Crossfire turned her head to grin at the others, but her eyes widened and her jaw dropped open as the new light from the tram’s little side lamps illuminated the tunnel opposite them. Including the dozen or so Gobs that had been sneaking up on them.

As Crossfire shouted a warning, her crimson magic swung around her rifle, the Gobs let out chittering warcries, half of them charging forward while the other half threw rusted makeshift axes and knives. Bruise had instinctively put herself between Knobs and the sudden danger, using her huge, thick body as a shield. One axe embedded itself in the large purple mare’s flank, and a knife cut a deep gash across her brow, but the other weapons either hit at wrong angles and bounced off, or simply missed entirely. Wellspring took a nasty cut on her shoulder and she yelped in pain, falling backwards off of the tram.

Crossfire, swearing under her breath, bucking back with her legs and hit the lever to send the tram moving forward as she scrambled over to the passenger car. Her rifle flared with hard, loud barking shots that drowned out the Gobs’ incessant warbling chatter as the group of small hairy monsters charged forwad. One dropped with half of its head ruptured in a geysering dark mess of gore, while another’s arm was torn clean off by the rifle shots, but the creature, foaming at the mouth, just snatched up its severed arm and came on running, swinging the limb like a club.

Wellspring, giving a high whiny of fear, scrambled to her hooves and chased after the tram, keeping pace with the open door of the passenger car. Crossfire got to the door just as one of the Gobs leapt for Wellspring’s back, swinging an axe. Crossfire swept her rifle out and intercepted the axe with the bayonet, sparks flying as the sharp, thick blade of the bayonet tore the axe out of the Gobs’ sweaty hands. 

“Get on!” Cossfied shouted, holding out a hoof, which Wellspring grabbed and allowed herself to be hauled aboard. Crossfire quickly floated her rifle back in before the tram entered the tunnel fully. For a second it seemed like they might have gotten away cleanly, but that was only until Crossfire saw the Gobs throwing something else at them... not poorly crafted weapons, however. No, these objects were small, cylindrical, faintly red, and had fuses lit and burning at one end.

Oh buck me with a- Crossfire couldn’t even finish the thought before a succession of rapid, head splitting explosions rocked the tunnel. Crossfire could feel the lurch in the tram, the way it lifted and slipped off the tracks, and had only a second to brace herself before she was slammed into the side of the car as the tram derailed and hit the wall, showers of sparks and a screech of metal accompanying her swift trip into the nearest flat surface. 

The tram skidded along the wall for several dozen yards before coming to a halt, leaving Crossfire shaken and with her head spinning, but otherwise unharmed. She took a couple of seconds to let the world tilt back to its proper axis before lighting up her horn to bath the passenger car in soft red light. She didn’t hear the Gobs incessant chatter anymore, trough she couldn’t immediately see outside the tram to tell why. Regardless, her first priority was to make sure everypony else had survived the crash. 

“E-everypony alright?” she asked in a dazed tone.

A teal hoof raised and Knobs’ weak voice said, “Teacher, I threw up, can I get off the ride now?”

“Still have a fucking axe in my flank, but I’m otherwise okay,” said Bruise, her hulking form rising and her head turning around to roughly tear out the offending blade from her bleeding flank.

“Remarkable unhurt,” said Wellspring, standing and dusting herself off, through her face was pale and she was visibly trembling, “Thank you, by the by, for saving me back there.”

Crossfire just nodded, turning to climb back into the driver’s seat. The controls were smashed up, and it was pretty clear the small tram was entirely off the rails. Looking back where they’d come from Crossfire could see the ceiling of the tunnel had completely collapsed behind them. Crossfire ground her teeth together and took in a sharp breath as she went back to the others.

“Well, our ride is out of commission and we’ve only got one way to go,” she said, looking at Knobs and Bruise, “Bruise, can you still walk?”

The big mare snorted, “Skull City gangers aren’t going to get slowed by shit like this. I could run a marathon.”

Despite Bruise’s words Crossfire could see the pain in the other mare’s eyes and the way her hind leg beneath the nasty axe wound shook slightly in strain. Crossfire looked to Knobs, who was giving Crossfire a small, but steady smile of trust that nearly tore a hole in Crossfire’s heart. Despite all that’d happened Knobs still had full faith in Crossfire’s ability to get them out of this. 

“Alright, I’ll carry Knobs,” she started to say, but Wellspring quickly interjected.

“I’d probably be better suited to that.”

At the looks she got from the others the prim mare stood up straighter, “I’m the least injured among us and I am an earth pony! I’m stronger than I appear. Besides its best our two fighters be unencumbered in case we run into further trouble as we get out of this dreadful place.”

Crossfire found she couldn’t argue with that logic, and in short order the four mares were trotting (or in Knobs case riding on Wellspring’s back) down the dark tunnel, following the tracks as they gradually followed a steady, upwards curving incline. At least that gave Crossfire some hope that this was leading towards the surface. There were occasional branches in the tunnel, but only one that continued to lead upwards, so the mares ignored the branches that shot off downward or off to the side into the darkness, only shining a light down that way briefly to make sure nothing lurked there to ambush them. Unfortunately all those offshoot tunnels meant Crossfire had to worry about possible monsters coming up behind them. Bruise naturally, without having to be asked, fell back to be rear guard while Crossfire lead the way up front. As much as Crossfire might not have liked the abrasive ganger she had to give Bruise credit, she worked well in a team. Which, sadly, made sense. Crossfire hadn’t thought much of the Skull City gangers before, and had always wondered how the Protectorate hadn’t been able to win easily in the war, but seeing what she’d seen of the Hammer Crusher gang, it was clear these ponies, for all their crudeness and nasty temperaments, worked well together and could be as courageous as any Protectorate soldier. Bruise’s willingness to sacrifice herself to protect her comrades earlier had proven that much.

It made Crossfire wonder if there’d even been a point to the war. Or if there’d be a point to it starting up again, like so many back in the Protectorate talked about. 

After an hour of walking Crossfire was starting to get anxious. Knobs didn’t seem to be getting worse, but she certainly wasn’t getting better, either. She wanted to pick up the pace, but rushing forward could be as disastrous as moving too slow. They just had no idea what to expect ahead of them. The fear of reaching a dead end filled Crossfire every time the tunnel turned a bend.

Her fear dissipated however as she saw light ahead, an odd mix of yellow and green, and saw the tunnel open up into a clearly wide room. 

“Finally!” Crossfire said, “I think that’s daylight up ahead.”

It certainly looked that way. Despite the odd green tint, she could tell the pale yellow light had that cast to it that natural daylight had rather than the dull, flat light you usually say from electrical or magical light. 

As they approached the tunnel exit Crossfire could see more, and the sight made Crossfire feel even more relieved because it was clear the tunnel opened up to the outside. She could even see sky! That and some old, rusted buildings and what looked like an overturned tram, larger than the one they’d started to ride, but the sky was unmistakable. Crossfire broke into a faster trot, but Wellspring stopped her with a sudden, “Stop!”

Crossfire did so, glancing back at the worried look on Wellspring’s face, Knobs peeking out from behind the earth pony’s honey colored mane with a curious gleam to her otherwise bloodshot and tired eyes.

“What’s up Well?” asked Knobs.

Wellspring pointed, “We... might not want to go out there.”

Crossfire looked towards where Wellspring pointed and then took a sudden step back, seeing what Wellspring had and wondering how she’d missed it. The green glow she’d seen before was coming from a number of barrels that had fallen out of the overturned train, scattered about like a minefield. Portions of the barrels had corroded away, while others were simply broken open, and viscous goo pooled at various spots, giving off the faint green tinted light Crossfire had seen earlier.

“I don’t understand this,” Crossfire said with a soft growl, “What’s a bucketload of magic waste doing dumped out there? I thought you said we were underneath the Inner City, Wellspring!”

“We are, and I know exactly where, now,” said Wellspring with a furrowed brow, “This is the old TransEquestrian Railyard. Its one of the few places in the Inner City that’s been left the same as it was come the end of the war.”

“Why?” asked Crossfire, then her ears twitched about as she heard faint sounds that made her tilt her head in confusion. Gunfire and... cheering?

Wellspring had a slight coy twist to her lips, “Because radioactive railyards make for an exciting battlefield. This is part of Gunner’s Heaven, Skull City’s famed battle arena.”

Crossfire blinked. These crazy ponies decided an irradiated location was suitable for some kind of gladiatorial contest? What sane pony would willingly walk into such an arena!? What good was even getting paid for something like that if you ended up dead from radiation poisoning? On top of that, they decided to use a place for an arena and hadn’t even thoroughly explored the tunnels leading to it? 

“I can see you’re a tad confused,” Wellspring said with a light chuckle, “It's really quite simple. Gunner’s Heaven consists of many different arenas, each suited to different battles, depending on the whims and tastes of its patrons. Assuming we can get through here without the radiation killing us, you’ll see other buildings that house venues for other contests.”

“What in Tartarus would they use this one for?” Crossfire asked, frustrated. They didn’t have time for this! 

“Depends,” Wellspring said, shrugging slightly, “Sometimes battles between creatures suited to radiation. Many wealthy individuals in this city own powerful mutated monsters that have been trained to be bodyguards or... other things. Sometimes specifically bred for fights in the arena. Other times, well, how to put this delicately? Sometimes criminals are... executed here, forced to fight in the radiation against each other or perhaps salvaged robots.”

Bruise let out a low, scoffing nicker, stamping a hoof and scuffing it as she scowled, “And you damned Guild ponies call us gangers barbaric!? We don’t do this shit to our own.”

Wellspring rolled her eyes, “Oh no, you just gut ponies in the streets for food, drugs, and caps. So much more civilized. At least if a pony ends up condemned in the arena its only after a fair trial.”

Bruise snorted, “Fair trial. Right.”

“Whatever, I don’t care,” said Crossfire, “How do we get through here, then? Knobs...”

“I can hold on,” Knobs said, sweat dripping off her face, but a determined light in her eyes, “Just do what you have do. I’ll be fine Crossfire, don’t worry.”

Crossfire desperately wanted to believe Knobs. She had no real choice but to believe Knobs. Even as she thought it Bruise voiced the very thing Crossfire was thinking, the dark purple mare’s expression set in a grim frown.

“There’s nothing we can do, except run, and hope we find the exit before the radiation kills us.”

Wellspring sighed, hanging her head, “I am forced to agree. Going back into the tunnels does not seem a good option. If we’re lucky an arena official will spot us and open a gate to let us out, we just have to move fast before the radiation seeps into us too badly. We’re going to a hospital anyway, there will be Radaway there.”

With no further discussion the mares headed out. Crossfire would have enjoyed the feel of the breeze and open air if she didn’t know that deadly magical radiation wasn’t already penetrating her body, and that every second was bringing her and the others closer to a painful death. Immediately outside the overturned train cars blocked any pathway forward or to the left, forcing them to rapidly trot to the right, directly into a maze of more train cars. Many were rusted to the tracks, some with open cars, others sealed tight. Many more were overturned like the ones at the tunnel exit, forcing Crossfire and her companions to twist and turn through numerous paths trying to find some way into the open. All around were pools of further magical goo, leftover chemicals, and decayed pits of trash.

“I don’t believe this, why is there so much waste in one spot? This was a railyard, right?” asked Crossfire, her voice frustrated and haggard as she started to feel an uncomfortable warmth and sweat on her brow, the initial signs of radiation sickness. 

“Detrot,” Wellspring said, her own breathing getting labored as well, “Detrot was once Equestria’s premiere dumping ground for disposing of waste materials. The city had more facilities dedicated to cleaning up magical waste than any other in the country, so a great deal was shipped here, up until the very end of the war. Naturally when the city was hit by balefire nopony... nopony bothered to... clean up in the... aftermath. Oh my... feeling rather unpleasant here.”

“Hang in there Well,” Knob said, patting the earth pony mare on the head and hugging the back of her neck, “We’re gonna make it. Just keep walking. We’ll make it.”

Wellspring managed a small smile back at the mare riding on her, “No doubt. I, however, apologize in advance if... if I... throw up a bit...”

Knobs smiled, “No prob, I already threw up once. Its cool. Okay, not ‘cool’ as in awesome, but cool as in ‘I don’t mind’, you know? Eeeh, my head’s gettin’ kinda light.”

“Bruise,” Crossfire said, “Give me a boost real quick, I want to see just where we are in this maze.”

The huge ganger mare grumbled a bit, but trotted over to the side of one of the train cars and let Crossfire clamber up on her back, then on her head.

“Hey, watch it, punk Protectorate bitch!” Bruise growled as Crossfire stepped on her head, kicking a bit to get up to the top of the train car.

“Sorry,” Crossfire said in a less-than-sorry tone, then took stock of their surroundings. Fortunately it didn’t look like the labyrinth of train cars was actually all that large. A few more turns and she saw the cars open up to a switching station and a blown out collection of rusty warehouses. Further out she could see the tall, patchwork wall that surrounded the Inner City. It looked like the railyard was built right up against it. Beyond the warehouses she saw a smaller semi-circular wall of cement, it’s surface looking cleaner and better maintained than the larger wall. Within that wall were several stadium-like buildings, between which was a rather nice and fancy looking tower that was covered in strings of fancy lights of various colors, and a flashing neon sign; one that showed a blue pegasus mare wearing a sling of bullets and spinning a pair of revolvers in her hooves, her yellow and orange mane blazing in an artificial breeze. A neon gold star underneath the mare was the start of a sign that said ‘Gunners Heaven’ in flashing lights.

The cheering and gunfire Crossfire had heard earlier was stemming from the stadiums by this building. Tall chain fences encircled the railyard, separating it from the rest of the buildings, but Crossfire could see a few small sheet metal watch towers posted up near the warehouses, and there were ponies in those towers. Crossfire could see the glint of a pair of binoculars, and on impulse Crossfire lit up her horn and flashed it brightly red, directing the light towards the watchtowers.

“What are you doing?” asked Bruise.

“Getting the attention of the arena owners, hopefully,” said Crossfire as she climbed back down, “Maybe by the time we get to the fence line they’ll be there to let us out.”

She stumbled a bit, dizziness washing over her as she got back to the ground. She swallowed, keeping bile down, “We don’t got a lot of time. I saw the way out, follow me!”

Crossfire led them on, mind focused solely upon the path they needed to take. Every step was getting harder as her body got hotter and hotter, sweat dripping off her chin and the world seeming to tilt. Wellspring did her best to keep quiet as she vomited, wiping her chin with a hoofkerchief she kept in her small saddlebag. Bruise marched on with singular grit, her eyes unblinking as they focused ahead. 

Soon enough they reached the break in the train cars, leading out to an open dirt area between the switching station and warehouses. The mares were staggering now, but the sight of the thick barbed wire gate, piled high with sandbags, spurred them on. By the time the got halfway to the fence and its gate they saw armed ponies in slick leather armor gathering by it, one of them a unicorn floating a strange metal device that looked like a large metal rod embedded with gems and gears.

Reaching the gate, Crossfire saw all the guards had guns aimed at them, and that none of the ponies had friendly looks on their faces. Confused, yes, and a few curious, but none friendly. The unicorn with the strange device was a bright pink mare with a neon green mane, and it was she who spoke as Crossfire and her companions approached the gate.

“Stay where you are,” she said, “If you try to climb the fence or break through the gate you will be gunned down.”

Crossfire shared a look with Wellspring, the black unicorn making a tired gesture towards the guards, “You want to talk to these jerkoffs? I don’t have the patience for diplomacy right now.”

Not that Crossfire thought much of their chances on shooting their way out, either. She just didn’t trust herself to talk to these ponies without letting her anger spill out, and she’d been shot at enough for one day. The anger still boiled in her, regardless. It was pretty damned clear they were wounded, and suffering from the growing radiation sickness inside them, and the first thing these ponies did was point guns at them!? All Crossfire wanted to do was get Knobs to a doctor. 

Wellspring, despite traces of vomit still on her chin and the sweat coating her honey blonde mane to her forehead, gave Crossfire a reassuring smile before facing the guards and the mare with the staff who was apparently in charge.

“No need for alarm, my friends and I are no threat. My name is Wellspring Whistles, perhaps some of you may have heard of me?”

At the blank looks she got Wellspring sighed, “I work for the Radio Guild. I have my papers on me, including my citizenship badge, if you’ll allow me to show them to you?”

The pink unicorn mare frowned, eyes narrowing, “Move slowly, and if we so much as catch a hint of you pointing a weapon our way...”

“You’ll gun us down, yes, you’ve said as much already,” Wellspring said, reaching into her saddlebag. After a few seconds she withdrew what appeared to be a black leather wallet, which she opened with her mouth, displaying its contents as she slowly approached the fence and showed it to the guard. 

Crossfire didn’t get a clear look at the contents of the wallet, but saw what appeared to be some kind of neatly folded set of papers on the bottom half of the wallet, and a etched seal of steel shaped like a diamond on the top portion of the wallet. There was a agonizingly slow minute of waiting while the guard mare examined what Wellspring was displaying, the pink unicorn’s face a faint scowl as she kept casting suspicious glances from the wallet to Wellspring, and to the rest of the group.

“Alright,” the mare said at last, “The badge is authentic, and the papers look in order. Care to explain to me then, Miss Whistles, what you’re doing wandering out of the middle of a radiation infused arena ground in the back end of Gunner’s Heaven? And who these... ponies, with you are?”

“I’d be more than happy to answer any questions you may have,” said Wellspring, “But first I would appreciate being allowed outside of that lovely anti-radiation barrier you’re maintaining with that staff of yours. As you can see we’re suffering from the early stages of radiation sickness, and we have ponies in dire need of medical attention. If you allowed us access to Gunner’s Heaven, which as I recall has a marvelous medical staff on call, I can guarantee you the Radio Guild would compensate you for the effort.”

The guard mare’s scowl deepened and she opened her mouth with a clear rejection, but Wellspring spoke again before the mare could get out a word.

“I might remind you that a large portion of Gunner’s Heaven relies on revenue generated by the broadcasts of the Radio Guild to bring its matches to a wider audience, and indeed almost half of your profits are drawn from betting houses that rely on radio broadcasts entirely for their patrons to enjoy what your establishment offers. I imagine your employers would be happy to know you’ve done all you can to assist a member of the Radio Guild and her associates.”

Crossfire didn’t even bother to hide her grin at seeing the way the pink guard mare’s jaw clenched tight, coat turning an even darker shade of pink. Less amusing was the stubborn growl that followed, the mare spitting out past snarly teeth, “Listen bitch, you might have nice shiny papers, but that doesn’t prove shit to me other than some dumb mare decided to go slumming it outside the gates. What’d you do, decide to get your snatch ploughed by some filthy Outskirts ganger? You want back into the Inner City, go back the way you crawled out of, and use the fucking main gate! You sure as fuck ain’t getting your disease ridden shitstain Outskirts friends inside the city through my checkpoint!”

Crossfire wasn’t exactly certain when her bayonet rifle slammed through the chainlink fence, the blade cutting neatly through the metal links of the fence, then pointed its tip cleanly under the guard mare’s chin, but one second there it was, firmly gripped in her magic. All the guards turned their guns towards her, but before they could fire Crossfire pointedly pressed a bit harder with the bayonet's tip, drawing a tiny bead of blood on the pink guard mare’s throat.

“W-w-whoa! Whoa! Stop! Guys, guns down!” the mare shouted, her anger vanishing almost instantly as wide eyed terror took its place. It took the mare a second to recover, gulping and stammering, “Th-the fuck? You crazy bitch. You threatening me?”

“No,” Crossfire said coldly, “I don’t do threats. Simple fact is, my friends and I are dead if we don’t get through your ‘checkpoint’. If I’m going to die anyway, if my friend Knobs here is going to die anyway... you get to die with us. Company for the everafter.”

Sweat trickled down the guard mare’s cheeks as her fellow guards looked towards her for orders. 

“You’re bluffing... you’re bluffing...” the guard breathed, as if she were trying to convince herself.

“Maybe,” Crossfire said with a shrug, “Are you willing to bet your life on it?”

Knobs gave a small whine, through Crossfire didn’t look her way. She didn’t know if the sound was from the pain and growing sickness of radiation, or the fact that Knobs didn’t approve of Crossfire’s willingness to murder another pony, but Crossfire found she couldn’t turn to face Knobs either way. Right now Crossfire would’ve killed a hundred ponies like the guard in front of her if it meant either getting Knobs to safety, or taking as many of these ponies with them to the afterlife as she could for daring to get between her and saving the one real friend she felt she had in this disgusting city.

The standoff stretched out, seconds or minutes Crossfire couldn’t really tell which, but then a loud masculine voice laughed and rang out above all of them.

“Hahah! You certainly got an odd taste in ways to make entrances!”

Flapping his wings casually in the air, hovering above and behind the line of guards, was Nightbane. The griffin was still wearing the same dark jacket and green shirt Crossfire had seen him wearing back at Skinner’s house, and he had another cigar clenched in his beak, which he took out and flicked off some ash as he chuckled, landing slowly next to the pink guad mare.

“Sandy, stop being a twat and open the fence. And send somepony to get a dozen doses of Radaway, before these ponies burn a hole in the ground.”

The guard mare, Sandy’s, eyes bugged out as she looked at Nightbane, and she sputtered “S-sir, without authorization-”

“I’m authorizing it,” said Nightbane with a tone that’d cut through metal like a plasma torch, eyeing Sandy as if he were spearing her with them, “You know I can, so don’t bitch. The black one’s a guest I’ve been expecting. The others, I’ll work out the details on them later. Right now, open the fence, before the mare there cuts your throat out and I laugh as you bleed out in the dirt.”

That settled it. In short order the fence was opened, and one of the other guards was sent running for medical supplies. Crossfire found herself, along with her companions, tired, wounded, and still suffering from the onset of radiation sickness, amid a bunch of confused guards, one terrified and pissed off guard, and a smug and widely grinning griffin. 

“Thanks...” Crossfire said, unable to keep some suspiciousness out of her voice as she looked at Nightbane, “Why?”

“You owe me a fight. Can’t do that if you’re dead. I collect what I’m owed. Always,” the griffin said without that self-satisfied smile lessening or the gleam leaving his eyes.

“What are you two talking about,” muttered Bruise, “What fight?”

Crossfire waved the mare off with a hoof, feeling a wave of nausea and dizziness washing over her, “Doesn’t matter. Knobs, you holding up?”

“Uuuugh… yuuuuup... sorry Welly... might sick-up again on your mane. You could put me down if you want.”

“Dear,” Wellspring said, breathing heavily and wiping sweat off her brow, “I’ll not set you down in this filthy dirt. Your wounds are dirty enough already. And don’t mind the mane. It’s beyond too late to concern myself with keeping it clean at this point.”

“Looks like you mares had a rough time of it,” noted Nightbane, looking the lot of the over. Crossfire had to admit, finally taking a second to look at herself and the others, that he was right. They looked like tenderized pieces of meat, or old butchered corpses, that had been dragged through a sewer. Not really that far off from the truth, really. She gave Nightbane a humourless smile.

“We’ve had a long day. Can’t say I’d recommend Skull City as a vacation spot anytime soon.”

Nightbane barked out a loud laugh, but his keen eyes didn’t blink as he searched her face, “The city has it charms, for the right mindset. I’m curious, how’d you all turn up here? Only thing in the back of that railyard are some old tunnels nopony’s crazy enough to bother exploring in depth. You had to have come through there, but last I heard them tunnels all lead to dead ends.”

Crossfire looked at him deadpan, “Well, at least one of them is a dead end now. Sorry, not in the mood for tale telling. Body is too busy dying of radiation. Where’s that Radaway?”

“I’d say that’s it right now,” said Nightbane, taking a long drag on his cigar as the guard they’d sent running off before returned, with a number of more guards in tow, and a pair of ponies that Crossfire imagined weren’t guards due to their lack of armor. Of that pair, one was a tall, slim necked unicorn mare of a exceedingly light lavender color with a black mane tightly wound in a bun on the back of her head. She wore a simple but clean white blouse and a pair of saddlebags with the universal medical symbol of pink butterflies on them. The other pony was a ghoul, an earth pony stallion wearing a black suit over his patchy, scab covered red coat. He had a slicked back, oily blonde mane, and of the pair looked the most... put out. The lavender mare looked displeased as well, with her lips pressed thinly and her bearing stiff, but the ghoul looked frothing mad, baring his teeth at Nightbane as they arrived with the extra guards.

“What in the actual hell do you think you’re doing Nightbane? You just letting transients into the city now? There are procedures even someone like you has to follow!”

“Hey Afterglow,” said Nightbane to the lavender mare, ignoring the ghoul stallion, “We still on for dinner tonight?”

Afterglow glanced at him, moving a hoof to push away a strand of her black mane from her eyes, “Don’t be incorrigible Nightbane. Answer Center Stage. He has a legitimate point, you are breaking many agreed upon city rules by allowing those without proper passes or papers to freely enter the Wall. You could face serious repercussions for this action if you do not have good reason.”

“What other reason would I have? Money, of course!” said Nightbane with a grin, “These ponies are going to make me a lot of money. Money that’ll go right back into Gunner’s Heaven, among other places.”

He slid up to Afterglow, running a talon across her neck gently, which Crossfire noted despite the mare’s apparent attempt to appear disinterested caused her muzzle to tinge with a shade of warmth and her tail to flick once. The ghoul, Center Stage, made a gagging sound, rolling his eyes.

“You know how generous I am in funding Guild ventures Afterglow,” Nightbane said, finishing his quick caresse with a pointed wink, “Don’t worry, these ponies will have their papers soon, and with a sizeable donation made to the right authorities. Now, if you’ll lend your special touch, these ponies here could use your attention.”

Afterglow sighed and said, “Very well.”

As she moved over to the group, levitating out bags of Radaway, along with small potions of purple liquid Crossfire recognized with a lick of her lips as healing potions, Center Stage fixed his eyes on Nightbane.

“Those ‘donations’ better be pretty damned big,” the ghoul said in a low tone, “Gunner’s Heaven has a reputation, one I won’t let be tarnished by letting it be used as a damned smuggling point for transient outsider trash. Damned big donations!”

“Yes, yes,” Nightbane said with a wave of a wing, “Don’t you have an event to be running? Oh, and do have my private arena prepared for me, would you? I’ll have need of it soon.”

Center Stage looked as if he were about to go feral right there and then, but after a moment or two of impotently glaring at Nightbane the ghoul growled and turned around, marching away. As he did so Sandy, who’d spent most of this time nervously and ashamedly pawing at the dirt, raised her head and asked, “Miss Afterglow, do you require further guard or assistance as you treat these... ponies?”

“No, thank you Sandy, you and your squad may resume your posts. Nightbane is more than sufficient guard for me, and these ponies are nearly dead on their hooves anyway, I doubt they’re a threat.”

“Yeah... no threat,” said Sandy, rubbing at her neck where Crossfire’s bayonet had been. She gave her guards a few short orders and soon the armed ponies had dispersed back to patrolling the fence line or occupying the guard towers. 

Afterglow’s horn was bathed in blue light that matched her eyes as she performed some impressive multi-tasking levitation by Crossfire’s reckoning. The Radaway and healing potions floated among the four wounded mares in a small buzzing cloud, along with medical equipment that sprouted from her saddlebags. Crossfire found an open bag of Radaway all but shoved magically into her mouth as a small flashlight shone in one of her eyes, then another. Before she could voice any protest Afterglow trotted past her towards Wellspring and Knobs.

“No talking, any of you, unless I ask you a question, in which case answer promptly and nothing else. If I float something to your mouth, drink it, no questions. Otherwise, stay still while I work.”

Crossfire let her words die on her lips and instead just sucked on the tangy, sour orange liquid that was Radaway. Meanwhile Afterglow approached Knobs and immediately started to undo the bandages on her severed limbs, already pulling out fresh bandages to replace the blood soaked ones. Meanwhile a combination of a large healing potion and two bags of Radaway were levitated to Knob’s mouth, the healing potion going down first, then the Radaway. Knobs sucked them down without complaint, indeed a dreamy, relieved look in her eyes.

“These wounds will require more than I can do here,” said Afterglow, her tone an even, professional calm, “You’ve lost entirely too much blood. Can you recall your name, young miss?”

“K...Knobs...” Knobs’ voice was weak and wispy.

“Good. Please try to remain conscious, if you could. I will need to take you to my clinic, now.”

“Is she going to be alright?” Crossfire asked, a nervous strain entering her voice. Beyond all of her wounds and the effects of radiation on her, Crossfire was simply reaching the limits of her general endurance. At this point she needed to hear some kind of good news. Unfortunately Afterglow’s unreadable, hardened features didn’t inspire confidence as she barely glanced at Crossfire, not even bothering to answer the question and instead looking to Wellspring.

“I will carry her with my magic. The rest of you are not in critical condition, so please walk, and follow me.”

With that she took up Knobs in her own magic, lifting Knobs effortlessly as bandages quickly wrapped in a flowing dance over her wounds. Wellspring didn’t complain, eagerly sipping down her own Radaway and a small healing potion, and Bruise was following suit, though the big burly mare was giving everyone and everything around her a look of undisguised contempt. Afterglow began a swift trot with Knobs towards the large building covered in shining lights, which Crossfire assumed was the center Gunner’s Heaven. 

Without much else she could do Crossfire followed, slinging her rifle across her back. 

----------

“Mare, you’re going to make someone think you’re planning a murder if you keep glaring like that,” said Nightbane with a casual grin as he entered the small room Crossfire had been ushered into. It had been less than an hour since Afterglow had brought them into the central building of Gunner’s Heaven. Crossfire hadn’t gotten much of a look at the place since Afterglow had almost immediately taken them to a side elevator once they’d entered a loud, smoky, dimly lit main floor that had been crowded with patrons. All she’d been able to tell about the main floor was that it seemed akin to a large bar or casino, built around multiple pits that patrons could gather around. Given the brief sounds of screaming, animalistic growls, and gunfire she could hear from those pits it wasn’t hard for Crossfire to guess what they were for.

The elevator had gone down rather than up, leading to a well lit of plainly furnished waiting area with several plush couches and a large desk where several waiting ponies had come to help Afterglow with Knobs, while another had looked over Crossfire, Wellspring, and Bruise, ultimately asking Crossfire to come to a separate room. She wasn’t sure why she’d been taken into a smaller room away from the others, but she had kept her complaints to herself as the mare that’d lead her here, whom Crossfire presumed was a nurse or some such under Afterglow, checked Crossfire over and patched her wounds. There was a fair bit of stitching involved, and cleaning of wounds, and all through the process the nurse mare, a short plain pony with a brown coat and mousey blonde mane, kept giving Crossfire barely contained looks of fear. Crossfire wasn’t certain why the nurse was scared of her until she caught a look of herself in the room’s only mirror. Covered in filth and blood, her visible hide cut up in multiple places, and her yellow eyes fixed in a permanent seeming glare, she looked more like an angry, vengeful spirit than a living pony. 

Another half hour of stitching and cleaning, bag of Radaway, and a healing potion or two later Crossfire was feeling almost like a pony and not a member of the living dead. That was just physically, however. Inside she was a boiling mass of anger and worry, her thoughts spiralling onto a single point; Knobs’ survival.

Crossfire couldn’t get her mind off the teal unicorn mare. Knobs had done everything and more that a pony could do for Crossfire’s sake, from rescuing her off the road when they first met to risking everything to come save Crossfire from the gang in control of Knobs’ own neighborhood. Knobs had lost two of her legs, and might die, all because Crossfire had come into her life.

The debt Crossfire felt she owed Knobs couldn’t be expressed in words, and the fact that Knobs’ life still hung in the balance set Crossfire on edge in a way she’d never been before. So, yes, she was glaring when Nightbane strolled into the room she’d been resting in, and her tone matched the glare. 

“Murder may well be on my itinerary,” Crossfire said, watching as Nightbane made himself comfortable in the small room’s one leather chair. The nurse had left just a minute or two before Nightbane entered, so the two of them were alone. Crossfire herself was resting on a remarkably comfortable and clean bed, not at all like the kind of stained pallets she was used to seeing in Wasteland settlements, and had seen in Knobs’ own shack in the Outskirts. Inner City ponies clearly lived better, that was certain. 

“Skinner, how much did he get paid to sell us out to the Hammer Crushers?” Crossfire asked. Nightbane laughed, leaning back in his seat. 

“What makes you think I know? That’s between Skinner and Spiked Heels. Oh, you boiling over that? You take things too personally. Skinner’s an old corpse, and like most of us that’ve gotten to a certain point in life, he’s realized a basic truth. A certain piece of life wisdom that guides anyone with a lick of sense in their heads. Caps. Caps are king. Money is what makes it all move.”

“Horseapples,” Crossfire said, “You expect me to forgive that leathery sack of pus because it wasn’t personal, but about money?”

“Who said anything about forgiveness?” Nightbane tapped a talon on the armrest of his chair, slowly cutting a light line on the leather, “Skinner doesn’t expect it, and doesn’t care. Far as he knows, you, Knobs, that Radio Guild mare, and even most the gangers that went into the sewers after you are dead. The Skull City sewers are dangerous, and even Skinner wouldn’t have an escape route through them if he didn’t know exactly where he could go to get away clean. He’d given you all up for dead when you decided to go down there. Why not make some caps off it? He’s sweet on little Knobbly Knees, but not so sweet that he wouldn’t make a bit of profit off her death. But, water under the bridge, as the old saying goes.”

“Like hell it is,” Crossfier growled, “Skinner, if I see him again, is a dead ghoul.”

Nightbane shrugged nonchalantly, pulling out a fresh cigar and lighting it up, “Not my business. Skinner and I are old buddies, but however you two work your issues out doesn’t concern me. What does concern me, Crossfire, is you and what you do from here on out.”

“Why? Aside from a single fight I owe you, you and I have no business with each other,” Crossfire said, but as soon as she was done Nightbane leaned forward, a widening grin on his beak.

“That depends,” he said, taking a drag on his cigar and blowing a few smoke rings her way, which she batted away with her hoof irritably, “You see, medical care isn’t cheap.”

Crossfire scowled, “You offered. Made a big scene out there about paying for things like patching us up and getting us papers. You extorting us now!?”

“Us? I don’t much care about the mares with you. It’s you specifically I’m interested in,” Nightbane clarified, “Let me lay it out for you. I’m happy to cover the immediate medical expenses you and your little team are incurring right now. I want you at your best when we fight. Long term, however, you’re going to need more financial backing. Without papers, or Guild membership, you, the big ganger mare, and the poor little mare who’s minus some legs are going to be shit out of luck soon as the Enforcer’s Guild finds you.”

“Isn’t Knobs part of some Guild? The same one Skinner’s a part of?” Crossfire asked, trying to recall what it was called. The Skull Guild? Yes, that was it. She thought it was a ridiculous name, especially considering the city was already named ‘Skull City’. Redundant. But maybe there was a reason for it. 

“Not really. Your friend was Skinner’s apprentice, but that’s not an official ‘thing’ according to the Skull Guild. It was an informal relationship between the two of them. Once he thought the filly had learned her stuff, Skinner would’ve then taken her to the Skull Guild offices and gotten her proper tested and accepted, but before then, she’s just some Outskirts mare Skinner was playing teacher with; probably hoping to get a little plot action along the way.”

At Crossfire’s rumbling, throaty growl Nightbane held up his talons with a deflecting smile, “Hey, just calling it as I saw it. Skinner likes the smooth hides, and is a horny leatherfaced ghoul if ever there was one. Doubt he made a move, but also doubt he had Knobs following him around through those long, lonely patrol routes between settlements just out of the kindness of his heart. Point is, Knobs ain’t Skull Guild, was just training to be. So she’s as SOL as the rest of you, except for little miss Radio Guild. But Wellspring can’t help you too much I’m thinking. If she had enough Gella or caps hidden up her skirt she’d have already gotten word to her Guild and arranged at least day-passes for you outsiders. She hasn’t, she’s just been sitting on her hooves with the ganger mare, looking uncomfortable as a virgin on her first night out drinking. Thinking she’s in over her head and knows it. So, if you’re looking for help, she ain’t it. And the ganger mare’s as useless to you here as a sledgehammer at a tea party. So, if you want to get papers, if you want to keep your friend in medical care, maybe even replace her legs... you need me. You need what I can offer.”

“And that is...?” Crossfire didn’t like this, but she couldn’t deny that so far Nightbane had made all of the points he needed to keep her attention. Fact was, she was a broke, statusless stranger, with no influence or power, in a city that seemed to chew up, digest, and excrete those who didn’t have those things. If she wanted to help Knobs, to protect Knobs, she’d need power. She need influence. She’d need money whether it be caps, or Gella. This griffin might be her only route to any of those things, right now.

“Simple enough. I’m part of the Drifter’s Guild. I’m going to sponsor you joining the Drifter’s Guild. Normally that involves a test of aptitude, lots of paperwork, blah blah blah, but I’ve got that covered. Our upcoming fight in the arena is going to be your ‘aptitude test’ and once that’s done, long as you put up a competent show, you’ll be in. Once in, you work for me. Any job you do, I take a cut off the top. The benefit? You get Inner City citizenship, a place to put up your hooves, and the caps you need to pay your friends medical bills. You with me so far on this?”

“What about Knobs?” Crossfire asked, then after a second reluctantly added, “And Bruise? They need citizenship too, don’t they?”

“Aside from day-passes there’s also longer term, but temporary, passes for special circumstance cases,” said Nightbane, “Such a loophole is my trump card in case the Enforcer’s Guild figures out you folk are here. You see, Drifter’s can work alone, but also often work in teams. Often times those teams involve members that aren’t Inner City. Meaning I can claim the lot of you as part of my,” he made little quote gestures with his talons, “Team.”

The tone he said the word in Crossfire would’ve thought Nightbane considered ‘team’ to be a particularly foul kind of curse. 

“So,” he went on, “What that means is that you join the Drifter’s Guild you can claim the ganger and little Miss Legless as part of your Drifter team. That’d give them special dispensation to reside in the Inner City, long as it was at a Drifter owned establishment. That answer all your questions?”

“Save one. Is caps all you’re getting out of this?” Crossfire asked, unable to keep the suspicion out of her voice. Given the pull Nightbane seemed to have around the Inner City it didn’t seem to her like money should be much of an issue for him. What was he really after? Nightbane didn’t give anything away with his confident smirk.

“Do I need motivation beyond having another Drifter owing me money on her jobs? How do you think I got the wealth I already do? By being satisfied, ever, with what I currently own? Alright, alright, how’s this for a motivation; I got a personal interest in you. I look at you and see potential. Could be I’m getting old, and feel like passing on some skills and wisdom to a younger up and comer. Leave behind a legacy before old age or bad luck takes me to my long nap in the dirt.”

“Fine,” Crossfire said, not believing him for an instant, “So assuming I say yes, what happens?”

Nightbane got up from the chair and put the tip of one of his talons on Crossfire’s chest, giving her a hard poke at a spot that was still rather sore despite the healing she’d undergone so far. Crossfire winced, and Nightbane smirked.

“You, missy, get some rest, and come morning suck down a few more healing potions. Then you come to my private arena where I get to bust you up all over again. Or maybe you’ll get the better of me. Either way, should be a good show for my private audience, and the top rollers in the Drifter’s Guild who’ll get to see just what you can do. Do me a favor, and make it good. Hate to think I’ll spend all night talking you up to them only for you to not even make me breath hard tomorrow.”

With that he turned to leave, swishing his thing whip-like tail and tossing his almost burned through cigar into a nearby waste bin. 

“I haven’t said yes, yet,” said Crossfire, but Nightbane only laughed at that, and went out the door.

“Cocky old featherduster,” she muttered, glancing back at the bed. She was tired down to the marrow of her bones, and knew that Nightbane had the right of things; if she was going to tussle with him she needed to be in top form. But she had one thing she needed to do before she could get any sleep at all. 

--------

Wellspring and Bruise were sitting on surprisingly nice, colorful couches at opposite ends of a waiting room outside the room Knobs had been taken into. As Crossfire entered from the hallway where her own room had been both the Radio Guild mare and the big ganger mare turned their heads towards her, Wellspring smiling hopefully at Crossfire while Bruise looked as if she had something sour in her mouth she wanted to spit out.

“I trust whatever you talked about with Nightbane went well?” asked Wellspring.

Crossfire looked at her with what must’ve been a sharper stare than Crossfire intended, because Wellspring winced a bit and added, “I only ask because he seemed pleased as he left, and to speak candidly... he’s the only reason none of us are dead of radiation poisoning or being shot by guards at this moment. He’s also the only potential source of getting the three of you day-passes, so the authorities don’t immediately throw you back outside the walls. I mean...” she wilted a bit, ears flopping down, “I could maybe afford one for Miss Knobs, but not all of you.”

“Its fine,” Crossfire said, “I made arrangements. Sort of. Me and Nightbane got something worked out. Any word on Knobs?”

Before anypony could answer the door to the supposed operating room opened and Afterglow marched out. She was as calm and collected as she was when Crossfire first laid eyes on her, which made it difficult to read if things had gone well or poorly for Knobs, given Afterglow neither appeared upset, nor pleased. Crossfire wondered if this was how the mare always looked; perpetually in control, and emotionally flat. 

Bruise was first up, practically surging from her seat as she loomed over the doctor. Crossfire didn’t think the looming was needed, but perhaps Bruise was a mare that just loomed naturally, given she was built like a suit of power armor and a good head taller. 

“She okay?” Bruise asked, her soft feminine voice contrasting with her appearance almost as sharply as the fear coloring it. 

Afterglow didn’t blink, and only said, “She wanted to speak to all of you. I’ve made her as comfortable as I can.”

That... didn’t sound good at all. In fact it left a particularly lead-like feeling in Crossfire’s gut, as if the whole world just got heavier and the air harder to breath. 

Bruise’s eyes dilated slightly, and Crossfire felt a similar light headedness as she took a step forward, “What do you mean by that? She’s alive, right?”

Afterglow just gave her a blank stare, saying, “For the moment. You may wish to go speak with her now, as I cannot say exactly how much time she will be available to speak to anyone. If you’ll excuse me, I have other business to attend to.”

The doctor strode away through another door, everypony else in the room too stunned to even bother trying to stop her or ask more questions. Crossfire’s mind was in a freeze, refusing to process information. Wellspring broke the heavy silence first, composing herself and walking past Crossfire and Bruise towards the door.

“Come, we can’t afford to waste precious seconds.”

That managed to snap past Crossfire’s mental lockdown, causing her to belatedly, like some robot on time delay, blink and wordlessly shuffle behind Wellspring. Bruise was bristling from mane to tail, a look of singular anger on her face that made it seem as if the mare intended to go into that room with the plan of punching out Death itself. Crossfire found herself agreeing that, in the off chance there was such a thing as a grim reaper pony, that Crossfire would happily join Bruise in beating the bastard into a pile of broken bones.

The room Knobs was in had dim lighting, though Crossfire could tell it was an adjustable light, the kind with a dimmer switch on the wall by the door. The room had multiple beds, and was filled with stands of medical equipment and cabinets of supplies ranging from simple cleaning alcohol to sizable, deeply purple healing potions. Why weren’t any of those potions enough? Had Knobs simply lost too much blood, been battered too much, or soaked up too much radiation? 

Knobs herself was laying on her back in the nearest bed to the door, the teal mare looking quite small to Crossfire’s eyes, despite the fact that Knobs was technically taller than she was, or had been. Knobs was awake, sweat plastering her mane to her forehead as she turned to look at them coming in. 

“Hey guys...” Knobs said, managing a small smile as the three other mares gathered around her bed, “... Sup?”

Crossfire didn’t really know what to say here, unable to pick words out of her head. Bruise was also oddly silent, and Crossfire noticed the big ganger mare blink, and then make a small nicker before hanging her head and looking at the ground so that nopony could see her face. Crossfire assumed the mare, who’d known Knobs longer than any of them, couldn’t face this situation.

Not that Crossfire was doing any better, she had a hard time facing that smile on Knobs’ face, only just barely managing to find some words, “Hey Knobs, you said you wanted to see us?”

“Yeah, figured I ought to... before... you know. Wanted to know you guys would be alright. Crossfire, you going to need a place to stay? You can have my shack if you want it.”

Crossfire found herself shaking her head back and forth, almost violently, “No. No I’m not taking your place, Knobs. I got arrangements. I’m going to be fine...”

“And there is certainly no need to worry for me Miss Knobs,” said Wellspring, “I may not be eagerly going into the Outskirts again for a time, but that is well enough.”

Knobs nodded, then went into a short coughing fit, which for some reasons struck Crossfire as odd but she couldn’t figure why. Knobs turned her head to look at Bruise, “How about you Bruise? You going to be okay? You can get back to you gang?”

Bruise, however, said nothing, she just had her head lowered, and her shoulders were shaking. Crossfire had a hard time looking at it, seeing the huge ganger mare sobbing like that. It pushed right past her own hastily held together emotional defenses, causing the first few tears to well up in her eyes. Knobs saw it and shook her head.

“No, none of that. C’mon guys, none of that. Everything’s going to be fine... you’ll see...”

Knobs voice became fainter, her eyes fluttering, and Crossfire found herself reaching out and holding onto the mare’s hoof, which was warm to the touch. Again something in Crossfire’s mind told her that something as odd, but she couldn’t pay attention to that, holding Knob’s hoof close and gripping it tightly.

“Knobs, I’m sorry,” she said, shaking her head.

“Don’t be... no reason to be...” Knobs said, voice now barely at what one could call a whisper, “You’re a great... friend... forgive me... couldn’t help myself... opportunity... too good... to pass up,”

Crossfire blinked. That seemed like an odd thing to say. And wasn’t Knobs dramatically pausing a little too often? Crossfire looked at Knobs and felt the blood drain from her face as she saw Knob’s lips quirk in a tiny, amusing smile, as the teal mare turned her head, closed her eyes, and let out a long, long breath. Like somepony dying. Or more like trying to sound like somepony dying in overly dramatic fashion.

Then Knobs took another breath and let it out in another over-the-top dramatic death rattle.

Then she did it again, longer, more drawn out. By now Crossfire was seeing red, and grinning, and considering different ways to murder her best friend.

It was also at this point that Bruise, who’d been laughing the entire time, finally burst out in loud guffaws. 

Wellspring’s mouth was agape, “Did she just...!? This was all a-!?”

Crossfire, still holding Knobs hoof tightly to her chest, looking down at her grinning and very much alive friend, and said, “Knobs, I am going to murder you!”

Knobs held up her other hoof defensively, now much more lively than her performance of seconds ago, “Hey! Hey! Don’t be mad! How could I pass this chance up!?”

“You just pretended to be dying!” Crossfire roared, overjoyed and royally pissed simultaneously and having no idea whether she was going to hug her friend close, or whack her upside the head. Probably both!

Bruise, tears in her eyes, but from her having to hold her laughter in while the prank had played out rather than sorrow, looked up and grinned ruefully, “Knobs, I don’t fucking believe it. You actually remembered?”

“Remembered what?” asked Wellspring, still looking bewildered.

Bruise grunted, finding her breath, “When we were bucking kids working one of the streets with a bunch of other street foals, Knobs and I made a bet on who’d get the best prank in on the other. Whoever won would have to be the other’s ‘slave’ for a month, y’know, kind of stupid bet foals make. We never agreed on who won.”

Knobs was smiling ear to ear now, “I win now right? You gotta do what I say for a whole month! Oh, I am having you cook me so many meals, and clean my laundry, not that I have a lot of laundry to clean, and... um... huh, you know I don’t really have a lot of chores that need doing but I’m sure I’ll think of something for you to do. In a maid outfit of course.”

Bruise stiffened, “I am not wearing a maid-”

“Ah, ah, ah, I won the bet! You can’t top a death prank Bruise. Ow, Crossfire, that’s my hoof. I kind of need that, I only got two of them now!”

Crossfire had twisted the hoof into a special Neighlesius’ military arm lock, one that didn’t really threaten the hoof that much, but certainly wasn’t comfortable, “Nope. I need to teach you a lesson about never doing this again!”

“Owowowow, hey! I’m still weak and injured here even if I’m not dying! Help! Nurse! Ow, c’mon Crossfire, don’t be mad! How many times in my life was I going to be in the perfect position to do that prank!? And it was for getting a month of maid service from Bruise!”

“We made that bet when we were, what, eight years old?” asked Bruise.

“Nine!” Knobs said as if that was the most important fact in the world.

A second later Afterglow put her head into the room, glaring daggers at all of them, “Will you lot keep your voices down? I do have other patients.”

“You were in on this!” Crossfire accused, pointing a hoof at the doctor’s snout. Afterglow didn’t even flinch, just giving Crossfire that same deadpan calm look.

“Your powers of observation are beyond compare. Yes, I was in on it,” said Afterglow with a humourless monotone... then smiled, “Because it was funny.”

----------

The next morning Crossfire was back in Knobs’ room. Knobs was looking much better from yesterday, but then, so were all of them. Bruise was snoring away in a different room, Crossfire able to hear the gargantuan rumbling snores of the mare even through the door as she’d trotted down the hall to check in on Knobs. Wellspring had left earlier, telling Crossfire she had to get back in touch with the Radio Guild before her friends there started to wonder what had happened to her. Wellspring had also said she would get back in contact with Crossfire as soon as she could in order to ‘make good’ on their deal. It’d actually taken Crossfire a little while to remember she had agreed to act as a sort of on and off bodyguard for the Radio Guild mare whenever she went out of the city to go story hunting. Crossfire herself had eaten a very small breakfast while cleaning her rifle using a kit one of the nurses had been nice enough to fetch for her. Her beloved Sniper Shark XR had taken quite the beating between her initial run in with Raiders outside Skull City, the run in with the Hammer Crusher gang, and the vicious battles in the sewers. The rifle needed plenty of TLC, but it was a rugged affair, built to deal with taking a beating in hazardous conditions. Crossfire cared for it reverently, oiling the barrel and breech and sanding out scuffs in the wood stock with the tenderness one might caress a lover. 

Crossfire’s life had certainly gotten more complicated than she’d ever intended to. Looking at Knobs, though, alive and well, smiling away, made all the complications feel worth it. Not that Crossfire wasn’t working on thinking of a way to get Knobs back for the near-death prank. She was thinking something involving a cake and copious amounts of hotsauce might do the trick. The key thing would be to wait until Knobs least expected it. Maybe a few years down the road. 

“You doing alright, Knobs?” Crossfire asked as she came into the room, sitting back on her haunches by the bed that Knobs was sitting up in, the teal mare slurping down some breakfast that consisted of a small salad that looked to be made from real greens and eggs of a questionable origin. Crossfire’s stomach grunted at her at the reminder of its purpose and Crossfire gave it a silent promise that food would be next on her agenda. 

“Feeling pretty good,” said Knobs at Crossfire’s question, “I mean, minus the whole leg thing. Going to need a bit of time to get used to that.”

Despite Knobs upbeat manner and the sheepish smile she kept on, could Crossfire see the way Knobs kept looking towards the part of the bed where there ought to be a pair of hind legs. There was a poorly concealed fear in Knobs eyes that Crossfire could well imagine. Crossfire looked at the spot where Knobs’ hind legs should have been as well, not wanting to look away from the simple facts of the situation, nor spare Knobs what her options were. She owed Knobs that, and much more.

“I talked with Afterglow,” Crossfire said, trying to put a certain amount of enthusiasm and encouragement into her voice, “There are devices that exist for those who are in this situation. The simplest kind are little more than wheeled supports. They’ll help you get around easier, but things like stairs are going to be bitch.”

Knobs’ smile actually widened, “I saw an pre-war mag with one of those in it! Walk-O-Matics. They even had motorized ones that ran on coal. They look pretty neat.”

“There’s that. Afterglow told me she could get a set of those custom made, maybe for around a thousand caps, which she’s willing to put on our ‘tab’,” said Crossfire, then her eyes narrowed, an intense look crossing her features, “There’s also cybernetics.”

At Knobs confused look Crossfire explained, “Fully mechanical limb replacement. Is it not a common thing out here?”

“Is that common anywhere?” asked Knobs, voice filled with wonder, “I’ve heard rumors one of the S-Class Drifter’s has them, but I’ve never seen, or heard, of any normal pony with cybernetics. They can’t be available, right? There’s no way I could get them.”

“That depends,” said Crossfire, “If you got about fifty thousand caps or so, Afterglow tells me she can get her hooves on cybernetic replacements for you legs.”

Knobs laughed, “Fifty thousand? Sure, just get me back to my shack, I’ll bust out my hidden underground treasure vault. I knew drinking all that Sparkle-Cola was going to pay off big one day!”

“Right, so we’re kind of short on funds for that,” said Crossfire, but fixed Knobs with a serious look, “But it’s not impossible. I could work up that money, given time.”

Knobs quickly shook her head, reaching out a hoof and touched Crossfire’s shoulder as she looked Crossfire in the eyes, “You’ve done far too much for me already. I can’t ask you to spend who knows how long trying to pay for a pair of fancy new legs.”

Knobs eyes ceased to waver and a strong, steady calm settled over the mare, “I lost my legs. Simple as that. Bad things like this happen sometimes, Crossfire. I’ll deal with it. You shouldn’t pay for my mistake.”

“What mistake!?” Crossfire shot back, anger filling her from some damned up portion of her feelings that had been staying contained until now, “Out of all the ponies I’ve met so far in this shithole city you’re the only one who's done right! You took in a mare you didn’t know and didn’t have a reason to care about, knowing doing so might cause trouble for you. Then you went and tried to save that mare from an entire gang of ponies who will kill you if you go back home now! Don’t you get that yet, Knobs!? You can’t go home! Spiked Heels will have you killed if you go back. You can’t trust Skinner anymore either, so your plan to join the Skull Guild is also down the fucking drain! All this... all this, plus your legs... Knobs, am I worth all that? How can you sit there and say I shouldn’t pay for any of this? It’s all my fault. You’re life is in shambles because of-”

A hoof whacked Crossfire upside the head and it took the stunned mare a second to realize it’d been Knobs, who was now sitting with her hooves crossed over her chest, her cheeks puffed out in a oddly adorably mad look of her own.

“Geez, you done? If you’re plan is to just depress me this morning and make my breakfast taste bad you can take the pep talk somewhere else. I know everything you’re telling me, Crossfire. I know. I’m not dumb. I’m not a complete airhead. I know I can’t go back. I know I’m going to need a new job, one where being crippled isn’t going to be an issue. I don’t need my friend beating me over the head with all that. Or listen to her tear herself a new one for no good reason.”

She leaned forward, hooves coming up and pulling Crossfire’s forehead down to her own, careful to avoid each other’s horns, but bringing Crossfire close. Crossfire didn’t resist, just looking into Knobs eyes.

“Crossfire, none of this is your fault. It’s not your job to fix me. I don’t want my friend spending her life trying to make up for one bad thing that happened. Please?”

Crossfire at first felt like simply accepting Knobs words. It’d take a burden off of her heart and might well clear the air entirely of the heavy mood that’s settled over her. In every way Knobs was offering her a clear way out, to wash her hooves of responsibility, and begin what could be a long process of sorting her new life in Skull City out. 

But Crossfire just couldn’t do it. Even with Knobs right there, all but begging her to. So Crossfire slowly held Knobs’ hooves with her own and gently pulled them away, “I’m going to do what I got to, Knobs, but if it’ll keep you from worrying I promise I’ll stop blaming myself for what happened to you. I’ll try to anyway. I still owe you a new set of legs, and that ain’t negotiable, so I won’t be hearing any complaints about it!”

Knobs laid back, poking at her breakfast and levitating a chunk of salad to her mouth, “Mmmph, fine, but, mmmm, gonna be mad if you do something dumb and get hurt. Wow, this salad is good. Inner City ponies get the best stuff.”

Crossfire, glad for a change of subject, asked, “Surprised you folk outside the Wall don’t get any, given how much pride gangers like Bruise seem to have taken in fighting off the Protectorate to keep your farmland.”

Knobs shrugged, “Not like we don’t get any, but fresh grown veggies are expensive, like I could save up and maybe eat something this good once a month. Most our farms don’t produce what’s gone into this food; fresh lettuce, tomatoes, carrots. Bet this is all from a greenhouse inside the Inner City. Nah, the farms mostly do stunted potato and wheat strains that can handle less sunlight and radiation. Or kelp. The river and our reservoirs got pretty big algae and kelp farms. Are, uh, things different in your homeland?”

Crossfire smiled, but it was small, tempered by the memory of how she’d left her home.

“Neighlesius doesn’t farm as much as Applehyde, we’re more known for our mines, but we did have some farms. I grew up on one. An onion farm, probably our most common kind. Don’t know what it was, but the onions we grew had adapted to the Wasteland environment. Still carried radiation in them, but nowhere near bad enough that you couldn’t eat them.”

“So you earned your cutie mark on the farm then?” Knobs asked, glancing at Crossfire’s cutie mark. Crossfire frowned, knowing that Knobs had already seen her... other cutie mark. 

“Knobs,” Crossfire said in a warning tone. Knobs smiled innocently and held up her hooves.

“Hey, you can’t blame me for trying to lead you into talking about it! I’m still curious.”

“And I told you to forget about it,” Crossfire said, harder than she meant to, “These onions on my ass are the only cutie mark that matter to me. Anything else you saw might as well have been a hallucination, far as I’m concerned.”

Knob’s ears drooped a bit, “A real interesting hallucination that I’m gonna keep wondering about.”

“Well, wonder for as long as you want, just don’t ask about it,” Crossfire said, then after a hesitant second, decide that after everything that Knobs had gone through for her, she might as well give a little something to wet the other mare’s curiosity, “But I will say this much; I earned the onions, like anypony earns a cutie mark. The spell I cast doesn’t ‘cover up’ the other mark with the onions, it just lets the onions be seen, like opening a window. The other mark... I was born with that.”

Knobs blinked, “Born? Like, you came out with that blue gem thingie on your butt?”

“Yes.” 

Knobs took a second to absorb that, her muzzle scrunching up as she thought it over, eventually concluding, “But, ponies don’t get born with cutie marks.”

“Right,” said Crossfire, “Which means it isn’t a cutie mark. It’s something else entirely.”

“What is it then?”

“And that where's the Q&A stops,” said Crossfire hastily, standing back up from her sitting position and turning towards the door, “I’m off to take care of business, but once everything is settled down I’ll be back to check on you. Don’t know how long I’ll be gone. Might take most the day.”

Knobs was frowning, snout still scrunched up, “Crossfire, be careful. I know you’re gonna fight that Nightbane guy, and... you probably got other things you’re gonna do. Don’t take any crazy risks. And please, I know Bruise is still pissed at you, and she might try to hurt you. Please go easy on her if that happens. She’s my friend, just the same as you are.”

Crossfire nodded slowly, very, very glad that Knobs had, unintentionally or not, forgotten to mention anything concerning Skinner. 

“Don’t worry, Bruise and I will sort our problems like big, sensible adult mares. I won’t kill her. Can’t promise anything up until that point, but I won’t kill her. As for Nightbane and anything else... well, you’ve seen me fight. I’ll be fine.”

“Seeing you fight is why I’m worried,” said Knobs with a short laugh, and Crossfire shared in it as she turned and headed out the door.

---------

Crossfire found she was more or less free to wander on her own, once she left the underground clinic of Afterglow. She didn’t know where the doctor was, as there’d only been a few of those nurse mares hanging around when Crossfire had left, and she hadn’t felt like asking. Somehow Crossfire didn’t imagine Nightbane would be hard to find, or that he’d leave her to her own devices for very long. 

Her prediction proved true, as it was less than half an hour after wandering out onto the main floor of Gunner’s Heaven that a pony approached her. She’d moved around the pits, not taking a seat at any of the numerous tables or booths set up around the steel circular spaces where many other ponies gathered to cheer and jeer at the fights taking place inside. Looking in Crossfire noted each pit was large enough to let a dozen or so ponies fight with plenty of room to spare, each pit seemingly set up with different ‘themes’. One looked like a wide, open sand pit, like some ancient coliseum, with old stone pillars set up at random intervals, or knocked over to give the impression of old ruins. Another pit was filled with fake vegetation, like a slice of a miniaturized forest, complete with pond in the center. The third pit resembled a high-tech sports ring, strangely bright neon lighting covering blocky artificial terrain set up like some foal’s notion of a video game landscape. The final pit, appropriately enough, was fashioned to resemble the Wasteland itself, with rusted metal sheets and barbed wire strewn about broken ruined houses or the husks of auto-wagons. 

It was this final pit that Crossfire was observing, watching a trio of ponies in rugged assortment of leather and metal armor fighting for their lives against a pack of large, mutated reptilian creatures that Crossfire thought might’ve been those ‘radgators’ she’d heard about, when a pony in a clean black suit came up to her. He was a nondescript stallion, brown coat, white mane, all but blended into the foggy haze of the room. 

“Crossfire?” he asked plainly.

She looked him over, shifted so her rifle would  be easier to draw if needed, “Yes.”

He simply nodded, “Mr. Nightbane has requested you. If you’ll follow me.”

She nodded and without another word the stallion turned and led her through the crowd, towards the east end, opposite the entrance Afterglow had led them through yesterday where the railyard had been. The east wall looked to house Gunner’s Heaven’s main entrance, a wide set of glass doors that covered most the wall. Outside Crossfire could see busy, clean streets, almost like a normal city. Instead of going outside, however, the stallion took Crossfire to a bank of elevators along the wall to the left, just opposite a impressive looking set of guards wearing bulkier armor than the ones keeping an eye on things outside. 

“You guys got security issues?” Crossfire asked, “Thought this Inner City was safe.”

The stallion’s reply was in a neutral tone that sounded forced to Crossfire’s ears, “Our establishment contains creatures for use in our games that are quite dangerous. In the event of a breakout no amount of security is too little for the safety of our clientele. There are also those who might forget to act as upstanding citizens, paying the establishment its due on bets, were there not proper visible incentives to honor one’s debts.”

That was the long way of saying ‘if ponies lose a bet and try not to pay, our bigs guns can convince them otherwise’. 

The elevator went up, and Crossfire counted about four floors before it stopped. If she was remembering the size of the building about right then they were on the top floor of it. Beyond the elevator was a few clean, carpeted hallways, which Crossfire was led down, turning left, then right before coming to a door that looked like it didn’t belong in the more ‘normal’ surroundings; a solid, thick, mechanical steel door. There was a nine-key lock pad on the door, which the stallion used his hoof to quickly type in a six digit code to open the door. Beyond it was a room with one wall covered in monitors, each showing different views of Gunner’s Heaven. 

A pony was sitting in a swivel chair in front of those monitors, leaning forward, grassy eyes unblinkingly focused on the monitors as they flicked between the various screens. The pony had a pale yellow coat, and a puffy, long, well groomed mane and tail the same grass green as... her eyes? His eyes? Crossfire looked at the pony more closely, unable to quite figure out gender. She(?) had some masculine facial features, a more squarish snout normal for stallions. But Her(?) figure was smooth and rounded, quite feminine, not that Crossfire really was an expert on such things. The pony’s cutie mark was a red arrow, climbing upwards at a series of angles, like a chart. 

The pony turned as the door opened and upon seeing Crossfire and her stallion escort, the pony smiled broadly and got up from his(?) seat.

“Why hello there!” the voice was as ambiguous as the pony’s appearance, either belonging to a tomboyish mare, or a feminine stallion, “You must be Crossfire. Nightbane has talked quite a bit about you. Come here, let me have a look at you.”

The stallion that’d escorted her in remained at the door as Crossfire tentatively stepped forward, taking in the rest of the room. A short set of stairs led up to a platform where a large pair of double doors were sealed tight. Across from the door Crossfire had come in from was another identical door. Beside the wall of monitors there was a simple control station, a desk piled high with empty Sparkle-Cola bottles around a single note covered terminal, and a whiteboard where charts and graphs were written in many colors of marker, forming a disorganized mass of scribbles Crossfire couldn’t begin to decipher. 

“Where’s Nightbane?” Crossfire asked, somewhat irritated, “I just want to get this over with, okay?”

The ambiguously gendered pony kept smiling, seemingly unperturbed by Crossfire’s mood, and walked slowly around Crossfire, pausing once or twice to rub his/her(?) chin with a hoof.

“Hmmm, yes, yes, you will do nicely. Great color scheme. Tasteful manestyle, rugged but still sexy. Simple but memorable clothing choice; red always goes good with black and I don’t care how many complain that it’s cliche. Distinctive weapon; most ponies won’t recognize it as a Protectorate gun, but even when it gets known it’ll just add to your mystique! A fallen enemy soldier, forced from her homeland, fighting for mysterious reasons! The crowd will eat it up. And even minus all that, you’ve got quite the body on you. Lithe, athletic, but nopony would ever mistake you for a stallion. Our straight crowd and fillyfoolers will definitely be after pics. How do you feel about pornogra-”

Crossfire’s hoof didn’t hit the other pony, but she did stuff it into the pony’s mouth to forestall any further words as she fixed a hard glare on him/her(?) and said, “If you want to retain the same number of teeth you currently have, don’t finish that sentence. Now, where is Nightbane?”

“Right here, kid,” said Nightbane as he came in through the door opposite the one Crossfire had come through, the griffin holding up a talon, “Easy there, stand down.”

Crossfire took a second to realize Nightbane had been talking to the stallion who’d escorted her in, the pony having drawn a pistol from inside his suit and aiming it with his mouth at her when she’d touched the yellow mare/stallion(?). If the ambiguously gendered pony cared about the touch he/she didn’t show it, instead grinning brightly at Nightbane’s entrance and pulling away from Crossfire as if the threat had never happened.

“Nightbane! I love what you’ve brought me! She’ll be perfect for our late morning block! Please tell me we can keep her! The look, the attitude, we’ll have ponies watching her from here all the way to the NCR!”

“Mane, we don’t have watchers in the NCR. That ‘President’ of theirs has a stick so far up her rectum she’d never let us broadcast in her ‘nation’,” said Nightbane with a chuckle, then looked at Crossfire with an apologetic grin.

“Sorry about Mane Event here. He can rub some ponies the wrong way upon first meeting.”

Crossfire blinked, then looked at Mane Event who was smiling and wagging his tail, “So you’re a stallion?”

“Sometimes!” said Mane Event, then his smile deepened, along with his voice, “I can be whatever you want me to be. Oh, but let’s not talk about me. You’re the star of the show this morning! Nightbane here tells me you’re willing to fight him in the arena! Wonderful! So few ponies are willing to step into a fight with Nightbane. Usually I’m stuck having him fight some Wasteland creature, or some poor criminals slated for execution. Both of which, while entertaining, tend to get boring, as Nightbane always wins, and no offense Night, the crowd knows what to expect from you.”

Nightbane shrugged, grinning, “Can’t help it if I’m good at what I do.”

Mane Event nodded, “You are at that. I do hope Crossfire here is as good as you say she is. Not that I expect you to lose Night, but I’ve taken the liberty of talking this match up last night and all morning, so some of our patrons are rather eager to see just what she can do.”

“Wouldn’t expect anything less Mane, and I guarantee you this mare will put on a show. She might even beat me,” at Mane Event’s incredulous look Nightbane’s tone got serious, “Might, I said. Now, aside from our usual crowd, you made sure the ones I asked for are going to be watching.”

“Yes, yes, yes, don’t worry you’re pretty little head feathers Night,” said Mane Event, strutting over to his seat by the monitors again and plopping back into the seat, “Whiteheart will be watching for sure. Don’t know about Applegate, or Exorcist. You know how they are. One thinks she’s too good for us, the other couldn’t show emotion if you tickled her clit; assuming she had one underneath all that metal.”

“That’s fine, as long as one of them watches, and is willing to sign off on my girl here,” said Nightbane, walking up to Crossfire and giving her a quick once over look, “You ready for this?”

Crossfire gave the griffin a disgruntled stare, blowing out a hard nicker of impatience, “Can’t get this over soon enough. I’ve got a busy day ahead of me and this is just the start of it.”

“Got ammunition for that rifle of yours?” the griffin asked, rubbing the chin of his beak.

Crossfire grimaced, remembering that while she’d managed to scavenge some ammo down in that underground facility connected to the sewers, she’d blown through quite a bit of it. At her look Nightbane raised a talon and gestured with a thumb back towards the door he’d come from earlier, “Armory is right back there, I left it unlocked. Figured you’d need to stock up. Grab whatever you want. We even got a fair bit of the Sniper Shark’s special rounds.”

Crossfire’s ears twitched, and she tried not to sound too eager, but somehow figured the grin on her face was giving it away, “No joke? Where’d you pick up that kind of ammo?”

Nightbane’s feature’s darkened and his own smile was... predatory, “Souvenirs.”

That’s when Crossfire remembered this griffin had fought in the war against the Protectorate. He was, for all his casual manner, one of the S-Class Drifters that had by all the tall tales and spread rumor, been an absolute terror on the battlefield. There was no telling how many of her country folk had been killed by Nightbane, fellow Bayonet Corps members who he’d just admitted to looting their bodies to acquire his ‘souvenirs’. Crossfire’s own gaze darkened somewhat as she stepped forward.

“Generous of you to let me dig into your stock of hard won prizes. Don’t imagine any of the Sniper Shark’s specialized clips will surprise you then, you’ve probably been shot at by all of them.”

“That I have, though I got to admit the gas rounds are a bitch, and the burst shrapnel ones also a royal pain in my tailfeathers,” Nightbane said, then grinned, “Feel free to use any and all of them; it’ll make the show better. Once you’re kitted out, just come on into the arena.”

He motioned towards the big double doors and strode towards them will all the strength and confidence in his motions as someone about to do a dance they’d done a thousand times already, and knew the steps by heart. 

“I’ll be waiting.”


> Chapter 6: Crossfire and Skull City
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


Chapter 6: Crossfire and Skull City



When she trotted out the door from the armory, with a new pair of black vinyl saddlebags strapped to her that were bulging at the seams, Crossfire earned a quirked eyebrow from Mane Event. The gender ambiguous pony glanced between the two saddlebags and cleared his throat with a nervous half smile.

“What did you do, stuff the entire armory in there?” Mane Event asked.

Crossfire gave him a narrow eyed, thin lipped smile that made Mane Event shudder a bit, “Not all of it.”

“Right, right. Well, no matter to me. It’s all Nightbane’s stuff, and he let you have free run of it. So, let’s get you into makeup real quick-”

“No,” Crossfire said flatly. Mane Event’s ears sagged and he pouted his lips.

“Have it your way. I think just a touch of eyeshadow would do wonders for you, but so be it. This way then,” Mane even said while leading Crossfire to the sealed pair of double doors. Mane Event opened the doors by pressing a button, causing them to slide open smoothly and silently. Beyond them was a small space about large enough for two or three ponies to fit comfortably. At Crossfire’s look Mane Event gestured her to enter, which Crossfire did after only a second of hesitation. While the confined space looked suspicious, if Nightbane wanted her dead he’d had plenty of chances to have her killed earlier. 

Once inside the doors sealed behind her and lights came on above. Mane Events voice crackled through a pair of speakers, “We’ll be broadcasting live. Try to make a good show of things, perhaps a little mugging for the cameras if you understand the concept. Oh, and break a leg!”

Crossfire sighed, suppressing her irritation. She didn’t plan on making a show of anything. She was going to kick Nightbane’s flank if she could, and go down swinging if she couldn’t. Either way, she had other concerns beyond satisfying Nightbane’s whims. As long as he made good on his offer to make her part of the Drifter Guild that was all she wanted from him; past that the griffin could sit on a grenade for all she cared. 

There was a shift in the room and Crossfire could feel movement. At first she thought the room itself was an elevator, but seeing the floor slide down and the ceiling above her open up, she realized it was just the room’s floor that was a lift, taking her up through the ceiling. Light blared down on her from above and she squinted, shielding her eyes as she was lifted into an entirely new room; one that was so large she imagined it had to encompass the entire dimensions of one floor of Gunner’s Heaven. 

She stood at the top of a platform now, with a semi-circular set of metal steps leading down into a vast arena illuminated by ceiling covered in solid panels of magical light, making the room almost uncomfortably bright. A complex maze of ramps, steel catwalks, and criss-crossing bridges made from metal grates filled the chamber, giving it the feeling of a vertical labyrinth. Crossfire noted other details with a quick glance; ropes hanging between drops as if meant to be used to swing across or climbed to get to higher or lower levels, and numerous steel barricades and obstacles that could be used as cover but also could impede movement.

Its a damn jungle-gym in here, she thought, taking a tentative step towards the edge of her platform, levitating her rifle off her back and holding it at the ready beside her. 

“Welcome to the playground,” she heard Nightbane’s voice, speaking from across the arena and Crossfire spotted him standing on an identical platform to hers. He carried his unique weapon, the large, blocky submachine gun with the underslung knife-shaped bayonet, and had a cigar clenched in his beak. 

“So now what? There a countdown, or do we just start shooting each other?” asked Crossfire, already planning her first moves. She didn’t know what to expect from Nightbane, but knew she wanted to stay moving, and in cover. She noted a set of barriers along a catwalk to her left that was pretty close. 

“No countdown,” said Nightbane, spreading his wings, “Fight started the moment you entered the arena. Got plenty of eyes on us, so let’s have fun, shall we, and give the good folks at home something to watch!”

With that the griffin flew straight up and Crossfire broke into a gallop for the nearest ramp leading into the maze of catwalks. 

----------

Sitting in a comfortable and plush leather seat the pure white unicorn stallion leaned forward, watching the monitors in front of him with intense gold eyes. A long, well groomed off-red mane hung down his shoulders. His eyes flicked briefly to the door to the lounge when it opened, and the stallion smiled as he watched an earth pony mare enter the room.

Hers was a odd colored coat, a faded fuschia. Her mane and tail were a light, lustrous gray, like the steel of the broad blade she wore on her back. Like the stallion the mare’s cutie mark was obscured by clothing, him wearing a white form fitting suit, and her wearing a dark leather trench coat. Her blue eyes met the stallions golden ones, and the stallion saw the faint tension in the mare.

“I didn’t expect to see you here Applegate, but it’s a pleasant surprise,” the stallion said.

“I need to talk to you Whiteheart, and didn’t want to wait until you were done here,” said Applegate as she slowly walked over, canting her head to look at the monitor, where Crossfire could be seen running along between barricades on a catwalk, her rifle firing away. On a different monitor, Nightbane could be seen smoothly slipping through the air, avoiding Crossfire’s shots with expert skill in using the catwalks as cover.

“A prospective recruit,” said Whiteheart with a knowing smile, “Nightbane apparently has found himself another pet project.”

Applegate sighed, shaking her head, “You indulge him too much.”

“He makes the Guild no small amount of profit,” countered Whiteheart, leaning forward as Crossfire leaped from one catwalk in daring dive for a higher cross bridge. She snatched it with her hooves, quickly hauling herself up as Nightbane passed beneath. Nightbane’s gun fired a blazing stream of shots, silver flashes erupting from the weapon’s muzzle. Crossfire rolled aside, bullets tearing past her. She used her magic to levitate her rifle over the edge of the catwalk and fired a shot that burst into a spreading stream of shrapnel fragments. Nightbane had to dive down and under another catwalk to avoid the deadly rain of metal.

“She is skilled,” Whiteheart said. Applegate frowned, her blue eyes gazing intently at the monitor that showed Crossfire rushing for a spiraling ramp leading to an even higher catwalk. 

“That weapon,” Applegate said, “She’s a Protectorate soldier.”

“Do you know her?” asked Whiteheart. 

Applegate watched for a few seconds, not immediately answering. On the monitors Crossfire reached the top of the spiral ramp, only to find Nightbane had shot upwards to the same level a few catwalks over. His gun sent a stream of silver streaking bullets towards the black mare, who rushed along her own catwalk, barely staying ahead of the storm of bullets. She returned fire fiercely, teeth grit, eyes focused. She worked the breach of her rifle with smooth speed, and each shot was accurate, on target. Nightbane twisted and rolled in the air, each of Crossfire’s shots narrowly missing the griffin’s flesh, as if he somehow knew where each shot was going before Crossfire even pulled the trigger.

Applegate, in the meantime, kept looking at the mare on the monitor, blue eyes unblinking as she examined Crossfire. Whiteheart watched Applegate with one eye, patiently awaiting her response, while watching the match with his other golden orb.

“No,” Applegate said at least, “She seems familiar, but it’s been many years since I was in my homeland. In all likelihood she merely reminds me of somepony.”

“And who would that pony be?” asked Whiteheart, still watching the fight unfold. The monitors for a moment lost track of both combatants, but Whiteheart knew Mane Event was orchestrating things behind the scenes and in short order the cameras shifted to catch both mare and griffin. 

Whiteheart smiled, impressed with the black coated mare. She’d lured Nightbane into a small cul de sac of close arranged catwalks and ramps that blocked off much of the griffin’s room to maneuver, and she launched herself into the air to swing her large bayonet at the only place Nightbane could possibly go. The griffin, beak grinning and cigar clenched tight, used his own smaller bayonet to catch Crossfire’s blow. Crossfire, landing on a lower catwalk, turned and used her telekinesis to send her rifle into a spinning set of slashes, pressing Nightbane, taking shots at any opportunity.

With fluid ducks and turns the griffin kept himself out of harm’s way, but for a moment it almost seemed like Nightbane was on the defensive, which in Whiteheart’s experience was a rare occurrence with the griffin warrior.

“I am not confident enough to say,” Applegate said at last, as Nightbane pushed Crossfire’s rifle away far enough to dart out of the cul de sac he’d been lured into, firing away to send Crossfire into cover as he went. 

“It’s just a feeling,” Applegate concluded with a shrug, “In any case, the reason I’m here is I need to speak with you about our guests from yesterday. The pegasi.”

Whiteheart laughed, lightly, waving his hoof, “Oh, them. Do you not want to take the assignment? They did request you by name.”

“I don’t trust them,” Applegate said firmly, “This... Odessa, doesn’t seem like they have Skull City’s best interests in mind.”

Whiteheart’s laugh only grew heavier as he watched the monitors. Crossfire had switched the clip on her rifle, and was firing behind her as she ran across a long catwalk. From each shot peals of smoke filled the air, creating a thick screen behind her. Nightbane was utterly obscured by the smoke, as was a solid fourth of the arena. 

“Of course they don’t, Applegate. Remember, to them we are merely dirty, unworthy ‘landbound’. Hah, but yet they still come to us for help. Such is the strength of our Guild’s reputation,” Whiteheart said as his horn was bathed in gentle, snow colored magic which in turn wrapped around a glass of red wine sitting on a stand next to his chair. As he sipped the drink his eyes widened slightly in surprise at the scene on the monitor.

“Oh my, she’s a resourceful one, isn’t she?” he commented.

Applegate also saw what was happening on the monitors and her own surprise was quickly replaced with faint alarm, “Where did she get so many remote mines?”

“I would say that Nightbane was perhaps too forthcoming with his stock of munitions.”

Applegate glanced at the door out of the room, “Should we halt the match?”

“Oh, fear not, Nightbane built his arena with sufficiently reinforced materials to withstand significant punishment. The building will shake, but no more, through his playground may need quite a bit of reconstruction after this,” Whiteheart said with a soft laugh.

Applegate frowned, “I was more concerned with the health of the combatants. I didn’t think the point was for either of them to die here.”

“Have faith, Applegate,” Whiteheart said, no sense of concern in his tone.

On the monitors, while the smoke screen she’d created had billowed out, Crossfire had reached into her new saddlebags with her magic to withdraw small discs of what appeared to be mines, and had rapidly gone about placing half a dozen on the catwalk behind her. Once she was done she pulled out a detonator and threw herself behind a steel barricade along a catwalk that was perpendicular to the one she’d placed the mines on. Switching out the clip in her rifle, Crossfire levitated it over the top of the barricade and fired. The shots that came out were clearly not normal bullets, but instead white phosphorus rounds that burned a brilliant path through the air. Crossfire at first seemed to be firing at random, but then Whiteheart noticed she was angling her shots up into the ceiling, and as a result panels of the fluorescent lights were bursting apart, showering the area above the smoke with glass and sparks. 

“Interesting, but what is she trying to accomplish?” Whiteheart mused.

“Flushing him,” Applegate said, “If she is Neighlisus Bayonet Corps then that mare is trained to use any opportunity to disorient her enemy.”

“Ah, but Nightbane has fought these Bayonet Corps before. Nothing she can do should be a surprise to him,” commented Whiteheart as he saw Nightbane fly up through the falling glass, using his gun to ward off the worst of the glass shards from his face as he got above the smoke screen. The griffin flew with amazing speed and grace through the rain of glass, then spun in the air, dodging a rapid burst of more phosphorus rounds from Crossfire. 

Nightbane was still grinning, even as one of the phosphorus rounds caught his black coat and burned a hole through it, though it didn’t quite score his flesh, and he held his submachine gun in front of him. From a small chamber on the side of the gun Whiteheart saw a small, faint blue light glow, and the unicorn stallion smiled, shaking his head.

“He’s going to end it here.”

“There are still the mines,” Applegate pointed out.

Whiteheart continued to shake his head, leaning back in his seat and taking a long sip on his wine, “It doesn’t matter. Nightbane has finally acknowledged her as an opponent worth his fullest efforts. The battle is over.”

Applegate’s brow creased in a frown, but she didn’t argue the point. Whiteheart knew Applegate had faced Nightbane when he was serious. The unicorn chuckled to himself at the memory. That particular district of the Outskirts had needed no small amount of reconstruction after those two had finished that fight. He reclined in the soft folds of his chair, watching the monitors with a calm, critical eye. If this mare, this Crossfire, survived Nightbane being serious, if even for a few seconds, she was going to be a pony that warranted keeping a close eye on. Whiteheart made a business of finding and cultivating potential, and thus far he liked what he was seeing. 

Nightbane, with one solid flap of his wide wings, dove towards Crossfire’s position. One monitor switched its angle so that Crossfire could be seen from behind her steel barricade, her yellow eyes narrowed as she saw Nightbane diving at her, and consequently passing over the spot she’d set her mines. Crossfire smiled grimly, hitting the trigger of her detonator. 

Explosions rocked the catwalk, rending the metal and dropping half of the catwalk to the ground below. Through the smoke and shrapnel the dark, darting form of Nightbane could be seen, and it took even Applegate a moment to realize what had happened. The griffin had barrel rolled, flying beneath the catwalk just as the remote mines had detonated. He’d then completed his roll to avoid getting crushed by the falling catwalk. It had all been one, fast, smooth maneuver of the kind Applegate knew few could match, and fewer could have expected.

Crossfire had clearly been taken by surprise, the mare’s face a mask of shock as Nightbane appeared from her trap practically unharmed. To her credit she reacted fast, swinging her rifle around, but Nightbane was faster, the griffin diving right on top of the mare and tackling her off the side of the catwalk she’d taken cover on. The two spun in the air for a moment before both landed on the steel floor of the arena with a hefty smack. Both combatants rolled away from one another, Crossfire springing to her hooves despite what appeared to be a dislocated shoulder, and Nightbane just as fast, with one wing bent out of shape from the rough landing.

Both Crossfire and Nightbane brought their weapons to bear in the same instant and Whiteheart leaned forward as twin shots rang out, deafening in the arena. 

Crossfire’s bullet tore past Nightbane’s head, tearing off a few feathers and cutting a red line across his cheek. Nightbane’s burst of fire from his sub-machine gun stitched a line across Crossfire’s rifle, sending the weapon spinning away, out of the red aura of her telekinesis. 	

For a few seconds they both stood there, staring at each other, Crossfire’s face drawn tight in a deep, snarling frown, her teeth grinding. Nightbane was grinning, and kept his weapon trained squarely on her. 

Whiteheart, setting back in his seat, pressed a button on the side of the chair with a hoof, activating an internal speaker into the arena.

“Nightbane, that’s enough. She’s more than proven herself.”

The griffin laughed, and Whiteheart heard his reply over the monitor.

“Guess the show’s over then. Nice bit of fighting there, kid. Actually got my blood pumping.”

Crossfire’s only response was to snort derisively as she retrieved her weapon and said, “Just show me the damned door out. I’ve got work to do, and need to get my rifle fixed.”

“She has no idea the kind of honor she’s been given, has she?” asked Whiteheart with a shake of his head, laughing in amusement, “Her irreverence, is it a matter of arrogance or ignorance, I wonder?”

Applegate turned from the monitors, which switched to a view of some of the other matches taking place across Gunner’s Heaven, and eyed Whiteheart grimly, “The matter concerning Odessa. If it is your insistence I take the assignment, I will, but I tell you now Whiteheart we are playing with a dangerous group. Tread carefully with these dealings of yours, lest you drag down the entire Drifter’s Guild.”

“Cease worrying, before you turn yourself into an old mare before your time,” Whiteheart said, refilling his wine glass, “But I thank you for taking the job. I’d have hated to have to send anypony less suitable.”

“Like Nightbane?” Applegate asked, a hint of a smile on her otherwise stiff features. 

Whiteheart’s reply was a deep chuckle. 

Applegate took that with a small shake of her head and she turned, departing silently. Whiteheart continued to sip his wine as he examined the monitors, still eyeing the one remaining monitor that showed Nightbane’s arena, and the black unicorn mare that stomped out of the exit door that had appeared now that the match was over. 

“Welcome to the Drifter’s Guild, young mare,” Whiteheart said, raising his wine glass in toast as Crossfire left the monitor’s field of view, “I’m expecting interesting things from you.”

----------

Getting her rifle fixed was simple enough, as Gunner’s Heaven was fully equipped with all the facilities that those who’d fight in its arenas could dream of. Shops for weapons, armor, ammunition littered one wing of the building, including repair shops. Mane Event had given Crossfire a generous supply of little bronze coins, the same Gella coins she’d seen Wellspring use to bribe Skinner before. She didn’t quite know the value of the coins, but it hadn’t taken many to pay one of the repair shops to fix up the damage Nightbane had done to her rifle.

She fumed silently as she sat waiting for the unicorn armorer to finish using a complicated magical spell she didn’t begin to understand to use raw materials to rapidly fix the damage to her rifle. She wanted to deck Nightbane so badly it was like her hoof ached. It wasn’t just that he’d damaged her rifle, it was just in general principle for how cocky the bastard was. It was going to be torture having to deal with the guy on a daily basis. 

But like or not, she was Drifter’s Guild now. Nightbane had told her he’d give her the grand tour of the Guild headquarters later and help set her up with quarters. Crossfire wasn’t too keen on that, but it’d do until she could find a place of her own, and sorted things out with Knobs and Bruise. But before all that, once her rifle was fixed, she had some matters to attend to back in the Outskirts. 

Two loose ends to tie up named Skinner and Spiked Heels.

“Here you go miss!” said the overly cheerful armorer as he approached where she’d been sitting on a bench next to the open front of the shop. He had a blindingly bright pink coat and a neon blue mane, and far too much pep for a fellow who worked on weapons.

“Lovely piece of work if I do say so,” the stallion said, his eyes roving over her rifle with an appreciative whistle, “I’ve seen Protectorate weapons like it, but this one’s been made with special care.”

Crossfire fixed the stallion with a grumpy stare and took the rifle in her own magic, shouldering it, “It’s fixed?” She asked as she carefully examined her weapon with the critical eye of a parent ensuring their child is uninjured.

“Good as new,” the stallion proclaimed, “You ever need anything worked on again you just remember Polished Sheen and come on back! I’d love to keep that weapon as fine tuned as I can. I saw your match against Nightbane. Never seen anypony give that griffin so much trouble. Hey, you doing anything later tonight? I know a nice club near the west gate. I’d be happy to-”

“No,” Crossfire said simply, turning to leave. She paused only a second to say, “Thanks. Rifle is in good shape. See you later.”

She didn’t wait for a reply before marching away, winding through the crowds. She reached the main entrance to Gunner’s Heaven and hesitated a moment at the threshold. A part of her wanted to go back to Knobs, to see her friend again before she did what she felt she had to do. But Crossfire knew if she went back and talked to Knobs then Knobs might well figure out what Crossfire was planning and try to talk her out of it. And Knobs would probably succeed. Crossfire knew she wouldn’t be able to go through with this if Knobs asked her to stay.

Crossfire squared her shoulders, narrowed her eyes, and with a determined step, left Gunner’s Heaven. 

She had no fear of being caught by any of the armed guards that patrolled the streets of the Inner City. Nightbane had given her a ‘day pass’ before she’d left to get her rifle fixed. It’d keep the authorities from tossing her out the gate, and also allow her back in, as long as the magical signature on the small plastic card remained; which it would for twenty four hours. 

The streets were relatively clean and the passing ponies looked similarly clean and civilized compared to the squalor Crossfire had seen in the outskirts. There was a faint aura of fear about everypony, though, as if each passing pony, griffin, or ghoul had a sense about them of lingering danger. It reminded Crossfire of how the towns back home in the Protectorate had felt during the war, with the residents always on edge about the possibility of being invaded by Skull City’s gangs and Guild’s.

The Inner City was arranged haphazardly, one thing it shared with the Outskirts. Most the buildings were two to three story affairs of brick and concrete, with a cluster of larger towers towards the center and north, including the three largest towers whose tops were blackened, with piercing bits of steel and glass reaching upwards like shattered teeth. Crossfire looked at those towers and wondered why, if the ponies tried so hard to keep the Inner City looking normal, that those towers were left ruined, and indeed seemed to have lights built into them to maintain the visage akin to a skull.

Some kind of half-assed symbolism, Crossfire wondered?

She ignored much of what she passed, only pausing to ask for directions. Before long she noticed she had company. Crossfire sighed and turned down an alley, following the now much more dirty alleyway until she turned a corner and found a dead end. She turned and waited for her pursuer to show up, knowing the unsubtle mare wouldn’t bother trying to hide.

Bruise came around the corner a minute later, her bulky frame halting a few paces away from Crossfire. Bruise looked at Crossfire with a hard edge to her eyes, lips pressed tight. She wasn’t wearing her battle saddle, Crossfire noted, but Bruise looked no less ready for a fight.

“What? Concerned for my safety so you decided to trail me in case I got mugged?” Crossfire asked sarcastically. Bruise snorted. 

“Saw you leaving. Was waiting to see where you’d go,” Bruise said, eyeing Crossfire up and down, taking note of the saddlebags Crossfire wore, as bulging as they’d been when she’d entered the arena with Nightbane, “What are you planning?”

Crossfire tensed, “Plan? No plan. I’m making this one up as I go along... but I’m not leaving anypony out there that’s got a reason to hurt Knobs. Not Skinner, not Spiked Heels... nopony.”

“Skinner I give no shits about,” said Bruise, spitting, “But you go after Spiked Heels, you’re going to end up mowing through a lot of friends of mine before they take you down, and make no mistake they will take you down. You can’t beat the whole gang.”

“Not if I fight fair,” said Crossfire, “So what? You’re going to stop me?”

“Was thinking about it,” Brisue admitted, and the big mare for a moment looked hesitant, “Only way I can think to stop you is brawl with you here and now and hope the Enforcers drag us both away for disturbing the peace, of whatever bullshit they’ll charge us with. Even a day pass won’t keep us out of jail or getting sold to the Labor Guild if we break the Inner City’s precious fucking rules.“

Crossfire had to admit she hadn’t thought of that. She had no doubt she could take Bruise down, maybe even without killing the mare, but it’d call down the guards on them both and while she might wriggle out of trouble, it’d keep her in lockdown for awhile she imagined. Still, she’d rather take her chances with that then leave enemies out there that’d go after Knobs at some point in the future. 

“So why haven’t you jumped me yet?” she asked, “Your plan isn’t bad, even I’ll admit that.”

Bruise’s jaw tightened, “Because I want Knobs safe too. And you’re right. Spiked Heels isn’t the forgiving sort. Unless she’s taken out of the picture, Knobs will always be in danger any time she leaves the Inner City, and even then... well, Spiked has contacts this side of the Wall.”

“So...?” Crossfire prompted.

“So, here’s the deal,” Bruise said, “I got friends in the Hammer Crushers I don’t want dead, but quite frankly Spiked Heels ain’t one of them. She’s an alright boss, but ponies die everyday and I won’t cry over her corpse. I’ll help you get to her without you having to get your fool ass killed fighting the gang, and you let me take care of the rest from there.”

“And Skinner?”

Bruise spat again, as if that alone said all she wanted to on the subject.

Crossfire smiled thinly, “Then I think I might have something resembling a plan, actually...”

----------

Spiked Heels was still furious. Most of her gang knew to keep their distance from her when she was in this kind of mood. Not only had that cunt Wellspring betrayed her but she’d lost too many of the gang chasing after that Protectorate bitch and the apprentice ghoul wrangler that’d been stupid enough to try and help her. Spiked Heels had lots of ideas in her head as to just what kind of pain she was going to inflict any of them if they turned out to have survived their jaunt in the sewers! 

She had already put out a few feelers among her contacts both in the other territories of the Outskirts and in the Inner City, hoping to hear any news if those mares had surfaced somewhere. The notion that they’d died fast to some monster’s claws in the sewer and not by her own hoof dug under Spiked Heels’ skull. 

“Boss?” a gang mare, an earth pony ghoul, asked as she approached Spiked Heels, who was busy pacing the main chem lab. There was a skittish, apprehensive twitch in the ghoul ganger’s features, looking at Spked Heels with a nervous gulp. 

“What!?” Spiked growled, showing bared teeth. The ghoul drew back, grimacing, as if expecting to be struck. Spiked Heel’s realized she’d raised her hoof and spread her wings, spiked horseshoes ready to strike. The pegasus took a calming breath and folded her wings, saying again, “What?”

“Uh, boss, you’re not gonna believe this, but Bruise just showed up at the gate.”

Spiked Heels blinked, shaking her head in disbelief, “Bruise? Thought you said she got diced by some monster down below?”

The ghoul mare, one of the few survivors of the gangers who’d gone down into the sewers and been given a shot to escape by Bruise staying behind to cover them, nodded, actually smiling a rotted grin, “Yeah, but looks like she made it! She’s askin’ to see ya.”

Spiked Heels sat on her haunches, frowning, but only for a moment, “Right, send her in.”

Work in the chem lab slowed slightly at the conversation but one sharp look from Spiked Heels got her ponies back to work. The Hammer Crusher’s mostly baked a special blend of Dash and Mint-als that was called Soarin’. It was popular stuff and Spiked Heels wanted to up production to quickly make up her losses in the gang. Easy enough to get ponies addicted enough to the drug that they’d willingly work for the gang with minimal pay outside of just getting a cut of the product. Most the newer recruits were brought in like that. Spiked liked her ponies loyal, and nothing forged loyalty like addiction. Only a few of the more veteran gangers weren’t addicts, mostly because Spiked Heels hadn’t started the practice until a few years ago.

Bruise was one of those veterans, and Spiked Heels would’ve been lying if she said she wasn’t glad to hear the huge mare was alive. The question was, what of the Protectorate bitch and the other mares that’d killed her gang members?

It wasn’t long before Bruise came through the doors and Spiked Heels noted how beat up Bruise looked, covered in a number of nasty bruises more purple than her own coat and sporting more than a few bad cuts that Bruise appeared to have bandaged up herself. 

“Still alive. Fuck, I knew you were hard to kill Bruise, but even I’d given you up for dead,” said Spiked Heels as Bruise trotted up.

“Yeah, well, was a close thing,” said Bruise, voice quiet and gruff.

“Shit, you look like you need a drink,” Spiked Heels gestured towards one of the many bottles of alcohol that littered the tables of the chem lab, most the workers liking to indulge a bit as they worked their long hours. Spiked Heels didn’t care, long as the work got done.

Bruise shook her head, “Not really in the mood boss. Been a hell of a bad day.”

“I’ll bet. So, what happened? How’d you get out? Last I heard you were about to go hoof to claw with some nasty-ass sewer critter that’d taken out a lot of our gang.”

“No joke, that thing was a bitch to fight. Spent most my time just dodging it,” said Bruise, “Had to run out a side tunnel, following them ponies that you sent us after.”

“They dead?” asked Spiked Heels, leaning forward eagerly, licking her lips. 

“No,” said Bruise, and at Spiked Heel’s twisting visage of ire she quickly added, “Least not Knobs. I followed them to a tunnel that led back up to the surface where that Wellspring mare took the Protectorate pony off towards the Inner City. Knobs, near as I could tell, went back to Skinner’s shack.”

“Skinner? The hell she’d go back to him for?” Spiked Heels asked. She wasn’t surprised Wellspring ran back into the Inner City with her tail tucked beneath her cunt. Wellspring was alright in bed but the mare was a coward and had no stomach for the nastier side of life. Why Wellspring wanted the Protectorate bitch Spiked Heels couldn’t guess, but it didn’t matter. She’d keep her lines out with her contacts and wait until Wellspring showed her face again outside the Wall... then, well, then she and Spiked Heels would have a talk. With sharp objects. 

As for Knobs...

“I think Knobs doesn’t know Skinner sold her out,” said Bruise with a shrug, “She’s always been the nice one to not think bad of anypony. Skinner’s her boss, so of course she’d go check in with him.”

“Knowing we’re after her ass?” Spiked Heels asked, scoffing.

“She probably figures we’ll just let it slide, since we were mostly after Wellspring and Crossfire. They’re the one’s that actually killed our ponies. Knobs was just kind of dragged along.”

“The fuck she was,” Spiked Heels hissed, “Bitch is just as guilty as the other two! Don’t matter if she pulled a trigger or not, she was there, helping those bitches! She’s a complete moron if she thinks I’m letting her get away with screwing with my gang. Her hide is mine! You say she went to Skinner’s?”

“Yeah...” Bruise trailed off, then looked Spiked Heels square in the eyes, “Look boss, I’ve done good work for you, right?”

“Sure you have. Picked you up as a freakin’ kid and you done good since,” Spiked Heels said, giving Bruise a solid pat on the chest, “Biggest bitch in the Hammer Crushers, near on eight years now.”

“So can I ask a favor? Can we leave Knobs outta this, just this one time? She ain’t a threat or nothing. She’s harmless.”

“The fuck you care?” Spiked Heels asked, lips pulled back in a sneer, “She ain’t part of the gang.”

“No, but we go back, me and Knobs. If it don’t need to happen then I don’t want her being hurt,” Bruise said with a look on her face Spiked Heels couldn’t remember ever seeing on the huge hulk of a mare. In most the years she’d been running with the Hammer Crushers Bruise had been as hard a mare as Spiked Heels could want on her crew. Brutal, strong, loyal, about everything Spiked Heels asked for out of the Hammer Crushers. It was strange seeing the mare looking soft, especially about some Guild hoof-licker trying to worm her way into the Skull Guild. 

Spiked Heels feature scrunched in a tight frown. She was tempted to just let Bruise have her way and call it good... but no, she ran her gang loose as it was and she had one ironclad rule she never broke; somepony fucks with her gang, they die. Long as ponies played it cool with her and didn’t cause trouble Spiked Heels considered herself a reasonable pony. The second blood got involved through, there was no stopping until any and all who wronged her and her gang were in the dirt.

“Bruise,” Spiked Heels approached the mare, and despite how much bigger Bruise was Spiked Heels managed to put all the menace in her gait needed to get her point across as she stood on her hind legs, put her hooves around Bruise’s head, and went snout to snout with her, “Listen, and listen close. Your friend fucked with the gang. You know what that means. You know what I do to anypony who fucks with the Hammer Crushers. We get soft? We get weak? We make exceptions? We. Fucking. Die. We got gangs biting and nipping at our territory, hearing we lost a bunch of ponies. They hear we’re going soft on top of that, they’ll eat us alive. That’s not happening. Not long as I’m in charge. Today, right now, we’re going to pick up this Knobs mare, and we’re taking care of her. You don’t got to be a part of it, I won’t do that to you, but its happening. So take the day off, go get some sleep, drink yourself unconscious if you got to... but this Knobs mare is dead by nightfall. Period.”

Spiked Heels let go of Bruise and took a step back, and in her stance, the tense lift of her wings, and the hard question on her face it was clear she was asking if Bruise was planning on making an issue of this, and if she was it was going to get violent right then and there. Bruise looked Spiked Heels in the eyes, and let out a long sigh as she glanced away.

“Had to ask. And if it’s all the same to you boss, I’ll do it myself. I owe it to Knobs to do this myself. Can I at least make it quick? She’s a kind mare, never meant any harm to anypony. Least I can do is snap her neck fast and leave it done. Can you give me that much?”

Spiked Heels narrowed her eyes slightly, “You can do it your way, but I’ll be coming to see it done proper. Me and a few of the gang. Not a problem, right?”

Bruise’s eyes flickered with a tension Spiked Heels saw clearly, through it was there for only a moment as Bruise said, “No, boss.”

“Good. I’ll go get a crew together and we’ll be moving in five minutes.”

----------

Bruise knew she was failing to hide how on edge she was. Again and again she questioned why she was doing this. Why was she leading the boss of her gang and three others that Spiked Heels had hoof picked to come along into a trap that would mean either their deaths or hers? Why was she about to betray eight years of loyalty to the Hammer Crushers?

She thought of what had happened down in the sewers, of how Knobs hadn’t hesitated to stand beside Bruise to face that terrible monster. Bruise’s mind went further back, ran through her memories of Knobs from their younger days as foals, barely surviving on the streets. Always was Knobs smiling in those memories, an impossible ray of sunshine in a world of mud, blood, and unending struggle to just stay alive.

I’m doing this to keep that crazy mare alive. I’m not turning on my gang, I’m just... taking care of the one pony I know won’t ever stop until Knobs is dead.

Bruise didn’t hate Spiked Heels. Most the time Spiked Heels was a hard but fair boss. Bruise wasn’t fond of the way the pegasus used that Soarin’ drug on newer recruits, but that was part of why the gang was as large as it was and could keep a firm control on its territory. But fact was Spiked Heels had a vindictive streak more vicious than a hungry pack of feral ghouls. As long as Spiked Heels was alive she’d seek to kill Knobs, one way or another. 

It had to be this way. Bruise was just pissed she hadn’t been good enough a liar to keep Spiked Heels at ease. There was no doubt in Bruise’s mind that Spiked Heels had brought along the four other gangers in their little procession because she wanted insurance against Bruise pulling anything. Bruise knew all the other gangers in the group well, though to call them ‘friends’ would’ve been a stretch. Spiked Heels had picked ponies who wouldn’t have any reason to hesitate to kill Bruise, and they were all well armed. Hammers, big sledgehammers or smaller carpenters versions were present, but the gangers carried an assortment of shotguns and rifles, including one particularly nasty looking drum fed weapon that was built to shoot railroad spikes. That one was carried by Spiked Heels herself, her personal weapon. Anguish, she named it. Bruise didn’t get why one would bother naming a weapon, but she’d seen the gang boss using the spike thrower... and at least the name fit. It didn’t kill ponies so much as put them in indescribable amounts of pain; Spiked Heels’ favorite kind. 

Crossfire, you’d better know what you’re doing, Bruise thought bitterly as the procession reached the edge of the Outskirts where Skinner’s home was. 

Before Bruise crossed the dirty street towards the old convenience store Spiked Heels raised a hoof to hold her back. Spiked Heels gave Bruise a steely look, then turned to the other gangers.

“Cracked Smile, Liquorice, find spots to snipe from and cover us, in case there’s any surprises waiting.”

Two of the gangers, both armed with rifles, nodded and trotted off towards nearby ruined buildings to climb up to find good vantage points. Spiked Heels looked back at Bruise, “After you.”

Bruise grimaced and walked on. Spiked Heels, she noted, brought up the rear of the group, the remaining gangers between her and Bruise. Her steps seemed to echo hollow on the asphalt covered in cracks and dirt, too loud to her own ears. A dry, hot wind swept across the street, billowing dancing dust devils in the parking lot in front of the convenience store. 

At the door Bruise raised a hoof to push it open. As she did so she heard the clicking of the ganger’s behind her unslinging their weapons, racking shells. Bruise paused for just a moment. She couldn’t help it. This part of the plan required she trust Crossfire, and that was something she had in very short supply towards the Protectorate mare. It was far too late to back out, however. For Knobs she had to see this through. 

The door opened and Bruise went inside. She moved through the living room, which was empty, and got about halfway before the ponies behind her noticed how empty the place looked as well.

“Well, where they at, Bruise?” asked one of the gangers, a black unicorn mare with a neon green mane levitating around her shotgun with suspicious eyes. 

Bruise had moved so that she was beside one of the ragged, patchwork couches, not far from a side door leading further into the building. The gangers, Spiked Heels included, turned their weapons towards Bruise. But before any of them could speak Bruise burst into movement, bucking the couch with all of her not inconsiderable strength. Shotguns roared and blasted parts of the couch to pieces as Bruise broke into a gallop for the side door. There was an airy buzz of noise, like the sound of a large fly, and Bruise grunted in pain as agony exploded in her left hind leg. Still she ran on, only glancing back once to see the gangers getting around the couch, and Spiked Heels still aiming her spike thrower at Bruise. Three spikes were protruding from Bruise’s leg, the rusted, barbed metal digging into Bruise’s flesh and making each stride of her galop feel like lances of fire were ripping through her.

Still she ran, going through the door without bothering to pause and open it. Beyond was a small kitchen that Bruise rushed through towards yet another door that she smashed through. This door led to the back parking lot of the convenience store turned home, and she heard the sound of pounding hooves as her now former gang gave chase... only by now they might have seen what Bruise had ignored as she ran through the kitchen; all the bushels of tied up grenades that had been set up around the kitchen, whose pins had been tied to trip wires that Bruise had consequently triggered as she ran through.

As Bruise threw herself outside, she heard the gasp of fear from the gangers behind her just a second before the back half of Skinner’s home erupted in a fast cacophony of explosions. Bruise tucked her shoulder and rolled, biting back a scream of pain from her leg. As she hobbled to her hooves she looked at the convenience store. The back half where the kitchen's’ back door used to be was now a smoking, burning ruin, half the wall collapsed. There was a torn, bloody piece of meat that might’ve been a hoof laying on the concrete nearby. Bruise felt a small stab of guilt, but knew it was her or them now. Them or Knobs. To Bruise’s continued surprise, that thought alone was enough to get her moving. She couldn't’ assume she got more than one or two of them with that, and hopefully Crossfire was doing her thing by now...

… Bruise only got a few paces before a burst of railroad spikes flew out of the gloom and smoke of the ruined convenience store and stabbed into her chest, staggering the giant purple mare with new agony.

Spiked Heels walked out of the ruin of the store, face a snarling visage of rage, eyes glittering with the promise of a slow, painful death as she leveled Anguish’s rusted, wide barrel at Bruise.

“Bruise... consider yourself officially out of the gang.”

Bruise, having a hard time breathing past the pain of the spikes that’d stabbed into her chest, just growled angrily, and charged.

----------

Pressed up tightly against the cold concrete of a fallen wall, her form partially concealed by a rotted out, old crate, Crossfire had watched carefully to mark where the gangers with rifles had taken up sniping positions while Bruise had led the others into Skinner’s home. The old ghoul was currently tucked away in a rusted barrel down the street, after Crossfire and Bruise had paid the ghoul wrangler a surprise visit and a heart to heart talk concerning the importance of valuing one’s apprentice; especially if said apprentice happened to be Knobs. Most of the actual talking had been done by Skinner in the form of cursing and screaming, whereas Crossfire and Bruise were both mares who communicated better with punches. 

With Skinner out of the way it’d been easy enough to rig his home to be a trap and work out a simple enough plan to lure Spiked Heels there. As Bruise had warned Crossfire the gang boss had brought some of her gang along. When Bruise led three of the gang, including Spiked Heels, inside Skinner’s home Crossfire slowly levitated her rifle up, trying to pick out one of the other gangers who’d taken cover in the buildings across the street. 

When she heard gunfire inside the convenience store, soon followed by the explosion of frag grenades she’d rigged in the kitchen, Crossfire looked for a target of her own. She wanted the snipers dealt with fast, because if any of the gangers inside Skinner’s place survived she didn’t want to get caught between them and the snipers.

“Shit,” Crossfire swore quietly, seeing that the gangers weren’t stupid and had actually found good positions among the half destroyed buildings. She didn’t have a clear shot at either sniper. But that was what the Sniper Shark XR’s alternate rounds were for, and thanks to Nightbane she had plenty of those to work with. Taking out her clip of normal rounds she slipped out a few rounds from the clip and then loaded three special rounds; two explosive, one smoke. 

Snapping the clip back in Crossfire rose and fired in the same motion, three quick shots. The two explosive rounds detonated near where she knew the snipers had taken cover. It wouldn’t likely do more than spray concrete chips on them, but it’d startle them and get their attention. The third round Crossfire arced up over the street, releasing a cloud of smoke between her and the snipers. That done she bolted from cover and galloped for the buildings as the cloak of white smoke descended over her to conceal her location. Gunfire rang out anyway, bullets buzzing through the smoke, most of them not even coming close.

Crossfire heard the sounds of a struggle from the other side of the convenience store, two marks roaring and yelling at each other. Bruise was alive, and apparently so was at least one other ganger. Probably Spiked Heels. Crossfire grit her teeth. She needed to finish the snipers fast and get over there. She’d hoped Spiked Heels at least would’ve been taken out by the grenades! She just hoped Bruise could hold her own for a minute or two. 

Through the smoke she reached the bottom of the buildings the snipers were hiding in, the bottom floor no more than a bare, debris strewn mess. She rushed through, heading for partially destroyed stairs she had to vault to get up. There was no time to be silent about this. She ducked low, instinctively, and that saved her head from being popped like a messy red zit as one of the snipers, hearing her rushing the stairs, turned and fired rapidly with an automatic rifle. 

Bullets destroyed plaster and stone above Crossfire’s ducking head and she turned the corner sharply to face the sniper, a brown unicorn mare with a stringy pink mane. The mare’s rifle was held in a tight yellow aura and her rapid shots had forced the barrel to climb upwards. As she saw Crossfire had avoided her burst, the mare’s eyes widened and she backed up a step, lowering the rifle to get a better shot but she needed a second to adjust for the recoil.

Crossfire didn’t give the ganger mare that second.

Putting her mind into that cold, practical place her military training had given her, Crossfire breathed calmly as she aimed and fired. Her bullet tore a bloody hole into the brown mare’s chest and the ganger let out a ragged scream as she was forced back against the wall, falling to the ground. Though the pony was down Crossfire aimed and put two more rounds into the fallen mare’s chest to make sure she stayed down. 

Any guilt Crossfire might have felt she buried deep under the knowledge these ponies wouldn’t have done any different to her, or Knobs if they could get their hooves on her. 

The floor of this second story was partially missing, but there was a narrow band of it still intact that led to an open doorway to where Crossfire knew the second sniper was. Looking that way she caught sight of something being tossed through, a familiar apple-shaped grenade. Crossfire threw herself over the rail of the stairs, landing hard on the wood steps and sliding down to the open gap as the grenade went off. Her body was hit with a few chips of debris, but she avoided getting anything worse than a few splinters and light cuts. 

“Yeah, you like that, bitch!?” shouted a male voice from above, and Crossfire saw another object bouncing around the stairs, “Here’s another!”

Crossfire spat dust out of her mouth as she scrambled to her hooves, jumping the gap in the stairs and throwing herself through an opening that at one time might’ve housed a window. Another explosion followed, a piece of shrapnel cutting her flank as she rolled away from the building. As she came to her hooves she quickly switched her clip for one loaded with armor piercing rounds. She heard the ganger still shouting obscenities at her and suggested various things he intended to do to her corpse that Crossfire suspected wouldn’t be sanitary. Vivid imagery through; the guy had a talent for colorful language.

Too bad he didn’t realize his shouting was marking his position behind the concrete wall on the second floor.

Crossfire fired off four or five shots in quick succession, the armor piercing round tearing through the wall with minimal effort and tearing through the ganger with equal ease if the sudden scream and gurgle Crossfire heard was any indication. Crossfire wanted to go double check to make sure he was dead, but a coughing from behind her made Crossfire spin around.

A ganger pony, another mare, this one a black unicorn with a green mane, was stumbling from Skinner’s front door. Crossfire raised her rifle to fire, but right as she pulled the trigger the ganger mare stumbled, causing Crossfire’s round to zip above her target’s head. The mare, feeling the bullet pass by, quickly reoriented herself, blinking at Crossfire and creating with the immediate, honed combat instincts of a pony who’d grown up in the violence of the Outskirts. Crossfire had to go galloping for cover as the ganger fired her shotgun over and over again, while also rushing for cover. 

Feeling buckshot tug at the air around her, pellets painfully striking her jacket from near misses, Crossfire dove behind the brown metal hulk of an old autowagon, while the ganger mare rolled behind a thick metal post that might have once been a street lamp. 

For a few moments the two mares exchanged gunfire while trying to keep themselves behind their respective cover, but soon enough Crossfire got an idea and turned around, facing the autowagon. She concentrated with her horn, red light engulfing it, then gaining an intense overlay as she wrapped the ruined autowagon with her magic. It was too heavy for her to lift, but she found she could push it. Grinning, Crossfire pushed the autowagon forward towards the ganger mare’s street lamp, poking her rifle through the ruined windows of the cabin. The ganger mare let out an emphatic curse of “Fuck!” as she saw the autowagon drawing closer and kept blasting away in a vain attempt to get through somewhere and hit Crossfire, but buckshot didn’t do so well against metal, even old, rusted metal. 

Soon enough Crossfire was close to the ganger’s cover, and the gang pony got desperate. Roaring in equal parts rage and fear the ganger rushed the autowagon, leaping atop the hood before Crossfire could draw a proper bead on her. Crossfire had to dive at the mare, inside the ganger’s arc of fire, to avoid the next shotgun blast. Crossfire and the other black unicorn tumbled off the autowagon in a tangle of thrashing hooves.

The gang mare viciously bit into Crossfire’s collarbone, and savagely beat at her head with a leather clad hoof. Crossfire pushed past the pain and focused, wrapping her own hooves around the flailing ganger mare, rolling so Crossfire had her below her on the ground. Seeing the other unicorn levitating her shotgun towards Crossfire’s face she quickly slashed with her rifle to knock the shotgun away, then swung the rifle around, bayonet aimed downward.

The gang mare saw the bayonet and in terrified desperation thrashed and punched, trying to dislodge Crossfire, or hit Crossfire’s horn. Crossfire took the hits with grit teeth, and plunged her rifle’s bayonet straight down into the gang mare’s throat. The blade went straight through and crunched past the ganger’s neckbone. The ganger spasmed, and blood splashed across Crossfire’s face, but in a few seconds the gang mare lay still, eyes turning glassy in death.

Breathing hard, and shaking terribly, Crossfire rolled off the body and took a second to pull her rifle free. Adrenaline was still surging through her, and she had no time to catch her breath as from around the corner of Skinner’s home she saw two ponies rolling, locked in a fight just as desperate and fierce as the one she’d just finished. 

Bruise and Spiked Heels exchanged blows with such a fury and speed it was hard to tell where one mare began and the other ended. Bruise had every advantage of size, strength, and reach, but Spiked Heels was more experienced and twice as viscous. Spiked Heels carried a weapon that to Crossfire looked like somepony had taken parts of a combat shotgun, welded on a wider barrel and huge ammo drum, and then covered it in reinforced metal backing and spikes. She cracked Bruise across the face with that gun, forcing the big mare to stumble back, and then Crossfire saw just how badly wounded Bruise was.

Bruise was sporting almost a score of dark, rusty spikes buried into her at various spots along her sides, chest, and legs. Even as Crossfire started to take aim with her rifle she saw Spiked Heel’s fire another spike from her strange weapon into Bruise’s right foreleg, causing her to cry out in pain and that leg to crumple under her. Before Spiked Heels could put another such spike into Bruise’s head Crossfire opened fire. 

Whether it was some kind of highly honed combat intuition or pure luck Crossfire didn’t know, but Spiked Heels seemed to know the attack was coming and spread her wings, shooting up into the air to avoid the shots. 

Wheeling about in the air, Spiked Heels saw Crossfire, and laughed with raw maliciousness.

“There you are! Was just about getting tired of fucking up Bruise!”

Crossfire fired again, working the bolt on her rifle as fast as she could to try and knock the pegasus out of the sky, but Spiked Heels went into a series of evasive spins that made it hard to track her, laughing all the while.

“I’m mounting both your heads at my front gate so ponies know for a long time not to fuck with me and mine!”

Crossfire had been shuffling back towards the autowagon for some cover, but was too slow. Spiked Heels fired, even while evading in mid-air, and Crossfire gasped as a railroad spike blasted into her right hindleg. The barbed spike drove a hellish wash of agony through Crossfire, knocking her over. She forced herself to keep moving, hobbling into cover, but the pain was pure fire with every movement. Seeing Bruise still getting to her hooves, despite having so many of those spiked in her, Crossfire was amazed at Bruise’s determination and endurance. But fear also gripped Crossfire, seeing Bruise. The mare was covered in blood, breathing in huge, heaving gasps, with bubbling red foam at her lips and nose.

Bruise was a mare at death’s gate. Adrenaline and willpower alone was keeping her going.

“Spiiiiiiiiked!” Bruise roared, and ignoring her wounds, galloped over to the dead ganger that Crossfire had just killed moments before. At first Crossfire thought the mare was going for the ganger’s shotgun, but to Crossfire’s shock Bruise reached over, picked up the body, and in the same motion turned and hurled the body into the air.

While Crossfire had been having trouble tagging Spiked Heels, Bruise either lucked out or had some kind of fury born accuracy working for her, as the body sailed through the air like a macabre missile and clipped one of Spiked Heels’ wings. With an enraged cry Spiked Heels was sent tumbling downward, hitting the street hard. She rolled to her hooves, both wings badly bent from the fall, but she still had her rail spike thrower clenched in her mouth. 

Bruise, having apparently expended the last vestiges of her strength in throwing the body, teetered on her hooves, eyes blinking and losing focus.

“Bruise!” Crossfire shouted, seeing that Bruise was out in the open. 

Spiked Heels snarled and aimed at Bruise. Crossfire’s horn blazed red just as the gang boss fired, and she grabbed the railspike thrower with her magic, yanking it with a quick telekinetic pull. The spikes went wide, though Spiked Heels kept a tight grip on her weapon, preventing Crossfire from disarming the pegasus. Even though the shots missed, Bruise collapsed from the wounds she’d already sustained as Crossfire focused her attention on Spiked Heels. There was no time to get into cover herself, not without leaving Bruise out to be finished off. This had to end now!

Eyes narrowing, scuffing the ground with her hoof, Crossfire turned all her attention to Spiked Heels, who in turn met Crossfire’s eyes with a hate filled glare. For a second the two mare’s stared at each other, as if by look alone they could kill one another. Then at the same time both Crossfire and Spiked Heels galloped towards each other. Railway spikes flew from Spiked Heels’ weapon. Armor piercing rounds fired away from Crossfire’s rifle. The spikes tore at Crossfire’s hide, one burying itself in her shoulder, another in her flank. Her bullets ripped through one of Spiked Heels’ legs, another took off an ear. Both mares kept charging one another, ignoring injury and pain.

The last few paces the two blood covered mares threw themselves at each other, Spiked Heels raising her forehooves with their spiked horseshoes to try and crunch Crossfire’s skull while Crossfire stabbed with her bayonet towards the gang boss’ chest. Both slammed into one another at odd angles as they tried to avoid the other’s blow. Crossfire took a spiked horseshow across the jaw, tearing her lip. Spiked Heels was gashed deeply across the chest, but the blade skipped off a rib and didn’t go fatally deep. 

Crashing into each other both mares rolled on the ground. Spiked Heels drove a horseshoe into Crossfire’s gut, blasting the air from Crossfire’s lungs. Crossfire punched Spiked Heels hard across the face, sending the railspike gun flying away. With a backhoof swing Spiked Heels drove an elbow into Crossfire’s chest, stealing even more breath as Crossfire started to black out. Shaking off the feeling Crossfire rammed her forehead into Spiked Heels’ chest, her horn piercing leather armor and causing blood to run down her brow.

Even impaled by a horn Spiked Heels kept fighting, rolling Crossfire onto her back and pulling the horn free, raising herself up and raining blow after blow down on Crossfire, shouting all the while.

“Stupid Protectorate bitch! Killing all my little ponies! Fucking with my life! What the fuck gave any of you Protectorate bitches the right to fuck with us!? Ain’t selling you to the Labor Guild no more, gonna keep you myself. Let any bastard with a sick bent and caps to throw me have a go at you until there’s nothing left of you but a mewling bitch begging to die!”

Crossfire was rocked left and right by the unrelenting blows, despite trying to keep her forehooves up to block. Her head swam with pain and fuzziness, and she was close to passing out entirely. But Spiked Heels said something else, something that wiped away the pain and brought everything back to sharp focus.

“And that little cunt Knobs, when I find her, is going to join you as a screaming fuck toy.”

Boiling anger pushed Crossfire away from the edge of unconsciousness and a surge of magic poured into her horn. She’d dropped her rifle moments earlier, but she saw it now, clearly, and despite Spiked Heels smashing her hooves onto Crossfire’s horn as to try and stop the magic Crossfire levitated the rifle up and like a spear the rifle flew, bayonet first, straight into Spiked Heels’ back. The thick blade burst through Spiked Heels chest, drenching Crossfire in blood as the gang boss blinked stupidly down at Crossfire.

“Nopony is ever going to hurt Knobs,” Crossfire growled, “Not while I’m alive.”

With a hard yank of her magic she twisted the blade, then ripped the bayonet out of Spiked Heels chest sideways, tearing open the pegasus’ chest in a shower of gore. Spiked Heels let out one last, whimpering gurgle, one hoof pawing at the gaping wound, disbelief on her face, before she went limp. Crossfire shoved the corpse off of her before standing, breathing heavily.

Pain now impossible to ignore, Crossfire could only barely stand, gritting her teeth and closing her eyes to try and bear the hot, searing anguish wracking her body. But she couldn’t stop moving. She had to get to Bruise. With pained steps making every meter walked a trial Crossfire went over to where Bruise had fallen.

Her chest rising and falling in large but slow breaths, Bruise looked ten times worse than Crossfire felt. The spikes from Spiked Heels weapon were like a small forest sprouting from Bruise’s hide, and the dirt strewn street beneath her was marred by a pool of blood. Bruise, eyes barely focused, turned towards Crossfire.

“Got her...?” Bruse asked, voice weak, ragged, and barely above a whisper.

Crossfire, seeing the stark, painful truth in front of her as she looked Bruise over, hung her head and nodded, unable to do more than say, “Yeah, I got her...”

Bruise laughed, or tried to. It came out more as a small rasp. 

“Good,” Bruise said, “That’s good.”

Crossfire, not knowing what else to do, sat down next to Bruise, “I...” Crossfire tried to think. It was hard to get clear thoughts, the pain demanding so much attention, “I think I could find some healing potions in Skinner’s place.”

“Not enough for... for how fucked up I am. Better for yourself. Get back to Knobs alive, before rest of the gang figures out what happened.”

Bruise forced a hoof up and wrapped it around Crossfire’s, Bruise’s eyes gaining just a brief luster of focus, “Knobs! Take care of...”

Her strength fled before she could finish, but Crossfire gripped the other mare’s hoof tightly, saying "I will! I’ll take care of her. I swear it. No matter what. Always.”

She didn’t know if Bruise heard her or not. Crossfire wanted to believe so, but she’d never know for sure, because it was at that moment that Bruise died, her entire body going still after a final, labored breath.

----------

Skinner had heard the gunfire and explosions from his cramped, uncomfortable position tucked inside a barrel, his forelegs still tightly bound with rope and his mouth gagged. He’d run through a few ideas on using his magic to escape, but aside from the spells related to his work with feral ghouls he had nothing to actually get him out of a barrel. He could turn it over, but all that’d do was shaking him around a bit, not free him of his bindings.

So the ghoul could only stew over his situation, trying to ignore the painful bruises all over his body from the beating those two mares had given him. After a time the gunfire stopped and he could only pray Crossfire and that other, huge gang mare, had gotten killed. He had a sinking feeling that wasn’t the case. 

His suspicion was at least partially confirmed when he heard hooves outside the barrel, and he was subsequently dumped over and yanked out. He saw the black unicorn standing over him, her face a terrifying visage of anger that promised painful death if he did anything she didn’t like. She was clearly wounded, bandaged up all over with what he suspected was magical healing bandages from his own supply. Nearby was the other mare, the big purple ganger, but one look told Skinner she was dead as a plank of wood. Too bad, Skinner kind of liked the big ones. Crossfire frowned, smacking Skinner across the face to get his attention back on her.

“Listening?” she asked, and Skinner nodded, once.

“Good. Here’s the situation. The Hammer Crusher’s boss is dead, and her body is right outside your doorstep. Now I don’t know much about gang politics, but I get the impression they won’t really care to hear your side of the story as to why she’s dead in your front lawn. Even if you could tell them it was me that killed her, they’d probably string you up anyway. Now, I’m not horribly inclined to do anything more with you than cut your legs off, the same ones Knobs lost because of your betrayal, and leave you to the Hammer Crusher’s good graces... but...”

She leaned over him, yellow gold eyes glittering like the wrathful sun, “Knobs is fond of you, and she probably wouldn’t want you to die a horrible, painful death like you deserve. So here’s the deal. I’m taking you back to the Inner City, on the condition that you take Knobs back as an apprentice, and make sure she makes it into the Skull Guild. If you try to betray us again, if you so much as think of trying any shit to go against me, or hurt her... they’ll be finding pieces of your body for years to come.”

She removed his gag and looked at him expectantly. Skinner licked his dry lips, glaring up at the mare, but he didn’t spit out any threats or curses. She could just as easily decide to kill him, and Skinner knew it. And with Spiked Heels dead the Hammer Crushers might rage briefly, but more importantly they’d be so disorganized that the other gangs would move in on their territory fast. It’d be a bloody gang war in this side of the Outskirts. He didn’t think Crossfire really understood what she’d unleashed, causing a power vacuum in the gangs, but he had no trouble getting his own hide out of the area for awhile, and if the price of continuing to live was taking his apprentice back on and smoothing out her initiation to the Skull Guld, Skinner could accept that.

“Sounds like a deal to me,” he said, coughing, “After this, we’re square?”

“Almost...” Crossfire said, and with a flicker of magic her rifle swung around, the butt of it cracking between Skinner’s hind legs, causing the ghoul to howl.

“Now we’re square.”

----------

A lead like weight pulled at her heart as Crossfire stood outside the door to the room Knobs was in. She could hear Knobs talking with another pony, Wellspring from the sound of it, though the door muffled the words into indistinct murmurs. Crossfire had managed to maintain a focused composure up until reaching this point. The pain still fresh in her recently bandaged wounds was nothing compared to the growing chasm of fear inside her.

She had to tell Knobs what had happened, but Crossfire wanted to be anywhere other than in that position at that moment. A part of her wanted to angrily blame Bruise for getting killed, but she knew ultimately the fault lay at her own hooves. Going after Skinner and Spiked Heels had been Crossfire’s plan, and she’d involved Bruise. Now Bruise was dead and she had to tell Knobs.

“Its not going to get easier the longer you wait,” Afterglow said, the doctor looking at Crossfire from down the hall. Afterglow and some of her employees had taken care of Bruise’s body for the time being, putting it in a morgue until they were ready to bury her. Afterglow’s eyes stared at Crossfire, not harsh, nor particularly sympathetic. Just truthful. Crossfire took a deep breath, hating every second of this, and hating that Afterglow was right. This wasn’t going to be made easier just by putting it off.

Closing her eyes, trying to calm her racing heart, Crossfire opened the door and stepped in.

“Crossfire!” Knobs cried out almost immediately upon seeing her, Knobs face turning quickly concerned, “You’re injured again!? What happened? Are you alright?”

Wellspring, standing by Knobs’ bed, gave Crossfire a curious look, her eyes glancing over the bandaged wounds on Crossfire’s body. Wellspring’s expression turned to a schooled neutrality as she said, “I saw your fight with Nightbane. You were not badly injured in that fight.”

Crossfire walked over to the front of the bed, not able to quite meet Knbos’ worried eyes as she said, “No, I wasn’t hurt bad in that scuffle. Part of the Drifter’s Guild now, I guess. Still need to settle the details on that. But... uh... there was something else I needed to do and...”

The words just got snarled up in her head as she tried to figure out what to say. Everything she thought off just went fuzzy and tangled, unable to get past her lips, and she couldn’t look at either Knobs or Wellspring. The silence didn’t last long as Knobs asked the question that made Crossfire’s heart constrict with ice.

“Crossfire... where’s Bruise? I saw her this morning and she said she was going to go talk with you.”

She felt paralyzed. It was suddenly rather hard to breathe, but she forced herself to. Crossfire, with painful slowness, forced herself to look up at Knobs, meeting the other mare’s green-eyed gaze. There must have been a world of truth splayed across Crossfire’s face, because the moment she met Knobs’ eyes Knobs’ mouth opened slowly, the blood draining from her face.

“No...” Knobs whispered, shaking her head, “No, no, no, what happened? Crossfire? What happened!?”

Knobs hooves were reached forward, trying to touch Crossfire’s shoulder, but Wellspring put her own hoof up and held Knobs. Wellspring said nothing, but her own look was questioning, and filled with reserved worry. Crossfire backed up a step at the pain swimming into Knobs’ eyes, Knobs clearly already knowing what was coming.

“I... I’m...” Crossfire was shaking her head, “I’m sorry. She... I... we both wanted to make sure you’d be safe!”

“Safe? Safe how?” Wellspring asked, still holding Knobs as Knobs started to breath faster, as if starting to panic.

“Where’s Bruise!? This is just a joke, right? She’s getting me back for pranking her before. Ha ha! Funny! You can come out now Bruise, you got me!” 

“Knobs...” Crossfire said, feeling a lump form in her throat that was hard to talk past.

“No!” Knobs shouted, “You’re not telling me this! You’re not telling me she’s dead! Why!? How!? After all we went through yesterday!? She can’t die! She’s Bruise! She’s stronger, tougher, and bigger than anypony I know! What...happened?”

Crossfire felt pain as she ground her teeth and met Knobs desperate, tear streaked eyes, feeling as if the world was opening up beneath her, ready to swallow her whole. But she found she could speak, though every word felt like spitting rocks. 

“I went after Spiked Heels. I needed her dead, so she wouldn’t come after you. I also went after Skinner, to get back at him for selling us out. Bruise, when she confronted me about my plan, agreed to help. To protect you.”

“Protect me? Why? We’re in the Inner City! We’re safe here!” Knobs said, voice nearly cracking.

“Not necessarily,” Wellspring said, her tone gentle, “I had intended to bring this up when I met with you next, Crossfire, but I had fears Spiked Heels might send ponies after you and Knobs, as well as myself. She has contacts in the Inner City, and could afford hit ponies, or to smuggle her own gang inside to target us.”

“Not anymore,” said Crossfire.

“I don’t care about that!” shouted Knobs, shaking, “What happened to Bruise!?”

“She led Spiked Heels and a few of her gang to Skinner’s place, where we set up a trap. The plan had been to take Spiked Heels alone, but she brought enough help to... complicate things. There was a fight. Spiked Heels is dead, but... she wounded Bruise badly before the fight ended. I’m sorry Knobs, I am, but she didn’t make it. If there’d been anything I could have done I would have.”

Knobs now had tears freely falling from her eyes, her shoulders shaking, “I don’t understand. Why did you do it? Even if the gang came after us, we could’ve survived it... together. All of us together. But you thought it was smart to run off by yourself to fight a whole gang. Bruise... she went with you... oh Goddesses... no...”

The sobs came in full then, a choking, repeated cry of pain as Knobs buried her face in the nearest available surface, that being Wellspring’s shoulders. Wellspring just helplessly patted Knobs, though she gave Crossfire a look with sympathetic eyes. Knobs kept sobbing, Crossfire remaining silent, unable to image feeling worse than she did at that moment. If Knobs decided to shoot her then and there Crossfire probably wouldn’t have even resisted, let alone blamed her.

“... my fault...” 

The words came out between sobs but they cut right through Crossfire’s mire of self pity and made the unicorn blink in surprise at Knobs.

“What?”

Knobs pulled away from Wellspring, “This is my fault. It’s all my fault!”

Crossfire looked at Wellspring, who just appeared as confused as Crossfire felt. She stepped closer to the bed, holding out a hoof hesitant to hold Knobs’ arm.

“Knobs, no,” Crossfire said emphatically, “I’m the one that dragged Bruise out there. I went after Spiked Heels. I hate it, I hate myself for this, but I’m the one whose shoulders this falls on, not you!”

“You were trying to protect me,” Knobs said, wiping at her face, “Both you and Bruise were trying to keep me safe. I even made Bruise make a promise to me that she’d make up with you and not let anything bad happen to you!”

Knobs could not have appeared more miserable, her ears flat against her head, her entire mane seeming to lose luster, her voice a shuddering pain-filled mess, “I... I thought you might do something crazy. Bruise, she just wanted to stay by me today, and keep an eye on me, but I was worried about you, Crossfire. I asked Bruise to go find you and make sure you’d be okay. I didn’t know! I didn’t know! I thought she... both of you... would be okay.”

“Knobs, you mustn’t blame yourself for this,” Wellspring said, hugging Knobs tightly, “There should be no blame. I firmly believe that Crossfire and Bruise both did what they thought was right, to protect all of us. There is no way they could have foreseen how it would turn out, and in the end Bruise has given her life so that we need not fear Spiked Heels’ retribution.”

Knobs abruptly pulled Crossfire into the hug as well, as if by holding both Crossfire and Wellspring as tightly as she could she could somehow dispel the events of the day like some terrible illusion. 

“I’m sorry Knobs...” Crossfire said, with the sinking feeling she’d be saying those words for the rest of her life, and mean them, every time, “I’m so sorry.”

Knobs said nothing, tear stained muzzle buried in Crossfire’s mane, and for long minutes all three mares shared that silent embrace, letting their own individual emotions play out. Crossfire, eventually, managed to step away from the bed, and looked at Knobs’ with a guilt twisted visage.

“Knobs, I... I have something else I need to tell you, and I know this doesn’t make up for anything, but you should know; I didn’t kill Skinner. I just got him to agree to take you back on as an apprentice.”

At Knobs continued silence Crossfire swallowed, mouth dry, and said, “That doesn’t... shit, I know that doesn’t make up for Bruise, but its something. I... I’ll go now.”

She started to remove the red jacket Knobs had given her with her magic, red aura wrapping around the garment and pulling it off one leg, “I’m sorry I couldn’t be a better friend-”

Abruptly Crossfire felt new magic touch hers, Knobs green aura mixing with Crossfire’s red aura as Knobs used her own magic to put the jacket firmly back on Crossfire. Crossfire looked at Knobs with a question in her eyes, and Knobs’ own expression was still filled with pain and sadness, but there was the smallest hints of her old smile still there.

“Crossfire, I don’t want you to go anywhere. I want you to stay. And... and please, help me say goodbye to Bruise.”

Wellspring, standing off to the side, nodded firmly in approval, the same sentiments shining in her eyes. 

Crossfire looked at the jacket she wore, running one hoof over the sleeve with the same genuine affection she showed her own rifle. She looked at Knobs, blinking back her own tears, tears she so rarely shed, and would rarely ever shed, and nodded.

----------

The graveyard was one of dozens that ringed the Outskirts of Skull City. Bruise could have been buried in any number of Inner City plots, but Knobs had insisted upon Bruise being buried in the same graveyard that her parents were buried in. Knobs said she wanted to make sure her family stayed close. She actually didn’t know which markers were her parent’s, they had died so long ago, but she knew it was the graveyard built along the south road, on a ridge facing the eastern mountains. 

There was no gravekeeper, no ponies who operated or maintained the graveyard besides the occasional citizen of the Outskirts. It had hundreds of graves, many little more than unmarked plots of churned earth, while others sported mixtures of gravestones or other markers made from whatever scrap and debris could be found. A chilly wind blew over the companions as they brought Bruise’s body out to the graveyard. Crossfire carried the body, while Wellspring carried Knobs. For reasons of his own Nightbane had joined them, the griffin personally helping dig the hole, only stating that he was, “Giving respect where it was due,” and saying no more on the matter. Crossfire didn’t know whether to be appreciative or not, but she didn’t argue Nightbane’s presence. 

Crossfire still didn’t like him. He’d shown her the Drifter Guild’s headquarters briefly, mostly to show her where the job boards were and to insinuate she’d need to start taking jobs soon in order to make his ‘investment’ worth his time. Crossfire intended fully to get to work straightaway, as soon as this was done. She had a pair of cybernetic legs to purchase somepony. It was a debt that if it took her a decade or more she’d pay back and then some.

They buried Bruise towards the tip of the ridge, right beneath an old, gray tree, one of the few in the area. Crossfire and Knobs worked together to move a big concrete block over to be a headstone, and Crossfire carved in Bruise’s name with the tip of her rifle’s bayonet. The entire time Crossfire had dug the grave her thoughts had swirled into a strangely quiet state. In a way she felt as if she wasn’t just burying Bruise, but that she was burying herself. Her past self. The Protectorate soldier who’d fled her homeland in disgrace.

As the last of Bruise’s name was carved into the concrete block that would mark her final resting place, Crossfire wiped sweat from her face and turned a glance towards Skull City.

The twisted, sprawling shanty town of countless metal and wood huts and shacks, spreading over the hills like a field of rusted mushrooms, seemed to come alive with lights as the day started to turn dark with the coming evening. The lights of fires, candles, torches, and a few flickering electric or magical bulbs gave the city the look of a shimmering underworld, the lights reflecting off a haze of mist forming off the top of the huge Wall to the Inner City. Crossfire, despite her exhaustion from the day’s events, despite the heavy weight on her heart from all that had happened... felt a sense of belonging to that city. It was a horrible place, filled with struggling folk just trying to stay alive, but maybe she could make a life here.

Few words were said as the ponies and one griffin stood over the grave. Knobs had been sat down between Wellspring and Crossfire, and though she tried to say some words about Bruise it became quickly obvious she was in no condition for them, soon falling into quiet sobs as Crossfire and Wellspring both held her. Crossfire herself had no idea what she could possibly say. Nightbane drained half a bottle of what looked to be whiskey to Crossfire’s eyes, and he poured the rest out on the headstone, sharing a drink with the departed. Maybe it was a griffin thing. Wellspring said a few words, but Crossfire couldn’t recall them. 

Eventually Nightbane flew off, telling Crossfire to meet him at the Guild so he could introduce her around to the evening crowd. Apparently the Guild never really slept and was pretty active at all hours of the day and night.

“We should get back to the city, just in case any of the Hammer Crushers see us, and aren’t busy fighting other gangs moving in on their territory,” said Wellspring, looking about a bit nervously. Crossfire noted the Radio Guild mare had replaced her gun with a heavier pistol and had purchased some leather armor from somewhere. The rugged armor didn’t look right on the otherwise pristine gray mare. 

“Just give me a few more minutes,” said Knobs, sitting on her haunches in front of Bruise’s grave, “I just... want a few more minutes.”

“Very well, I’ll wait for you two at the gate,” said Wellspring and trotted off towards the graveyard’s exist, “Just a few minutes though. Returning through the Outskirts at night can be very dangerous.”

Crossfire and Knobs sat there, side by side, silent for a time as the light in the sky slowly trickled away, the cold wind continuing to blow over the two mares. 

“Crossfire...” Knobs said, finally, “I know you might not believe this right now, but I’m glad I met you.”

Crossfire laughed without any mirth, shaking her head, “Knobs, literally nothing has gone right for you since you met me. Why in all of Equestria would you be glad to have met a cursed pony like me?”

Knobs leaned against Crossfire, causing the black unicorn to blink in surprise, but she didn’t pull away. Knobs still had a sad gleam in her eyes, but her smile, at least, was strong.

“Because you’re a good pony.”

A ghost of a smile played across Crossfire’s own lips, “If you say so.”

“I do say so. And one day, you’re gonna believe it yourself.”

Crossfire didn’t know what to believe, but for that moment, sitting there next to one of the few friends she had left in the world, Crossfire decided that she could look towards the future with a little bit of hope.

----------


Six years later...


The grave was the same as it had been when it was first dug. The two ponies in front of it were also the same, if a bit more weathered than they had been when they’d first stood in this same spot. 

Crossfire polished off half a bottle of whiskey, and like she’d once seen Nightbane do, she let Bruise have the rest, pouring the whiskey over the grave marker. The cement block turned dark with the alcohol running over it, some of the drink pooling in the carved name of the mare who’d died all those years ago. Crossfire put the bottle away into the folds of her crimson jacket, the stout old piece of clothing still intact after all this time. Crossfire never spared any expense keeping the jacket well repaired. Next to her, Knobs shuffled about with the squeak of wheels filling the air.

The apparatus around Knobs’ hindquarters was crude in the way a lot of Wasteland built items were, but it was effective for what it was. Braces, with rugged wheels sprouting down from crutch-like stocks allowed the legless mare to wheel around a bit using her forehooves to propel herself. It was awkward, but it was the best Knobs had to work with. In six years, it was what Knobs was stuck working with, and the fact continued to stab at Crossfire.

Getting there. Caps have piled up nicely, last year or so, Crossfire thought bitterly, thinking of all the things she’d had to do to make those caps over the years. Since she’d finally made A-rank in the Guild she’d been able to get some of the better paying jobs, and progress had gone fast. Soon. Soon she’d fix what went wrong and Knobs could maybe live like a normal pony...

… well, as normal as a ghoul could live, anyway.

Knobs leather hide crinkled as she stretched, grinning, “Well Bruise, we’re taking off! I got my rounds to do and Crossfire’s got a job! Wish us luck Bruise! I’ll visit again soon!”

Her flesh rotted, but her teal hide still showing clear in several places, Knobs still managed to look ten times more energetic than most ponies who had all their legs and weren’t ghouls. Crossfire always hid her frown, seeing Knobs’ condition.

They hadn’t known she’d contracted ghoulification from the radiation they’d soaked up in the back of Gunner’s Heaven until months after Bruise’s death. Strangely Knobs had adapted to the change quickly and with all the vigor and good cheer she seemed to always have when dealing with life in Skull City. Knobs had finished her apprenticeship with Skinner within that very same year.

Now Knobs wore the black coat of a Skull Guild ghoul wrangler, her stringy red mane and tail contrasting sharply with the dark garment. Knobs, energetically wheeling around, bumped Crossfire with her flank.

“Hey, Crossfire, look alive! Geez, stop being so morose, you’ll depress the ghosts!”

Crossfire heaved out a sigh, “Knobs, graveyards are, by definition, depressing.”

“Nope! This is where we get to see our loved ones and show them we’re doing okay! So smile, so Bruise doesn’t have to worry about us! C’mon now, smile!”

Crossfire’s lips twitched in something that might have been a faint facsimile of a smile, which caused Knobs to groan dramatically and shake her head, “Gah, okay, stop smiling, it hurts to see it!”

A bark of a laugh escaped Crossfire then as she and Knobs turned and walked (or in Knobs’ case pulled herself along) to the graveyards exit gate, a black iron old affair with dead ivy wrapped around its open frame. Beyond on the road was Knobs’ ghoul wrangler wagon, its iron lamp hanging from its post and a modified ramp at the back allowing Knobs to wheel herself up to the driver seat, which was really more an alcove for her to set up in. A ghouled brahmin stood in front of the wagon, waiting its master’s call.

Also by the wagon were two stallions. One was a white unicorn with a short, spiked blonde mane, wearing a black scarf-mask and with leather armor covered in knives. The other was a hulking earth pony, brown with a black mane and bushy beard, a sizeable revolver holstered across his chest.

“Hey boss,” said Shard, the unicorn, “You ready to get going yet?”

“Them Labor Guild types ain’t liking to wait,” said Brickhouse, the earth pony in a gravelly tone.

Crossfire glared at both of them, “They can damned well wait as long as I want them to. They’re paying us, but they need to respect the Drifters Guild.”

“Don’t know why you visit this place every time we go out,” said Shard, shrugging as he eyed Knobs as she clambered into her wagon. Crossfire stepped between him and Knobs with a hard look on her face and Shard coughed, glancing away, “Of course I guess you can do what you want. You’re the boss.”

“That’s right,” she said, tone brooking no argument, “I’m the boss. Now let’s get going.”

“Wish you weren’t working for the Labor Guild on this one,” said Knobs as she settled into her alcove, using her magic to take up the brahmin’s reins, “They’re kinda... well, things are getting worse with them every day.”

Crossfire shrugged, “Can’t be helped. I got requested for this. Besides, the pays good, and I go where the caps are.”

For a moment a dark cloud passed over Knobs’ leathery, cracked features, her eyes still a strong green giving Crossfire a sad look, “Yeah, well, caps are good, but being alive is better. Be careful out there Crossfire. You too, boys. Keep an eye on her out there.”

“Keep an eye on Crossfire? Shit, we’re lucky if she even lets us see any action,” said Brickhouse with a guffaw, while Shard refrained from commenting.

“Its a milk run anyway,” said Crossfire, giving Knobs as reassuring a look as she could manage, “Just escorting a group of slaves down south to Saddlespring. We’ll be back in a week, tops.”

There was no need to tell Knobs anything different, at any rate. Crossfire knew the job was a lot more than just the escort. The Labor Guild had found a Ruin in Saddlespring, and wanted to make sure they got their hooves on whatever was inside it's depths. They had a whole cadre of egghead types down in the independent township already, and Crossfire and her team’s task was to protect them and ensure the research on the Ruin went smoothly. Of course they were still being paid to escort the Labor Guild’s own personnel and slaves, but that was a secondary concern to the Ruin itself.

Crossfire didn’t care about the details, as long as she got paid. She doubted anything would happen anyway. Saddlespring was a simple, peaceful town, and most Ruins close to Skull City were fairly harmless... 

Most of them. Crossfire still carried memories of a monster in the darkness and an unimaginably huge tower underneath Skull City, but she’d never gone back, and as far as she knew, nopony else had ever gone back down there either. Perhaps the Labor Guild would pay top caps for that kind of info... but no, Crossfire, cap grubbing as she was, didn’t think it’d be a good idea for anypony to mess with that tower.

“Well,” said Knobs, “I’ll see you when you get back Crossfire. Wellspring’s back in town, and I was thinking we’d get together?”

Crossfire paused, then let that tiny, rare smile onto her face, making sure she was turned so neither Shard nor Brickhouse could see it, “I’d like that.”

With that, the two parted ways, Knobs leading her wagon north back towards Skull City, and Crossfire and her two companions heading south to meet up with the Labor Guild caravan they would be escorting to Saddlespring.

As they walked, a swift, pleasantly cool wind blew across them from the east, from the distant mountains where Crossfire knew a few small groups of tribal ponies made their homes. Crossfire, for reasons she wasn’t certain of, found herself gazing east as she walked, facing that wind. It felt good on her face, billowing out her long, blue ponytail mane. Facing that wind she had the strangest feeling, as if something was carried upon that wind. A sense of change. A sense of... something stirring in the depths of her soul.

Crossfire dismissed the feeling and doggedly continued to walk, shaking her head at her own foolish, if brief whimsy. 

She had a job to do, and caps to earn.