Chapter 1: Set the Scene

Atop a cliff, above the tree line of a snowy mountain range trundled a column equine soldiers. Their faces and coats masked by thick, white and grey alpine gear but their armaments spoke volumes about their intentions.

Heading the column was a towering zebra bearing a heavy, flowing red and grey coat topped with ostentatious gold and crimson spiked pauldrons. He surveyed the frozen land before him with dark snakelike pupils, searching for anything that dared to oppose his imperialistic march. Small wildlife fled, scurrying away as if they sensed evil. Downwind in a clearing, protected and obscured only by a thin layer of mist did stand something and it refused to budge. The zebra commander halted. His troops staggered to a pause. Slowly, he lifted his hoof into the air and brought it to bear on fog-wrapped figure and barked an order in a harsh, alien tongue. “OPEN FIRE!”

Bumbling in the thick snow, his identical soldier drones floundered into formation and poured an unrelenting torrent of hot lead onto the target. In a matter of seconds, the combined arms fire and explosive shrapnel reduced the crisp alpine flora to steaming mounds of mulch and litter. Only when the snow glittered with spent brass did the Commander slash his hoof through the air, ordering them to cease fire. A lowly subordinate rushed to his side and held a pair of ornate binoculars over his eyes.

The shape of the figure wavered within the smoke and mist, but it stood proud and arrogant. Held aloft at its side were a set of massive wings but the head clearly was not long and equine.

The Commander glared, thick veins throbbing on his temple as his frustrations doubled. The creature defiantly continued to oppose the zebras, taunting them with a cocky tilt of the head even as one of its wing fell from its side with a slow wooden creak.

While he occupied himself with the distraction, the real threat started making her move. Silently she slipped in, using a thick fog to encircle the unsuspecting zebras. Stealthily she struck at them, yanking some in under the mist while others vanished in feathery blurs swooping in and out of the trees.

Eventually one paranoid soldier caught on. Upon witnessing a dark shadow looming in the mist he unleashed a panicked burst of automatic fire. What structure and discipline the troop had vanished as they frantically followed suit, unloading their weapons into the foreboding fog; tossing grenades, close-quarter weaponry and finally a white flag.

A mocking chuckle haunted the zebras. First from that overhanging ledge. Then from an adjacent tree. It was everywhere, surrounding them; impossible to pin down. Then it was upon them.

Like a strike of lightning, a glinting combat knife sliced through the mist and firmly planted itself in the back of a zebra’s neck. He fell to ground, limbs jerking as he flailed his hooves at the grooved handle, gurgling for help all the while. By the time his comrades realized what had happened, life had faded from his body in a few final spurts.

“WHAT IS HAPPENING!?” roared the Commander as he rounded on the soldiers cluttered around the corpse.

A panicked zebra spun on the spot to answer but instead found himself staring down the metallic blur of a rapidly approaching tomahawk. Passing just over the Commander's right pauldron, the business end split both his helmet and his skull straight down the centre. Another tally was added to the growing body-count.

The corpse hit the snow. Terrified zebras broke formation and flitted to the edges, searching for safe passage through the killer mist. Sporadic Gunfire punctuating their panicked cries. Attempting to regain control of his troops, the Commander slammed his right forehoof on a large rock with a sharp crack. Those who stood to attention were barked orders at. “GET IN FORMATION AND FIND THEM!”

In response, the looming mist swirled like a localized hurricane. The zebras caught in the centre clearing.

“‘Them’?” asked a feminine voice, followed by a scathing trill.

Fretting, the zebras huddled closer and closer together, begging for orders or some form or moral support. The Commander gave them none apart from a hardened glare.

“Try one.”

Abruptly the mist seized and dissipated. Striding casually up from the clearing was a snow feathered, brown furred griffon Commando. Clad only in a skimpy leather combat harness and seemingly unarmed, she paused twenty feet before the zebras and smirked. Her ruby red eyes panned from one side of the huddled zebras to the other, meeting each of their confused stares directly. Satisfied, her gaze finally settled the Commander.

“We’ve got you now,” spoke the zebra Commander, a confident grin spreading across his lips as an underling held and ornate revolver up to him.

“Have you?” The Commando’s talons and claws dug into the snow as her wing unfurled at her sides revealing a stocky shotgun under her left wing. “I’ve had all of you from the start.”

She was on them before the Commander could even clench on the trigger. Her pristine white feathers matched the snow perfectly as she swept across it aiming first for the tomahawk'd zebra. Wrenching her weapon free from his skull and helmet, she swung it down hard on the nearest striped neck. His former comrades scrambled backwards, staring wide eyed and horrified as the headless body stumbled aimlessly, its body language begging for help. Torrents of crimson drenched their arctic gear; a colour alike the Commando’s vibrant feathered crest and the highlights around her eyes.

Finally given a target, a gamier zebra jostled his comrades aside and charged at her, wielding an empty assault rifle like a club. His momentum met a sharp end as the Commando slammed the tomahawk upwards into his chest. She pirouetted around and sent him flying off the cliff edge with a scream that would embarrass Whinnyhelm.

There was a thunderous roar as another zebra was blown off his hooves and slammed into a tree by the full force of point-blank buckshot. The Commando pumped the talon-grip of her shotgun with a meaty mechanical motion and blasted another in the side, treating the onlookers to a gory crash-course in shotgun surgery. The remaining zebras regrouped and risked what little ammunition they had on the unlikely chance of striking the Commando, putting an end to the slaughter. They had a better chance laying down their arms and begging for a swift, painless death.

Eventually the slaughter wound down, leaving one last zebra cowering behind a pile of corpses. With his eyes wide shut and nerves shot, he could only listen to the Commando’s talons and claws crunching the snow. Each time it grew louder and closer. She was almost upon him. He had to act. It was now or never!

“Hey, Stri-”

“I SURRENDER!”

With his forehooves thrown into the air, he waited for either swift death or generous pity. Instead the Commando tossed her shotgun in the snow right before him, loaded with a single shell. The zebra soldier didn’t think twice. He snatched it up with his hooves and brought its sights to bear on the Commando. Her reply was an undaunted wink. There was just one problem; this was a griffon shotgun. Laughter now echoed through the mountainous valleys as the Commando fell backwards, clutching her sides while hollering at the top of her lungs.

“SHOOT HER!” bellowed the Commander.

“I’m trying!” he replied, with forehooves clamped around the shotgun while his thick equine tongue trying to work the tiny trigger.

Click!

A loud blast echoed through the mountains. The zebra soldier flicked his gaze upwards hoping to see a lifeless griffon sprawled across the bloody snow. She was very much alive, now rolling from side to side, breathless from laughter. The shot had gone just a tad to the right… and right through one of his Commander’s expensive pauldrons.

“Return at once and slay the she-griffon! I demand it!” bellowed the Commander as his last soldier galloped down the path they had come. “You…”

“Moi?” replied the Commando coyly, having regained her composure.

“You can’t stop us all! Mighty Caesar will crush the griffons and the very Fringes of the World will be his!” the zebra Commander screamed, spit flew from his mouth landing just inches before her polished talons.

“Is that so?” slowly she advanced, flicking a few crimson tipped feathers out of her eyes. “You have great taste my striped chum! It’s a great holiday retreat during the summer, but right now it’s...”

She dashed forward, shoving the Commander off the cliff edge. He screamed and cursed at her as he fell before slamming into the river bedrock below with an unceremonious thud.

The Commando peered over the edge, smirking triumphantly before adding the final touch. “… the Fall.”

…

A thick and heavy orchestral piece thundered over the Commando’s last line. Four words burned themselves into the projector screen stating the film’s title in a bold and bombastic font.

FIGHT FOR THE FRINGES

Just a few feet before the projector canvas sat a griffon nestling no older than five or six. His yellow beak, which had hung open since the Commando debuted on screen, sucked in a gutful of air. The little griffon puffed out his brown feathered, bronze speckled chest and prepared a declaration of the utmost truth.

“THIS IS THE BESTEST THING EVER!” he exclaimed leaping off the ground with his tan hindlegs as he punched the air with his golden forearms and clenched talons.

Explosive introductory credits rolled down the screen providing some downtime from the pulse-blasting prelude. The young griffon’s imagination went wild thrusting him into the same world he just witnessed; one of fantasy where every shot was a flesh wound and the magazines were bottomless.

“P-tsh! Chick-CHICK! P-tsh! Chick-CHICK!” He jerked his talons back and forth with an unrealistic ounce of recoil. With each shot a shadowy figure of a pony baddie was blown clean off his hooves. “You’re all beat! Hahaha!” the little griffon laughed triumphantly as he stared the last shadow down. “I heard ponies were on the…” and pause for delivery “… de-quine!”

The shadowy figure surrendered, dropping his weapons to the ground and holding a hoof to his face. Perhaps accepting that there was no point in living past that radical one-liner.

“Chick-CHICK! P-tsh!”

New shadows replaced the vanquished baddies. Again the young griffon was surrounded but this time by a ring of shadowy griffon commandoes all whooping and cheering. One in particular caught his eye. Slowly it strutted forward from the circle and stood proud and tall before him. The silhouette took on details, proportions and finally a gender becoming the fearless Talon Commando he had idolized just moments ago. The young griffon stared up at her tentatively and she down at with the same proud smirk. In a swift motion that surprised even him – it was his own imagination after all – she leaned down, pecked him on the cheek before sweeping him high onto her shoulders and parading him about for another encore of applause.

While regaling in the fame and fantasy, the young griffon experienced a moment of clarity scholars and seers spent their lifetime striving to achieve. A gleam and a spark flittered across the dark dilated feline pupils, supportive orange islands and the sea of white. Almost immediately, dreams and aspirations were set in stone.

This little griffon knew what he wanted to be and he knew exactly how he was going to do it.

All of this was gathered from ten minutes of ancient cinematography. What could hundreds or possibly thousands of hours spent viewing and reviewing lead to? The little griffon bid farewell to his imagination and returned to reality, anticipating more action and more inspiration. But the projector canvas was despairingly blank, and someone had turned the lights on.

“Come on, Gillet. Time to go.”

Aside the projector stood another griffon. Gillet’s still wandering imagination visualised her as the Crimson Commando from the film. Quickly, he realized this wasn’t the case. As his eyes adjusted, her white feathers turned beige and the brown fur lightened to a warm tan. Her slick crimson crest changed hue to gold and folded back over her head, now bearing a likeness to his own. The revealing combat harness spread over her chest and forearms becoming a bomber’s jacket and a pair of aviator goggles materialized on-top of her crest. This was Glinnis, Gillet’s mother. Upon recognizing her, Gillet was immediately washed over by a wave of indignation.

“But muuuuum!” he cried, smile flipping into a frown so fast it almost caused whiplash across his cheeks. “It was just getting started! Can’t we stay a little longer? Please!”

“Gilly, sweetie. You’ve had your fun exploring for today,” Glinnis countered, her tone dropping down to a soft nurturing whisper. Gillet pouted reflexively upon sensing no favourable compromise in her answer. “But we need to head back to Friendship City before dark or all the hungry pony ghouls come out, and we don’t want that do we?”

“Can’t we just stay here?” Gillet proposed innocuously. “I didn’t see any hungry pony ghouls.”

“Sweetie, these Stables aren’t safe.” Gillet’s pout returned. “Just look at this one: most hallways are caved in, almost all the doors are locked and there’s no power. The ponies who lived in here before abandoned it for exactly those reasons.”

From a clock on an adjacent wall chimed a sick, sad tune announcing the end of another hour. Glinnis checked it against her own wrist-watch confirming that it was indeed 3 o’clock.

“That works too,” Gillet added, pointing to the projector.

Glinnis inspected the pre-war entertainment appliance and found cables leading to a small generator in a utility room next door. “If the life-support failed, at least they could watch a movie? What were these ponies thinking?”

“And this door wasn’t locked… very hard.”

“That explains all the feathers jammed in the keyhole. Where did you learn that trick anyway?” Gillet simply looked to his mother, eventually she sighed. It was almost as if the abandoned Stable suddenly decided to side with Gillet just to spite her. “Well, I suppose we can stay the night.”

“YES!” Gillet exclaimed, again throwing his limbs into the air.

“Beats wasting caps on a room, I guess. What are we watching?”

Gillet scrambled across the room and grabbed a large circular film reel case. “It’s a dock-you… dock-you-mensh…”

“A documentary?” Glinnis suggested. At least he was trying to sound it out. Gillet had a habit of spouting gibberish when he came to words he didn’t understand at a glance.

“Yeah! That!” Gillet’s restless tail curled around one of his legs tripping him. The reel case rolled across the floor Glinnis’ talons.
Front and centre was the griffon Commando she had just witnessed slaughtering zebras on the projector screen. Flanking her were other appropriately patriotic griffons, underneath were hordes of shadowy snake-eyed zebras, the backdrop was a giant explosion behind a mountain and towards the edge was a faded diamond sticker reading ‘Approved and Funded by the Ministry of Image.’

Furthermore; the walls were lined with racks holding hundreds of similar reel cases. “Great Egg…” Glinnis mumbled as she marvelled at the collection, untouched by time and looters. Either the Stable’s entertainment section or the prized anthology a pre-war pony who had paid a fortune to protect. From just a cursory glance around the room Glinnis saw sections bearing labels like ACTION, ACTION THRILLER, EXTREME ACTION, ACTION COMEDY, ACTION SUSPENSE, and Romance but nothing that struck her as remotely educational. “Documentaries? Sweetie, these are movies. I don’t think they’re fact…” Gillet looked back up to her with an expression of pure, unadulterated innocence. “Uhhh… ‘Fight for the Fringes! Starring the famous Crimson Crested Talon Mercenary Indiana (as herself), comes a blazing epic about impossible odds and feather-raising fights!

War continues to spread across globe! The villainous zebra Caesar, unsatisfied with his war against Equestria, sets his sights on the Griffon homeland; the Fringes of the World! As the Griffon King attempts to rally his citizens in defence of this Great Nation, the responsibility of slowing the zebra advance through the alpine mountains falls to Indiana and the legendary Talon Commandoes!

Can they hold back the striped tide? Can they safeguard an entire nation from the striped menace? Why are you still reading this? Watch it right now!’”

“Do what it says! Do what it says! Do what it says!” Gillet repeated with overflowing enthusiasm, the century old marketing clearly having its full intended effect on him.

“Sweetie, what did I teach you about patience?” Gillet grabbed the arm of her bomber’s jacket and attempted to drag Glinnis to the projector. When she was finally there, he started running circles around it, fluttering his immature wings while insisting that she hurry up.
Eventually the lights dimmed and Fight for the Fringes flickered back to life. Glinnis settled herself down beside her bouncing son and draped a wing over his body, calming him a little.

Even she had to admit it was quite a catching film. They had definitely stumbled upon something worthwhile here; though the rest of stable had caved in lifetimes ago, the atrium and adjoined rooms appeared fine. The location was reclusive from the dangers of Manehatten, hidden underneath a long dilapidated beach house far down the southern coast. Yet was still within convenient flying distance of Friendship City and Tenpony Tower. Gillet was right about staying tonight, but Glinnis challenged her instincts and now considered staying here for the foreseeable future. Perhaps it was time she settled down and looked to raising Gillet properly instead of on the fly between deliveries and jobs.

Glinnis studied her son; his wide eyes glued to the projector screen, drinking every little detail and action. Clearly whoever directed this film did it in a very different time, when certain racial views were common place in the public. For a moment Glinnis wondered if these anachronistic accusations might influence Gillet in the wrong ways.

“Did you see that mum? Indiana was all like whoosh! an’ then pewsh! pewsh! pewsh! an’ she shot all the bad guys an’ still saved the sky-wagon of orphans!” Straight past the propaganda and right to the action. Perhaps she shouldn’t need to be so concerned.

“I’m right here sweetie. I saw it too,” Glinnis said with a soft smile. “She’s quite dashing, isn’t she?”

“She’s the bestest Talon there is!” Gillet sighed dreamily as the camera gave Indiana a particularly glamorous, slow-motion close-up. Indiana looked directly at the camera and winked before blasting away at some more hapless zebras. “When I grow up, I’m gonna be a Talon just like her.”

“Oh really?” said Glinnis. “Any griffon can be a Talon… but if you want to be just like her, the very best, then you’ll need to train extra hard…”

“Every day!”

“… do all your homework…”

“No problem!”

“… and eat all of your greens.”

“Of… Of course I will!” Gillet leapt up and ran to the projector screen, rearing up on his hind legs and striking a heroic pose mimicking Indiana as she delivered a heartfelt and rousing speech about herself. “I’m gonna be the bestest one day! I’ll be so cool an’ so famous that they’ll make a dock-you… a dock-you-mint…”

“Sound it out with me, sweetie. Dock-you-ment-ah-”

“Movie! They’ll make a movie just about me!”

It was settled, Glinnis had found their new home. The abandoned stable offered more than shelter and a retreat, it also gave Gillet dreams and a future. At such a delicate and impressionable age, a hobby would serve him well. A point he could pin his beliefs alongside himself. Something he could call on for inspiration. A source of fuel for the journey’s ahead. Perhaps even the driving force behind them.

Most importantly of all; it gave him something every up and starting hero needed.

A virtue: Passion

Chapter 2: How to Hero

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Chapter 2: How to Hero

“Whoosh!”

Slicing through the air was an all too familiar crimson crested Talon Commando. Her breakneck speed punctuated by twists and loop-de-loops as she evaded enemy fire with ease. A professional Wonderbolt would be envious of her skills.

“Shzoooom!”

Any lesser flier would have blacked out as Indiana skidded to a near instant halt mid-air. She adjusted her trajectory and dived, hurtling towards the ground. A crew of motley, cannibalistic zebras (more fine products bearing the Ministry of Image seal) glared up at her, barring their bloody fangs and ill-intent. They stood crowded around a collection of colourful wooden blocks, film reel cases and a suspicious cardboard sign which read:

SEKRET ZEBRA BASE

NO GRIFFONS ALOUD

Suspicious indeed.

With her trusty pump-action shotgun clutched in her right talons, Indiana aimed haphazardly in their direction and opened fire.

“P-tsh! Chick-CHICK!”

“Argh! Noooo…!”

One cannibal zebra plummeted from a high-rise block, screaming until he hit the ground.

Indianna banked for a second strafing run but this time she had company. Tailing her was this horrifying amalgamation of zebra and bat. With its black eyes, feral snarl and demonic leather wings, this zebra looked more abominable than original.

“RAAARRRGHHH!”

The monstrous creature slammed into Indiana forcing her out of the sky. They tumbled downwards in a cacophony of punches and talons, falling two feet before carefully crashing into the carpet. The surviving cannibal zebras rushed to kerfuffle, eager to join. Encircled on all sides things were looking grim for Indiana but luckily she had back up today. Another griffon flew through the air, similar in design but her highlights were a soft mauve instead of a sharp crimson.

“Pewsh! Pewsh! Pewsh!” Gilda blared away with dual pistols sniping one zebra after the other with impeccable accuracy.

“What kept you for so long!?” Indiana demanded as Gilda touched down on the carpet. “I almost chipped a talon!”

“Pfft! Maybe you should…”

The tip of a gigantic talon touched the Talon symbol on the chest of Gilda’s armour and the toy griffon spoke.

“… Too cool!”

Back it came tapping the symbol again.

“… Part Eagle. Part Lion. And all awesome!”

And again.

“… Watch your tailwind, dweeb! Gilda’s on the prowl!”

And again.

“… Ponies are lame!”

Until…

“… Quit dork’n up the sky, stinky pie!”

If this was how griffons genuinely treated each other, it's no-wonder why ponies never wanted to be around them.

The line was still a little rough and the delivery a tad delayed but it was satisfactory enough for Gillet’s young imagination. Envisioning a new scenario, he started gathering his many toys, grabbing Gilda first. Just as he reached for the Indiana figure, another appendage touched it. A long, brown, dangly wire-width thing connected to…

“Chkrl… Chrrkknn…”

… A giant mutated rad-roach! Its antennae brushed over Gillet’s talons and feathers, curiously probing the griffon twice its size. It may have not feared him but the same couldn’t be said for Gillet himself.

A hysterical scream bounced from wall to wall. Even penetrating past corridors of collapsed dirt. Gillet retreated from his room, running as if rad-roach was just inches from the brown tassel at the end of his tail.

First he ran to the Stable door, hoping to run to wherever his mother was and tell her to fix this. Much to his dismay, the rusty Stable door was locked firmly in place and he couldn’t reach the controls – which he didn’t know how to use anyway – despite all his jumping and wing fluttering.

Second was the utility storeroom but that’s where the hungry pony ghoul who ate griffons which stayed up past their bedtime lived so that was immediately out of the question.

Then under his bed came to mind… but that’s probably where it had come from! There might be a whole colony under there and their queen sent a scout in preparation for the invasion!

Gillet screamed again and ran to the only room left; the kitchen. Once inside he mashed his clenched talons against the door’s adjacent control panel until it slammed into place, but that wasn’t enough. Anything and everything the little griffon could carry or push was shoved against it; tables, chairs, stools and utensils were thrown to the barricade.

“Hey! HEY!”

Gillet tripped, tumbling into a ball of feathers and fur before barrelling into a cupboard door. “Mum!?” he immediately squawked not withholding the urgency in his tone.

The voice spoke again, sounding nothing like the sweet soothing tone of Glinnis. “D’you always go crying to your mum at the first sign of trouble?”

“Who… Who’s there?”

“Over here, dweeb.”

On the kitchen bench sat his Gilda action figure. She stared listlessly off into the middle distance with the same smug expression she had always worn… but the voice had definitely come from that direction. Cautiously Gillet approached the bench, looking up to figure like any nestling would to one of their heroes. “Gilda…? But how? Are you real?”

“Sure... whatever you want to believe kiddo.” she responded with the characteristic sass and snark that Gillet was familiar with, but these were lines he had never heard before. “Now, take a step back an’ have a good look. Something missin’?”

Gillet backed away, sat down and watched, admiring Gilda in a new way. A small smile came to him and the fear of the rad-roach all but vanished. Next to the archive of pre-war action movies, the pair of LIMITED EDTION Talon Action Hero Figurines™ were his most prized possessions. It wasn’t his place to ask – and he really didn’t care either – but Glinnis had gone to great lengths to get them. Indiana was locked away in this very stable, secured in airtight state-of-the-art safe. It had taken days to crack, breaking enough feathers to leave a bald patch on Glinnis’ chest. Gilda however came from the very ruins of Cloudsdale itself… supposedly. Glinnis had bartered with the ghoul scavenger for hours, finally getting the price under a thousand caps. He even chucked in a free (abridged) autobiography, something Gillet would at least try to read.

For a long time Gillet did so much as look but admire. The flickering glow of the barely functional kitchen light illuminated Gilda as if she stood on the cliff edge with the sun setting behind her, an expensive set piece from the moves he cherished. It would look particularly more awesome if the zebra cannibal figures were piled underneath her or if…

Gillet slapped his talons to his cheeks as his irises shrunk to blades of grass. “Indiana!”

“Finally! If I could hold my breath, I would have died!”

“I left her in there with the rad-roach!”

Gillet scrambled upright and leapt at his own barricade, frantically tearing it down with the same fervour he had erecting it. Yet, once the doorway was clear he hesitated with his talons just inches from the controls.

“What’s stopping you?”

What was? Basic fear one would guess but really, this was a situation Gillet should be jumping for joy at! The hero he worshiped was in danger! All that he needed to do was barge into that room, slay the beast and rescue Indiana. The general premise was something he seen many times in a multitude of different movies. It always turned out best for the hero… but could Gillet be that hero?

“I’m… I’m scared…”

“Scared of what? The cockroach?”

Gillet nodded sheepishly.

“Kid, it’s a cockroach. Just step on it.”

“But it’s not just a cockroach! It’s a giant rad-roach, and it’s scary! With its… its b-big beady eyes an’... an’ rad-roach things!” Gillet placed two pointed talons aside his head and wiggled them around.

Gilda remained silent for a moment before sighing. “Why me? Why’d you grab me instead of Indiana,” she whined. “Alright, we’ll do this the hard way. Where are we?”

“The… kitchen?”

“Wrong bucko!” Gilda snapped. “Look harder! This ain’t no dorky kitchen for making lame-o cupcakes and cookies,” Gillet loved both of those things but chose to remain silent. “Y’know what I see? I see a Talon Mercenary armoury. In fact, I see a private armoury for only the best Talons!”

“R-Really?” the little griffin’s eyes went as wide as frying pans. Coincidentally, all the kitchen’s frying pans vanished – much like every other mundane cooking utensil – and were replaced by various arms and armaments. “Only the best Talons?”

“You betcha, kid. Talon Company Leader might as well have plucked you from the ranks, dropped you in Talon HQ and given you free reign in his private armoury.” Gillet lapped the room in seconds marvelling at the racks of weapons and firearms. It was like his dreams were suddenly coming true. “Don’t waste our time here. We roll out in five minutes!”

“Yes ma’am!”

Then he did exactly that. There was just so much to choose from. His imagination was literally overwhelming him. Indecisiveness led to anxiety and then that started to tear away at Gillet’s inspiring illusions, bringing him back to reality.

“I don’t know what to choose!” he whined, tap-dancing on his talons and paws.

“Go to the drawer over there and grab something!”

“That drawer? But it’s just got forks and spo-”

“Just do it!”

Gillet obeyed and rushed to the kitchen cabinet. He climbed atop a stool, pulled the drawer out and retrieved a utensil at random

“Whatcha got?”

“It’s a, uh-WOAH!” Gillet gasped. Grasped in his talons was a wicked, serrated combat knife nearly the size of his forearm! “This is so awesome!” he exclaimed admiring his own reflection in the polished blade. It was so real the gleam momentarily blinded him. “I’m gonna slice and dice that rad-roach!”

“That’s the spirit! But we’re only getting started here. I know you got the reflexes of a pro but play it safe and take some body armour. Go check that locker over there.”

“Yes ma’am!” Gillet saluted her, almost stabbing his eye with the combat knife.

What was once a pantry was now a locker belonging to a nameless mercenary. Inside was a full set of Talon Combat armour complete with sturdy reinforced chest plate, wing blades, spiked gauntlets – because just having talons wasn’t always enough – and a helmet. Most important of all though were the decals; flames adorned the armguards and on its chest was a Talon insignia. They were painted in a rich bronze, a colour Gillet had decided would be his signature tint, much like Gilda’s mauve and Indiana’s crimson.

“Looking the part there kiddo.” Now armed and fully equipped, Gillet looked like he was capable of taking on the world. “Now, you ready to bust in there, stab that roach and save Indiana?”

“Yeah!” Gillet replied still slashing his combat knife in the air.

“Didn’t hear that! Louder!”

“YEAH!”

“YOU CALL YOURSELF A TALON!? LOUDER!”

“YEAH!”

“NOW GO AND BE A HERO! Hey! What’re you doing?!”

“YYYYYYEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!!”

“No! Put me down!”

Gillet stuffed Gilda head first into the pocket of his combat armour much to her muffled protests. The crazed griffon then ran through the rest of the Stable. Corners were leapt around, random objects pounced upon and a garbled battle-cry echoed throughout the metal halls. Punctuated only by a fresh intake of air occasionally. He went through five different rooms first – returning to the kitchen twice – before finally stumbling into his own.

Now, Gillet wasn’t clean or organized kid – like most foals and griffons his age – but his room now resembled the wasteland outside. Almost as if one of the cannibal zebras figures smuggled in a toy sized mega-spell and detonated it. A pile of Giga-Griffon comics (the original griffon super-hero) lay knocked over in a corner. The sheets to his bed were ripped, chewed and tossed on top of everything else. In the middle was the rad-roach, minding its own business while munching on a discarded packet of potato-crisps.

“Didja find it?” Gilda asked. Only her backside had a clear view of Gillet’s room.

“Uh-huh.”

“Well kill it!”

“RRRAAAHHHH!”

The simple creature turned to the source of noise and caught a glimpse of luminescent steel aiming for its head. Gillets first swing struck an antennae and cut – not so much as cut but broke – it clean off. The appendage fell to the ground and twitched few times before falling still. A second equally uncoordinated swing later and the creature’s second feeler came away as well.

“Hah! If you scurry away now I’ll cut you a br-Oof!”

“Hey, what’s going on!? I can see bugger all!”

“It’s unhappy!”

“Stop pissin’ it off with one-liners and squash it!”

That wasn’t quite so easy now; devoid of its primary senses the rad-roach frenzied. Hurling itself forward into Gillet’s chest and knocking him over before rampaging through the room creating an even larger mess. Gillet tried a few more swings but every time he just managed to nick a leg or part of its sturdy exoskeleton.

“What do I do now?! It’s going super-fast!”

“Try harder!”

The rad-roach slammed into a cupboard; resulting concussion calming it. Slowly the giant insect rose back onto its spindly legs and turned vaguely towards Gillet’s voice.

“It’s… It’s gonna charge!”

“Stand your ground and stab it!”

It rushed blindly forwards skittering from side to side, stuttering on debris but staying on course. Just as its slimy pincers neared Gillet, he slipped aside letting the rad-roach slam into his bed. He brought the combat knife down in a stabbing motion using both talons, slamming the blade down onto the back of the rad-roach. Yet, it sunk only a few inches deep and that alone was not enough to kill the beast.

“Is it dead?” Gilda chimed in.

“No, but I got an idea!”

“What?! No, dude! Its right there isn’t it? Just stab it some more!”

Gillet’s downward stab had stunned the rad-roach for now. At the moment it floundered on the ground, sputtering and chittering but it wasn’t moving anywhere anytime. Gillet scrambled atop his bed and started jumping up and down, propelling himself high and high with each spring of the mattress.

“Kid, what are you doing?”

“It’s going to be awesome! Just watch!”

Gillet was getting to that age where walking and running weren’t enough. Often when his mother was out and about he would practice flying in his room. Well… not flying exactly, but launching himself from the bed and seeing if he could make it to a pile of pillows stacked the corner. What he had planned now though involved falling more than flying. When he reached the maximum height the bed springs would push him, he jumped forward.

“DEATH FROM ABOVE!”

“WHAT!?”

Time seemed to slow for Gillet as he travelled downwards. Many sounds were heard including him again yelling, Gilda screaming obscenities and the rad-roach chittering but that all that went silent after a wet, messy crunch. Insect bits went everywhere; legs bounced off walls, loins and the abdomen splattered outwards in a disgusting slime green pattern. Gillet laid there for a moment before everything caught up to him. A veritable rush of emotions and euphoria swept through the triumphant nestling, satisfaction and accomplishment reigned above all else.

First things first; he needed to immortalize this moment. Gillet retrieved the combat knife, a good half of the blade buried in a chunk of the rad-roach. Next, he found the creature’s head.

Pushing off from the ground with his forearms, Gillet reared up on his hind legs whilst still dripping gooey mucus from the front of his combat armour, wings and limbs. It didn’t need to be cleaned for he believed it added to the scene. Then he thrust the combat knife upwards with the rad-roach’s head impaled on the end.

“FIRST BLOOD!” Gillet shouted to no-one in particular but he felt like he was addressing the entirety of the wasteland. Maybe even warning it.

Gillet stood perfectly still for some time, his mind imprinting this moment and what preceded frame by frame. Gilda was still grumbling in his pocket, either agitated she didn’t see what happened or that Gillet ignored everything she told him.

A sweet, familiar voice sounded down the hallway. This one he definitely knew. “Gillet, did you make that mess in the kitchen? You’ll have to clean that up…” Glinnis rounded the entrance to his room, there she paused and observed the carnage beforehand. “… Great Egg, Gillet! What happened to your room!?”

Gillet waved the combat knife around with the head still impaled on it. “There was a rad-roach! But don’t worry, mum. I got it!”

“WE got it.”

“Me an’ Gilda got it!”

“That I can see. Oh!” Glinnis stepped forward into the room, her talons treading aside another griffon action figure. “But it looks like he got Indiana first.”

In the chaos of the confrontation, it appears that Indiana had unfortunately been trampled on. Glinnis picked her up delicately but the damage was obvious; one of her wings clung to the frame by a tiny bit of bent plastic and the right forearm was missing altogether.

“Gotta expect casualties sometimes kiddo,” Gilda said in a slightly softer tone. “And get me outta here! It’s fulla roach guts!”

“I’m sure we can fix this. Bit of wonderglue here and there or we can even turn her into a cyber-griffon! Won’t that be fun?” Gillet’s response was an angry huff. “Sweetie? Why are you making that face?”

Gillet glared, trembled and scowled. He stared straight ahead, his feathers flattened close to his body and crest laid down over his head. “I was g-gonna save her!” he grumbled, quivering jaw becoming an unhappy pout. “I was gonna b-be the hero!” Gillet threw his combat knife on the ground. Momentarily it shimmered before transforming back into a butterknife.

“Sweetie…” cooed Glinnis, striding forward over the mess. “You are right you know. Heroes do save whomever is in trouble.” Her talons closed around the combat helmet. It reverted back to a saucepan as she lifted it off Gillet’s head. “They’ll throw themselves in harms just to do what’s right...” She undid the clasps on his Talon Combat Armour letting it flop to the ground like a rubber apron it really was. “… whether it’s saving damsels and princesses or telling jokes to lighten the mood.” Off next were spiked gauntlets; in reality just a pair of oven mitts with Gillet’s talons poking through them. “But you know the most important part of being a hero?” She closed her wings and arms around Gillet, bringing him into her warm, motherly embrace. “It’s realizing they can’t always do that.”

That was it; the dam burst. The River breached its banks and the waterfall flowed freely with a monsoon feeding it. Gillet latched onto his mother and burrowed into her soft feathered chest. A long, sad wail and few unintelligible words were all that he could manage.

“Shh, sweetie. It’s alright. You tried your best, that’s all that matters. You’re still my hero.” Glinnis closed her forearms and then wings around her son and held him gently until sobbing slowed to the occasional sniffle. “Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

As Gillet and Glinnis left the room, an action figure with a vibrant crimson crest chuckled softly.

“What are you laughing at, cyber-griffon,” came Gilda’s scathing voice, the body of her action figure buried under a bug-splattered apron.

“Nothin’… Nothin’ at all …” Indiana replied, her missing and broken limbs hardly a concern to her. “So how’d the lil’ tyke do?”

“He killed the thing didn’t he,” Gilda said. “Little guys’ got heart I guess. Might make an alright Talon one day.”

Chapter 3: Grounded Part I

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Chapter 3: Grounded – Part I

To the pegasi ponies that lived above the cloud cover, every new day was a Celestia given blessing. One made safe by the ever-watchful gaze of the Enclave, a rigid government determined keep everything clean, clear and uncontaminated. They lived in ignorance of what lay below, going about their daily lives as if it didn’t matter.

“Come on! Just over this hill. I bet you’ll love it!”

“Do we have to trot? Why can’t we just fly?”

“That would ruin the surprise!”

“The blindfold already did.”

Two pegasi made their way across the cloud countryside, their hooves making contact with the vapour as if it were a solid surface. Since the weather machines ran rampantly, it was a common to see clouds mass together in dense lumps. Sometimes hills, valleys, and even mountain ranges could form and vanish overnight.

“Okay, now brace yourself. You’re in for a shock!” announced Shuffler, rosy coat and lavender mane matching the bubbly excitement in his voice. His thin, almost frail forehooves closed around his companions blindfold.

“I’m bracing.” Likewise, Adder’s light grey coat and taupe mane almost matched the dour tone of his reply.

Off came the blindfold. “Ta-dah! So, do you like it?”

Laid across a small cloud valley in-between the two hills was a blanket supporting an assortment of containers, beverages and plates. It would have looked like a nice romantic picnic if it weren’t for an uninvited guest.

“I don’t get it.”

“Pardon? What’s there to ge-OH GODDESSES! GET DOWN!”

Small ripples radiated across the cloud surface as Shuffler hit the deck. Adder continued to stare until a pair of rose hooves dragged him down too.

“Did you see it!? Did you?!” Shuffler wheezed, clutching a hoof to his chest. “What was that beast?”

“I think it’s a griffon,” said Adder while peeking over the hilltop. “They’re creatures made up of lions and eagles.”

“It’s TWO carnivorous predators in one!?” Shuffler’s vision began to swim. “Where’s the nearest patrol? Can we radio in a Vertibuck? What about the Wonderbolts? They deal with this sort of thing right? You’ve got connections to our senator! Just call someone and make them make it go away!”

“Don’t you think you’re over-reacting just a little? Look at the little guy; he’s looks like he’s just in his teens,” Adder added, attempting to appeal to paternal side he knew Shuffler kept well hidden. “And you want to bring the Wonderbolts down on him for scavenging some food to maybe feed his equally starving family? Have you no heart?”

Snuffler’s snout scrunched and his cheeks flushed with a light shade of pink. “Well… let’s just scare it off then. Hopefully it will go back under clouds where all those dreadful creatures belong.”

“That’s better.” Adder put a hoof on Shuffler’s shoulder as thanks. “Now, I think I remember how to deal with griffons from an Enclave Environmental Educational.” Adder smirked. “You just have to be bigger and louder than it is. That intimidates it.”

“Intimidates? Are you sure?” Shuffler added. “Won’t that just provoke it to attack?”

“They’re territorial creatures, and I take it that down there is your… our territory,” Adder explained, still smirking. “So let’s go down there and make a statement: these are our clouds and if you want to take them you’ll have to fight us!”

“‘Fight us!’ Are you insane?!” Shuffler hissed. Adder spared him a small chuckle. “It has talons, claws, a razor-sharp beak and simple, bestial instincts! It will tear us to shreds if it so decides!”

“Well… right now it’s shredding your shortbreads.”

Shuffler bounded over the hill in rosy blur. The skeleton of a pegasus reared up on his hind legs, flared his wings and flailed his forehooves out in front of him while shouting and grunting. This might have been terrifying to a normal pony foal or a nestling griffon, but to Gillet – who spent his youth watching violent films well beyond his age – this was just odd. Slightly irritating at best.

“Raaa-AAAAHHH!” Shuffler’s declaration of cloud ownership became a surprised scream as he lost his hoofing and fell, spiralling down the cloud hill before coming to a spread-eagled crash landing just before the picnic blanket. Gillet stared at the groaning pegasus for a few seconds before shrugging and returning to the shortbreads.

“Did it work?” Adder called out, not withholding a small snicker.

“No… and it doesn’t matter… it’s already finished the shortbreads,” groaned Shuffler in reply. “It took me weeks to requisition those sky wheat rations just so I could make them!”

“Why didn’t you just come to me?” Added made his way down the hill and stood beside the crumpled form of Shuffler. “I could’ve gotten you those rations overnight.”

“Then it wouldn’t be a surprise.”

“Oh get up you useless lump of a stallion.” Adder helped Shuffler to his hooves. “I swear, sometimes I don’t know what to do with you… or what I would do without you.”

“Oh, you don’t mean that.”

“Mmmm… maybe I d-”

An empty tupperware container flew neatly between Adder and Shuffler’s snout, interrupting their tender moment. They both turned their heads to the little griffon, who continued to ignore their presence.

“So, what do we do with him?” Adder said.

“Wonderbolts.”

“What if we try maybe, talking to him?”

“Talking to it.”

“Don’t be so mean.” Adder stepped forward onto the blanket and cleared his throat. “Excuse me little one, might I ask who are you?”

Gillet ceased scrounging and turned to the voice. This time he was looking up at its source. “I’m not allowed to talk to strangers.”

“But you’re allowed to steal their food?”

Gillet paused and swallowed, realization suddenly coming to him. His first reflex was to smile charismatically. “Hi! My name’s Gillet. Is this your food Mr. Pegasus? Its really, really good!” This wasn’t the first time he had been caught stealing treats.

“Well aren’t you a polite little guy?” Adder said, turning to Shuffler as he finished the sentence. He merely huffed. “Well, this is Shuffler and my name is Adder.”

“Adder? Like the snake? Do you have fangs?! Is your special talent poisons?” Gillet asked excitedly. Suddenly he was genuinely beaming. “That would be so cool!”

The grey stallion chuckled. “Not quite little one. You see this?” Adder pointed to his cutie-mark; a dark blue addition symbol in a lighter square. “My talent is mathematics. I make a career as an accountant for the Enclave.”

Gillet’s beak upturned; he much preferred his version. Seriously, what kind of talent was being good at something boring? Thankfully Gillet knew his destiny and it wasn’t going to be something so dull, nor was it forever it tattooed to his flank as a depressing reminder. “What about him? Is his talent being clumsy?”

“I’ll have you know that I am a professional gymnast!” Shuffler twirled on the spot revealing a coiled red ribbon on his rosy hide.

“Mean a professional at falling over?” Gillet corrected.

“Why you mouthy little–”

“What brings you up above the clouds, Gillet?” Interjected Adder before the pair were interred in immature back and forth name calling. “Surely you know it’s not safe up here for you and your – and I mean no offense – kind.”

“I’m gonna join Junior Speedsters!” Gillet’s wings shot out from his side knocking over an adjacent thermos. “Can you tell me where they are? I wanna signup today!”

Adder had expected a lot of silly and absurd answers from Gillet, but this one in particular caught him off-guard. “Junior… whats, sorry?”

“Junior Speedsters,” Gillet repeated staring incredulously at Adder. “You don’t know about Junior Speedsters?”

“Not off the top of my head, no,” said Adder. He glanced back to his gymnast companion who simply glared at Gillet.

“Man, what do they teach you in pegasuses school!” Gillet exclaimed, frustrated by Adder’s lack of pre-war pop culture knowledge. “It should be the most famous flight school ever ‘cause Gilda, one of the greatest Talons ever, went there!”

Adder smiled but Shuffler bristled, his dislike of Gillet intensifying. Unlike his companion, Shuffler was well versed in famous athletes and their rise to power. Though he did not know of this Gilda or these Talons, he did know of one infamous pegasus who had at one point called herself a Junior Speedster. “Well, I guess you will just have to go home; Junior Speedsters was shutdown centuries ago. Good riddance too! All it did was inspire trouble-makers and vagrants.”

Gillet’s feature’s drooped. Adder shot Shuffler a short glare receiving a mouthed “What!” in reply. “There are other flight schools, Gillet, but I am certain you don’t need training. After all, you did fly all the way up here on your own.”

Apparently, it didn’t take much but a few compliments to get Gillet out of a slump. “Yeah… Yeah! You’re right! I flew up here all on my own even when mum said it was impossible and I should never try! I must have natural talent!” Gillet flexed his spindly arms and fluttered his wings.

“L-Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Adder said, his smile straining a little.

“Pfft! Natural talent!” Shuffler mocked, separating Adder from Gillet with his wings. “Hardly. You must have some sort of radiation induced mutation. Sacrificing brain cells for stronger wings I would think,” he added, continuing to insult a nestling who had just made it to the double-digits. “Now, shoo! Hurry along to your dear mother before you contaminate my… our picnic any further.”

Gillet stared blankly at Shuffler. There were a lot of big words in there he didn’t completely understand, but the couple he did piqued his interest. “Is this a ‘picnic’?”

“Yes it is!” Shuffler mistook Gillet’s innocent ignorance as insulting. “And you’re ruining it! Please go and leave us be!”

“Ruining what? I’m making it fun! Whattya gonna do with two ponies? Just Talk? Boring!” Gillet crammed a jam donut into his beak; about a third of it missed and tumbled down his sides. “Behfides! Fhrees comfanee!”

Shuffler’s brow twitched. “It’s a private picnic! For Adder and I!” he seethed through clenched teeth.

This time Gillet swallowed before speaking. “Private? In the middle of the sky? I like you. You’re funny.”

Adder stepped in before either of them got another word out. “What my friend is trying to say is: though we are grateful for your company, Shuffler and I would rather have a private picnic together. Do you understand?”

Adder’s smile was kind and understanding while Shuffler’s scowl was amusing and fun to play with. As much as Gillet was enjoying pressing his buttons and eating his food – especially the food – he did genuinely feel bad for Adder; he had to put up with Shuffler all day long. “You pegasuses are weird,” Gillet said with a simple shrug. “But… I guess I’ll go home and train on my own since I’m too good for your flying schools. I’m just gonna grab a few things for the trip back down.”

Gillet scooped up a pile of clouds and tried to bend them into the shape of a bowl. The process was a little harder than he imagined and very quickly he had a misshapen container of soft vapour which could barely hold a biscuit, let alone its shape. His first attempt frustrated him, so he tore it to shreds, scooped up another batch of clouds and tried again.

“You don’t know how to make cloud shapes?” This time it was Shuffler speaking with a softer tone. “At all?”

“Duh!” Gillet snapped, hurling the second bowl over the hill edge. He grabbed another batch and started over, concentrating his hardest this time. “Pegasuses keep hogging all the clouds! They don’t grow on trees y’know!”

“Here… like this.” Shuffler knelt down beside Gillet and scooped up a fresh batch of clouds. He weaved it in a circular motion while continually adding more wisps to it. Soon he held a solid, pearlescent bowl which he offered to Gillet. “See? Add enough layers and it becomes strong enough to hold just as much as your tummy could!”

Gillet eyed the bowl much like the unfaltering hero would eye the helping talons of the mocking villain. Eventually his desire for delicious food overtook his pride and he snatched the bowl from Shuffler’s hooves, uttering a barely audible thanks under his breath. Without looking at either of them, Gillet stuffed it to its brim and departed through the hole he tunnelled through in the first place.

“Finally!” Shuffler exclaimed. “I thought we’d never be rid of him!”

Adder chuckled as he joined his close friend in cleaning up Gillet’s mess. “Well, you can’t say it wasn’t interesting.”

“Do you think we should tell someone?” Shuffler said, occasionally glancing back at the hole, fearing more might come up through it. “A wild, perhaps disease ridden griffon just flew up here without care or concern!”

“Maybe he was just lucky?” Adder put forward neutrally. “There are outposts all over the clouds. He would have been vaporised instantly if he popped up within half a mile of one.”

“Instantly? No warning at all?”

Adder turned away, busying himself with a creased corner. “Nope.”

“Maybe we should duck there and check,” Shuffler said, taking several small steps towards Gillet’s cloud tunnel. “Just to see if he made it down there alright.”

“Just ‘duck down there and check?’” Adder repeated, baffled. “Moments ago you wanted to spank the little guy and buck him back underneath the clouds. Now you’re worried about whether he gets home or not? Are you trying to get branded?”

“I’m not!” Shuffler turned back to Adder, slightly more adamant but no less flustered. “I’m just saying it would be a shame if he were to… uhm… Just imagine if his parents came up here with an ash filled urn demanding an explanation!”

“Well his parents are horribly irresponsible then,” said Adder, raising his voice a little to egg Shuffler on. “Letting their son fly up here when they clearly know it’s dangerous!”

“Yes! You’re right!” Shuffler said with renewed enthusiasm. He was just thankful that the topic was moving away from him. “Anypony could set a better example! Even you and I could!”

Adder smirked. “You, and I?”

“W-Well… Figuratively!”

“You wanted to keep him didn’t you!?” Adder’s snide smirk returned as he pressed questions he already knew the answers to. “I saw that look Shuffler! You dived to help him the moment he was having trouble!”

“I just wanted to get rid of him so we could enjoy a picnic together! That’s all!” There was fire in Shuffler’s voice but clear uncertainty underneath it. Adder simply raised a brow prompting another short outburst from his close friend. “Besides! I would adopt a pegasi foal over some tainted beast!”

“Ohhhh! So you were thinking about adoption then!” Adder said, pressing the topic while Shuffler just stammered and backed away. “How could you possibly set aside the time and funds to raise a foal. Why… you’d need someone to help. A foal-sitter… or even a partn-”

Clunk!

Shuffler spasmed the moment that word was uttered from Adder’s mouth. His hind legs bucked back and struck a metal box sitting on the edge of the blanket. The buck itself wasn’t powerful but it was enough to launch the lockbox just short of Gillet’s cloud tunnel.

“NOOOOO!” Shuffler darted towards it, his dextrous hooves blurring with speed. The lockbox teetered on the edge before tumbling down just as his hooves neared it. As he prepared to make the dive after it, Adder tackled him from the side. “I need that box!” Shuffler shouted, bucking clouds into wisps as he struggled against his friend.

Adder poured every ounce of strength he could muster into preventing his friend from making the dive while Shuffler used every gymnastic trick he could think of to slip by.

The struggle only lasted a few minutes before Adder collapsed on top of Shuffler, using his weight to pin him against the clouds. “What…” he wheezed. “What was in that box?”

Shuffler gave one last effort attempting to pull himself out from underneath Adder, but it proved ultimately fruitless. Now admitting defeat he just laid there, his low eyes glistening softly. “A cake,” he answered despondently.

“You were going to risk your life for a CAKE?!” Adder’s voice rose sharply, a rarity in his life. “By the Goddesses, Shuffler! I can get you a cake! I can get you any cake you want.” He leapt off of Shuffler but remained between him and the cloud tunnel. “If you want to make the cake yourself I can get you the ingredients! Rare ones, too! I swear Shuffler; I’ll work day and night to get you whatever you want if you’ll just promise to never do that again!”

“Oh, it doesn’t matter anymore!” Shuffler spat, punching a low lying cloud into vapours. “The cake wasn’t important at all! What was inside was and now it’s gone! Years of -”

“OW!” Adder had just enough time to duck as the lockbox was hurled back out of the hole. In its shadow was Gillet and clutched in his talons was some soggy cake. “You pegasuses are super weird! Why’d you stuff shrapnel in a cake!? Huh?!” He tossed it at their hooves. “You could have chipped my beak!”

“You-but-how?!” stuttered Shuffler, his gaze darting between the disgruntled griffon and the open lockbox. Jammed in the keyhole was a brown feather.

“I was waiting for you boring pegasuses to leave so I could clean up. Then you started having a hissy-fit and threw the box down the hole. You nearly hit me!” Gillet accused, imitating his mother by pacing back and forth before them. “So I flew down and caught it ‘cause I have natural talent for flying remember. Then I picked the lock and inside was this kinda ruined cake but I figure I’ll just eat it anyway. When I bit-”

“You… You… Magnificent little rascal!” Shuffled dived onto Gillet tackling him before either him or Adder could react. “Thank you thank you thank you!”

“Hey! Hey!” Gillet squawked. He struggled hard but he was no match for the stallion and his hysterical strength. “Let go of me! I dun’ wanna catch being clumsy!”

The little display brought back Adder’s smile. As he waited, a peculiar glint in his peripheral vision caught his attention. Adder scooped up a small cloud and squeezed it over the cake. Slowly, the rain water washed it away revealing something he had always expected, but, nonetheless still shocked him to his core.

“Shuffler…” Said Adder slowly. In his hooves he held a golden band just wide enough to clip around the base of a pegasi wing. On a small setting was a sapphire addition symbol. “Is this… does this mean…?”

Adder looked up to see Shuffler standing before him; in his hoof was a similar band but his had a coiled ruby ribbon set in it. “It does…”

“I wanted it to be a surprise but, well, you know what happened.” Shuffler said coyly before turning to Gillet, who was stuffing his face with the ruined cake. “Can I ask a favour, Gillet?”

“I just saved your stupid jewellery!” The little griffon threw his wings and cake covered forearms into the air in exasperation. “Whattya want now!?”

“This is a very important moment, Gillet! You simply must take some pictures!” Without waiting for an answer, Shuffler dragged Gillet over in front of them and shoved a wonky, blocky device into his talons. “It means a lot to us.”

Gillet groaned and rolled his eyes, but truth be told he relished the opportunity. He wasn’t making motion picture history like his heroes but a couple of polaroids would last just as long. He focused intently on the task at hand, lest he succumb to whatever infected these pegasi and made them so mushy and boring.

“This is the happiest day of my life!” Shuffler exclaimed. He and Adder proudly displayed their wing clips as Gillet snapped shot after shot of them. A small pile amassing on the clouds before him. “Now you, Gillet!”

“What? Huh?!” Shuffler sculpted a pony size pillar of clouds beside Gillet and propped the camera on top of it. “Why me?”

“You mean a lot to us Gillet.” The camera’s internal clock started ticking down. “If you weren’t a griffon, Shuffler and I would take you home this very day!”

“Shuffler… I don’t think you shou-”

“Now, say-”

“FREEZE!”

The flash went off snapping a final picture of the trio. Adder and Shuffler beamed but Gillet’s expression couldn’t be anything but happy. Though he barely heard the voice over Shuffler and his own thoughts, he knew full well who it belonged to.

“HOOVES UP NOW!” Gillet’s forearms were first into the air.

From the clouds burst what Shuffler had feared. The mother griffon towered above them, rearing up on her hind legs and flaring her wings to keep herself balanced. She brandished at them a pistol and an expression that couldn’t be any more furious, incensed and – underneath all of that – worried.

“Oh Goddesses! Please don’t shoot us!” Shuffler cried while Adder tried to step in front of him. “Please we beg of you!”

“Step away from my son,” Glinnis demanded.

“Your… son?” Shuffler and Adder looked down to Gillet who in turned looked down at the clouds.

“Gillet. Come here. Now.” Slowly he trundled forward to his mother’s side. “And you two…” Glinnis lowered here pistol but still kept it at the ready. She glanced sideways to the picnic, then to the camera and finally back to them catching the glimmer of their wing-clip rings. “… You two enjoy your evening.” Glinnis grabbed Gillet by the forearm and dragged him along with her.

It was the worst kind of trip: the silent one. Both griffons descended from the clouds in complete silence, save the cycling of their wings and the wind whistling through their feathers.

Gillet knew he was trouble. As he stepped through the open Stable doors he might as well have waved goodbye to the outside world, but he wasn’t dreading impending punishment. There were other, more important, thoughts on his mind. Ones he hadn’t really given any serious thought to up until now.

Even as Glinnis ranted and raved at him about what he had done today, the only thing on his mind was the last picture taken, and what Shuffler had said.

“… now that story about a Vertibuck and I is true – and rather funny at the time – but it was still a life-threatening situation which I took very seriously! Did you just fly up there thinking it would be all fun and games!? You could have died! They could have taken you and locked you up in a zoo or performed freaky experiments on you!” Glinnis almost started plucking feathers from her head in frustration. “Gillet, answer me! What do you have to say for yourself?!”

Gillet looked at the picture before bringing his gaze up to his scowling mother.

“Mum, where’s dad?”

Chapter 4: Grounded Part II

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Chapter 4: Grounded – Part II

Why?

I expected him to pout, argue and shout. To spout a whole heap of nonsensical reasons about why he just had to go where I explicitly told him not to.

I knew exactly what I was doing!

It was practice! I was flying! I just flew up!

You said it was impossible! Well guess who proved you wrong!

I was gonna join Junior Speedsters just like Gilda did!

Why can’t we play with the clouds? Pegasuses have all the clouds! I want some too!

How come we never get to see the sun? I wanna see the sun!

Lasers! Pew pew pew!

But no, he just had to ask that. Something completely tangential to the subject at hand yet it struck home hard for both of us. For a moment I even considered it all an elaborate ruse just to get himself out of trouble.

Gillet’s eyes widened and averted to the floor. I realized too late I was glaring at him. All the rage and furore I held for my son evaporated in an instant, leaving me feeling… empty. My talons numbed and felt weak as I wrestled with the words in my head. I had to pick them carefully.

“Sweetie, what brought this on?” The words caught in my chattering beak but I pushed on. “It’s very sudden. Even for you.”

He dropped his gaze back to a… polaroid? “They were getting married,” he said quietly. “Then they become a real family right? How come I don’t have a real family?”

Until now, I had never given much thought to my parenting. I assumed I was doing a satisfactory enough job compared to what I had witnessed across the Wasteland. I would even say Gillet was privileged to live the life I had given him. Maybe there was something fundamental… a core responsibility I had overlooked.

“Aren’t I enough?” I answered with a soft smile, taking a seat on his bed beside him.

“Mum, I mean-”

“I know what you mean, sweetie.”

“I was just wondering.” He scooted a little closer to me and leaned on my side. I draped a comforting wing around him while his own pair fluttered weakly against the small of my back. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologise for anything, sweetie.” I finally looked down at the picture; the two pegasi I had just held at gun-point were beaming happily and in-between them was Gillet who just looked confused and sad. “And this was a real family to you?”

Gillet looked at the picture again, he pointed to the grey stallion first. “Dad…” then to the rose one. “… mum…” and finally to himself. “… son.”

“I see.” I think. Two Enclave stallions raising a griffon nestling as their own kin sounded like the start of a bad joke, but I could see what my son meant. “Well Gillet, you’re a big boy now. Old enough to fly and a good enough flyer to make it above the clouds. You’ve shown you can take responsibility and take out dangerous pests. Now, you’ve put me on the spot, calling me out on something I’ve dreaded for a long time.”

He looked up to me with wide, glistening eyes, a flurry of emotions held within. I could see dread, confusion and sadness in my son. It pained me to push on.

“Do you want to know the truth?”

“I…” Gillet trembled, shivered and then averted his gaze to the floor with a troubled flinch. “… I dunno.”

“I’ll save you the trouble then. It’s about time I come clean.” A soft sigh escaped me. I couldn’t recall the last time I felt anxiety like this. Negotiating with greedy bandits? A little tense but nothing a little coercion or few choice words couldn’t fix. Steel Rangers out for target practice? A challenge, but nothing I couldn’t outfly. That one time with the Vertibuck? That was actually fun.

I found no comparison to draw comfort from, so I just told my son the barest truth. “I’m sorry Gillet, but I don’t know who your father was or where he is…”

The next part pained me greatly.

“… and the same goes for your real mother.”

Fur, feathers, hue of the highlights and the crest atop the head made each griffon unique. Like Gillet I had a set of brushed back elongated feathers styled in a shallow mohawk with a pointed end. However; Gillet’s was natural, mine was fashioned that way. I plucked out a few bobby pins and my crest fell forward over my eyes. I was met immediately with a sharp gasp, and then silence.

This moment right here and now, is the lowest point of my life so far. I couldn’t even bring myself to look Gillet in the eyes. It hurt too much.

A real mother would tell white lies or spin tales of monsters who preyed on those who stayed up past their bed time or bullied other nestlings. I lied to an infant about their mother and father. For a long time I had wanted to tell him, but I kept putting it off until he was older. I thought he would have matured enough to understand better, but in the end, I had convinced myself it was easier to lie to him his entire life.

“I like it better that way,”

Gillet’s small voice roused me from sinking any further. I turned slowly to him, gazing down at his wide orange eyes through a messy golden haze. Despite all the lies I had just unloaded on to him, the corners of Gillet’s beak showed a reassuring smile.

“It looks just like Indiana’s, ‘cept gold instead of crimson.”

I blinked away a tear feeling my own beak mirroring his, albeit weaker. “Really? Whatever makes you happy, sweetie.”

We leaned on each other, him mostly against me. I was just happy he didn’t out rightly reject me then and there.

“Where did I come from then?” he asked eventually. I wasn’t out of radigator infested waters yet.

“Well… when two griffons love each other very much…”

“Ew! I don’t want that talk again!”

“Sure? Not even a little refresher?” Gillet shook his head like his life depended on it. “Suit yourself. Now, do you remember that talk we had about virtues? How they can help define us and give meaning to the way we act and how we live our lives amongst others.” He nodded softly. “Well, the day I found you happened to be the same day I found my virtue. It was about ten years ago, when I was making my very first delivery as a courier.”

…

“Oasis Trade Pony Express,

The swiftest hooves, no need for stress!

Travelling far and wide from city to town,

Delivering packages all around!

Roaming here and there, rain or sun,

A courier’s job is never done!”

Those lyrics stuck to me like a bad case of feather flu. I glanced upwards hoping to see the sun I had just sung of, but the roiling grey cloud cover forever loomed ahead. Sometimes, I felt like flying up there just to take a peek or maybe toy with the Enclave a little, but I doubt they’d take it lightly. It would be more trouble than worth in the end. With a small sigh I returned my gaze forward, making sure to keep Route 52 to my left.

Admittedly, singing and humming those lyrics relieved a little tension. Today I was under the scrutiny of Oasis Trade – dare I say the Wasteland’s – premier mail service. Provided I complete these deliveries satisfyingly, I could finish the day as a fully-fledged courier! Taking a wing-up in the world I had worked for ever since I could barely fly. Then I could travel. See Equestria, the wasteland, maybe even the world and all it had to offer. All I had to do deliver a package and sing a song.

“Just a hooful of bits

Our prices are a hit!”

Hm, that’s a tad out of date.

“Just a hooful of caps

We pay our couriers crap!”

Much better.

Ah! There was my destination; a dark dot nestled between rolling hills and rocky plateaus of the Equestrian Badlands, a place I thought entirely deserted. A simple dirt path flanked by some long dead trees led to the shack from the cracked and faded highway. I mused on how out of the way this place was as I started my descent. How would the ponies who lived here survive? Traders along the highway? Underground cellar? Hunters? Who knows; maybe I was taking them lunch right now.

I landed just short of the front porch and retrieved the package from my packs; a small box wrapped in brown paper. Hardly interesting but I still wondered what was contained within. I always liked to think every package was part of grander tale, and I was simply its mode of transport.

I’ll leave poetry and metaphors for another time. I did have a delivery to make right now.

“Mrs.… Sunlit Smiles?” I asked as the screen door swung forward. “I’ll need you to sign here and here please.”

“Sure dear.” What a quaint pony to match her name. The yellow unicorn took my pen with her magic glowing stuff and scribbled her signature were needed. “Honey! Lunch is here!”

“I’ll get the pit going!” said the masculine voice of what I assumed with Mr. Sunlit Smiles.

“We are using the oven!” she shouted over him.

Mr. Smiles response was notably delayed and a little deflated. “Okay honey. Whatever you want.”

Huh. Well I was right. The Oasis Trade Pony Express was using couriers to deliver lunch to out-of-reach residents. Well, I guess it wasn’t a complete waste of resources.

“Thankyou for using Oasis Tr-”

“Oh! Don’t forget your pen dear!” Mrs. Smiles took an abrupt hoof forward floating the pen back to me. For a moment it poised directly in front of my eye before slipping neatly into my jacket’s front pocket. “Say, that must have been such a long flight for a young griffon like yourself. You must be starving! Would you like to stay for lunch?” she then offered shaking the package. “My husband and I are trying out a shiny new pre-war cooking appliance! Very rare!”

“Thanks but no thanks. I have other deliveries to ma–” I felt an odd sensation around my ankles. I looked down to see transparent yellow manacles locking me in place! “Hey-Hey! Quit it! Let me go!”

Mrs. Smiles’ quaint demeanour was gone. Replacing it was a certain unnerving look of bestial hunger and malice. “Dear, I simply must insist,” she said, levitating a frying pan behind her. “I assure you, this lunch will simply be to die for!”

…

“SPANG!” I exclaimed, the sudden outburst causing Gillet to jump. “She smacked me upside the head with the frying pan! I was out cold on the spot.”

“A frying pan? ‘Simply to die for’? They’re cannibals!” Gillet gasped, clapping his talons to his cheek. “Did they eat you?!”

“You’ll just have to wait and… sweetie, what are you doing?” He had grabbed my right forearm and started probing it with his talons.

“I’m checking which one is made of metal,” he said, moving to my left.

“And why would they be made of metal?”

“Well duh!” he said incredulously. “‘Cause they ate one and then you got cy-beh… cy-ber-net-icks and swore revenge.”

I couldn’t help but smile. “You’ve got quite the imagination sweetie, but no, they didn’t eat my forearms and I didn’t get cybernetics as a result.”

He dropped my forearm, looking just a tad disappointed.

…

I woke an indefinite amount of time later lying on the cold stone floor of some pre-war bunker. My predatorial senses adjusted sharply, giving me a quick and in-depth view of my prison. Immediately I wished they hadn’t.

Lining the walls were multiple refrigerators, grime and muck seeping from the door seals. Stacked against the opposite wall were piles of bones, some bearing patterns of pony teeth. Next to them some canisters of flamer fuel were attached to pipes that led up through the ceiling, no doubt fuelling some nefarious heating system. Directly opposite of me, perhaps most terrifying of all, were two skeletal mannequins bearing sinister sets of pony barding.

On top of all that, my head hurt. Worst. First. Day. Ever.

Desperately I struggled against my bonds. The thick ropes around my wrists and hindlegs weren’t going to budge anytime soon and I couldn’t twist my talons around the slash at them. I tried flexing my wings but they were secured to my sides with some sturdy leather belts. Even my beak was taped shut.

Hold on… taped… just taped… that meant the tip was still free!

I groaned, shuffled, wriggled and rolled across the damp floor before I could bring my forearms and the binds up to my face. I pressed down against the rope, dragging the sharp tip of my yellow beak across it. It didn't cut all the way through on the first go, but a couple of quiet twangs gave me hope that escape was still a possibility.

“Honey! Are you boiling or frying my lunch?!” came the voice of Mr. Smiles.

“I can’t boil or fry anything until I get this thing working!” Mrs. Smiles replied angrily.

“Did you read the instructions?”

Mrs. Smiles groaned in frustration before replying. “No, I didn’t read the instructions! The trader didn’t mention any before I caved his skull in with the frying pan!”

“If it’s that much of a hassle, we’ll just cook it the old way,” replied Mr. Smiles.

A light scowl formed across my brow as I paused my escape attempt. What was this it business?

“No!” Mrs. Smiles cut in. “I am going to do this properly and we are going to enjoy a well cooked meal for once!”

“Whatever you want honey. My ways’ quicker and easier. Just saying.”

I waited for the across house banter to finish before resuming my escape. My forearms came free first, next the binds around my hind legs and wings thanks to my talons. I admired their gleam in the low light momentarily. Time and time again they had proven their usefulness. I’ll always wonder how ponies lived without razor sharp opposable digits.

As sharp as my talons were, I would still preferred to negotiate from a distance. Call it misfortune, naivety or irresponsibility, but I had set out of my first delivery unarmed. In my defence it had been my intention to purchase a sidearm with the caps I would have earned today.

Looking around the room, I felt as if the skeletons in the suits of raider armour were scrutinizing my situation with harsh, critical glares. Well, if Mr. and Mrs. Smiles left their armour down here, then perhaps their weapons as well. I needed something, anything to defend myself with.

“Ahah! Yes!” Mrs. Smiles exclaimed triumphantly. “I got the stove top working!”

“That’s great honey! I still think good ‘ol firepit is faster,” replied Mr. Smiles in a somewhat dour tone.

“Just you wait and see. I’ll fry you up some lunch first then we both get to work on dinner downstairs. I’m thinking… roast chicken tonight! What do you say to some nice, juicy drumsticks?”

First it, now chicken. These pair were really asking for it

“Sounds lovely, I guess,” said Mr. Smiles.

I was the main course? That was a load off my mind; it noon when I arrived and surely I hadn’t been out of it for that long. Still I had to wonder; who was lunch? Unless they were eating foals – which I wasn’t about to put past them – it had to be from their own reserves… that happened to be down here with me. My time was running out!

I crept up the stone steps mindful of my talons clinking against the hard surface. With a shallow breath, I twisted the door knob and tried to gently push it out. It didn’t budge in the slightest.

“Work dammnit!” I seethed, pressing my bulk against it. “Fine!”

I pulled back and threw my full weight against the door. My stomach lurched as I met no resistance, instead passing seamlessly through it and slamming into the opposite wall.

“Honey!” I froze, the sudden shout giving me pause. “I think dinners’ escaping!”

I turned right; there was Mrs. Smiles, the glow of her yellow magic fading the from the door knob.

“That’s one thing you’re right about, dear!” she answered. I expected to see a set of jagged teeth when she grinned.

I brought my forearms up just in time to block a buck from Mrs. Smiles. The seasoned raider’s kick sent me tumbling down the hallway, crashing into the doorframe of what appeared to be the house’s kitchen. Reeling from the blow I managed to scramble upright just as a luminescent flash of yellow appeared to my right. Her hind hooves struck me on my sides this time, sending my sliding across the tiled floor and slamming into a kitchen bench. Dinner plates, cutlery and some familiar brown packaging paper rained around me as I watched Mrs. Smiles approach through dazed eyes.

Weakly, I again raised my forearms in defence but instead of third buck, something smooth and ellipsoidal fell down upon them. I opened my eyes and discovered what Mrs. Smiles had planned on frying up for lunch.

An egg. A griffon sized egg with a sandy shell and some brown and bronze splotches to be precise.

Everything came to an awkward stand still. Even Mrs. Smiles could only grin uneasily while averting her gaze to the floor and ceiling. I just stared in awe of the egg as a flood of thoughts rushed through my head.

Who did it belong to? I was no mother myself but I knew what a griffon hen would sacrifice for her young or what any Talon with a shred of decency or honour would do if they knew of the Smiles’ actions.

Secondly, where had these cannibals acquired such a thing? Some sort of underground black market? An illicit organization trafficking exotic food and meat?

Which lead to one horrifying realization: sitting atop the egg was a torn fragment of the invoice, the part that just happened to be signed by me. I don’t know if my employer set this up or some shady dealer manipulated us both, but they had used me to carry it out.

“How about I take that off your hooves…” Mrs. Smiles said slyly, her yellow magic slowly enveloping the egg. I closed my talons around it as felt her try to tug it from my grip. “Give me the damn egg! It’s not even yours!”

“It’s my delivery!” I shouted back before rolling to the side to dodge a stab from her knife. I leapt up and grabbed the handle of the frying pan sitting atop the now working stove and swung it around, slamming the hot underside against the side of her head. “How’s it feel, bi-”

…

I slammed my beak shut and glanced to my son who scrutinized me with a raised brow. “H-How’s it feel you… you big, ugly pony!” I hastily corrected.

“Mum, you can say it,” Gillet said, unamused. “Indiana’s said it like a hundred times. It’s what she calls Gilda all the time.”

Huh. Alright then. Maybe I should actually sit down and watch these movies sometime.

…

I slammed the hot underside of the frying pan against Mrs. Smiles’ head, scattering her magic. “How’s it feel, bitch!”

“Gah! Honey! I could use some help here!” Mrs. Smiles screamed as she recoiled, blindly swinging the kitchen knife at me with her flickering magic. “This chickens’ putting up a fight!”

“I’ll be there in just a second!”

Not enough time! I had to make my exit pronto! Through where though? The window? A door? Over Mrs. and Mr. Smiles beaten bodies? That last one was tempting.

Pain shot through one of my digits as Mrs. Smiles knife cut through the hard scales. I jerked my talons back with a shout of pain dropping the frying pan but maintaining my grip on the egg. I reached for it only to have Mrs. Smiles yank it out into hallway with her magic.

“Well chicken, any last words?” Mrs. Smiles menaced, advancing on me with the kitchen knife.

“Yeah.” I returned her glare with a confident smirk. “This griffon’s on no-one’s die-et!”

…

I looked to my son for approval, but all I received was a disappointed frown.

“You already used ‘die’ once mum,” he grumbled. “You can’t use it more than once or it loses its punch.”

Well, my son was either going to grow up to be a Talon or a critic. I could see both occupations getting him into a lot of trouble.

…

“Take a step back, honey.”

We both turned to look at Mr. Smiles who now had me at gun point… with a grenade launcher! By the Great Egg! We were in the same freaking room!

Mrs. Smiles vanished in yellow flash while I stood and stared, completely dumbfounded by the situation. I thought this was it; the end. That I would go out in a grenade rifle’s explosion in some raider’s kitchen, taking some innocent griffon with me as well. My thoughts trailed on like this for some time before I realized Mr. Smiles hadn’t fired yet. Actually, he was jerking the gun to the right, directing me to an open pantry.

I dived in just as Mr. Smiles fired, slamming the door shut with my tail. The explosion rocked the house to its foundations, sending kitchen utensils and oven fragments flying like hot shrapnel.

“Darn,” uttered Mr. Smiles with what sounded forced surprise. It was hard to tell through the deafening ringing. “That damn griffon was just too fast for me.”

There was another yellow flash and Mrs. Smiles appeared in the kitchen. “My oven!” I heard her moan. “I spent months searching for one!”

“What a shame.” Mr. Smiles gave a few seconds of solemn silence before perking back up. “Whelp! I’ll go get the flamer so we can cook the dinner the old fashioned and better way.”

“NO! I am not eating anything cooked with your stupid flamer anymore!” Mrs. Smiles teleported into the kitchen doorway blocking her husband. “You don’t cook the meat properly and it always tastes like petrol!”

“Then I’ll use the fancy home-made stuff. You like maize, right?” Mr. Smiles argued while trying to get around his wife who continued to block his path. “Aw come on! I spent MY day lugging that stupid oven across the desert and hooking up MY flamer fuel to it!” he slammed his forehooves onto the ground and butted heads with his wife. “I want something to eat!”

“And you could have had that if you just waited!” Mrs. Smiles bellowed back, also pressing her forehead against his. “But nooooo! You had to blow up the oven and put a great big bloody hole in our new wall! Guess who’s going to fix that!” She jabbed him sharply in the chest with her hoof. “You are! And you’re not having ANYTHING to eat until you do!”

I peered through the grated pantry door. Mrs. Smiles was indeed right; smoke cleared from the oven wreckage revealing a sizeable hole blown in the wall behind it. It was my best bet out of here so I clutched the egg to my side, poised myself low to the ground and uttered a small prayer to the Great Egg before making a mad dash for freedom.

“And now dinner’s getting away!” I heard Mrs. Smiles shout as I bolted past them. “That’s also your fault!"

I ducked through the hole just as a kitchen knives telekinetically rained around me. I spread my wings to catch some lift, only to come crashing down moments later. I only flew twenty feet! I looked to my left wing and groaned in frustration; impaled cleanly through the carpel joint was a blackened fork. I felt like yanking it out, marching back in there and slowly disembowelling both Mr. and Mrs. Smiles with it.

“Yes honey! I have got the right gun this time!” Mr. Smiles shouted. I clutched the egg close to my chest and leapt to the side towards an old sky-wagon just as Mr. Smiles let off a burst of automatic fire. Though safe behind it, I was now pinned with no hope of an aerial escape and delicate cargo perhaps more precious than I.

“What did you do this time?! Can you do anything right!?” I was growing accustomed to Mrs. Smiles raised voice and argumentative tone. I glanced back to see jets of flame erupting from the ovens base. Through the shimmering, hot air I could see Mr. and Mrs. Smiles still arguing. While they were distracted, I decided to make another mad dash for it.

Next thing I know I was blown off my talons and paws and slammed into the rusted remains of a pre-war outhouse.

…

“Luckily, no-one had used it since the spells fell,” I added.

“What blew you off the ground?” Gillet asked.

“Do you remember that part from Fight for the Fringes IV where Indiana strapped a stick of dynamite to a cylinder of gas...” GiIlet looked up to me with wide eyes. “… And then threw it at the cyber-zebras running across the bridge to stop them.”

“Yeah. It didn’t work ‘cause they had jetpacks.” I swear I’ll know these movies just as well as he does one day.

“Well, remember what I saw in their basement?”

Gillet thought really hard to himself. “The raider armours… piles of bones… fridges and… flamer fuel?”

“Which had pipes leading up into the ceiling.”

They say a light bulb sparks above your head when you work things out. I imagined the glow above Gillet’s could almost outmatch the fresh glare of a balefire egg. “How big was it!?”

“Pretty big.”
“All the way up to the clouds?” Gillet threw his forearms into the air imitating the shape of a mushroom.

“Not quite, but let’s just say the house was… no longer a house.”

I thought his movies and documentaries might have numbed him to it a little but the amount of glee on my son’s face said otherwise. “What happened next?”

“I woke up a day later in a Talon compound close to the Badlands Border. A squad that happened to be passing by on patrol noticed the giant plume of smoke and flew in for a closer look. They were kind enough to mend my wing and get me back on my talons.” I showed him the joint of my left wing; underneath the feathers you could clearly see four small scars. “Their leader, Gorge, – the biggest griffon I had ever laid my eyes on! – needed my help. The egg traffickers had also stolen his son.”

“Did you become a Talon and help save him?” Gillet asked. His question I had expected but the worried tone I had not.

“Sweetie, you don’t need to be a Talon to help another griffon in need,” Gillet nodded softly, taking my wisdom a little more seriously. He had simply laughed the last time I said that. “I led them to my employer back at the Oasis Trade Pony Express and they were able to acquire the information after tearing the place to the ground and interviewing the employees four hundred feet above the city.”

“They got what they needed right?” Gillet quivered with unease, his talons tightening on my forearm. “The big Talon got his son back… right?”

“He did.” Gillet sighed deeply in relief. “He was generous in thanks; offering me expensive equipment, wealth, a home in their compound and even instant membership.” I chuckled softly as my son drooled on jacket sleeve. “I settled for some menial supplies and a favour I plan never to cash in. I was just happy to lend a talon helping save his son and bringing those involved to justice.”

“… Justice,” Gillet repeated, awe in his eyes and tone.

“The Oasis Trade Pony Express went out of business but I decided to stick with the courier job. After all, since my first delivery could not be completed, it now fell to me to return it to the original sender. I just had to find them first.” I pulled the framed Equestrian World Map off the wall and held it before Gillet and I. “I used my courier’s map and visited every place listed. I started south first, leaving the Badlands and travelling to Dodge City and then up around near Shattered Hoof and Junction R-7.”

“Wow…” Gillet followed the route I laid out with his own talons, eventually catching up to mine. “That’s a long way."

“It was just the beginning.” I remembered it just like it was yesterday. It was then when I truly started to live my life. “The Talons there pointed me further north to Manehatten, Tenpony and Friendship City. All busts, so I moved east towards the Canterlot Ruins and then swung around to meet with the Tronto Talons. No leads but I meet a wonderful mare in the city who offered to take you in, no questions asked. Next, I plucked up what courage I had and ventured south into the perpetual warzone that was Fillydelphia.”

“You went to Filly?”

“I convinced myself too. Let’s just say my visit solidified it as a no fly zone.” I shuddered; the ash, pollution and lets not even mention the locals. “I luckily found another squad on its outskirts who lead me to the ruins Ponyville and finally to New Appleloosa.”

Gillet caught on. “Finally?” he asked with a hint of trepidation.

“Finally,” I repeated nodding just slighty. “My time in Fillydelphia was… tiring, and I needed a decent night’s sleep before planning an expedition outside the Equestrian borders.” I chuckled softly to myself as fond memories and nostalgia came flooding back to me. “I had to put that plan on hold as I had something much more important to worry about the next morning.”

“It hatched?

It? Tucked in my jacket was a necklace; on it dangled a bronze and brown fragment from that very egg. Again, Gillet stared at it. I could almost hear the rusty gears grinding into place inside his little head, but this really shouldn’t be so hard for him to piece together… right?

“That’s just like me,” he murmured, toying with the fragment. Suddenly his eyes lit up. “I was in that egg?”

My parenting might be up to par but perhaps I should look into my ability to teach. “Of course that was you!” I answered with an exasperated smile. “I failed my delivery Gillet. I couldn’t return that package in time. I failed to reunite you with your true parents before you hatched… So I tried to raise you as best I could.”

“You did all that for me?” I nodded slightly. “Teased raider ponies, exploded them and then flew all over Eques… the world just for me?” My messy crest flopped about as I nodded again. Gillet and I shared a brief stare before he erupted in joy. “I HAVE THE BEST MUM EVER!”

Suddenly I was flat on my back with Gillet wrapped around my middle. “You’re fine with me not being your real mother?” “‘Fine?’ I’m lucky! I have the coolest mum in the world!” The fears which had haunted me for nearly a decade lifted in an instant. I floundered a little, still overwhelmed, before wrapping my own wings and forearms around Gillet, returning his embrace with almost the same amount of passion as he did. “And she’s so awesome that she won’t ground me for flying up above the clouds.”

My smile just broadened. “Nice try little guy, but you’re not off the hook that easily.” His grip slackened a little. “However. For being such a brave little boy, maybe I’ll ground you for a week, instead of the rest of your life. Sound fair?”

I knew my son had a way with words and the will to argue anything he deemed remotely unfair, but I don’t think either of us were up for a debate tonight. “Okay,” he said.

“Come on, you can have one treat before your grounding starts.”

“A treat? Yes!” Gillet leapt off the bed and flew out the doorway in a bronze and brown blur.

“What did I say about flying inside the stable, mister!” I called out after him, even if I knew it was pointless. I sat back down on Gillet’s bed giving myself a brief respite. This was a conversation I had dreaded for years. Yet, when it finally came about, it was over in minutes. Gillet’s impression of myself was what I had feared the most. He worshiped the history of others and I assumed he would do the same to his own. To have him accept me as his mother, and not a griffon who robbed him of his lineage or his true family, warmed me to my core. Truly, I had been blessed.

As I blinked a tear, I heard the clinking of little talons and claws speeding back down the hallway. “Wait! Mum! You forgot one bit!”

“Oh?”

“Your virtue!” He skidded to a halt just in front of me. “You said you found it on the same day you found me! What was it?”

“Isn’t it obvious, sweetie?” I said while ruffling his bronze and brown crest. “My virtue was you.”

Chapter 5: Props and Propositions

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Chapter 5: Props and Propositions

“Right. Six assault rifles, each with scopes, three battle-saddles each with auto-loaders and a crate of 5.56, six-hundred rounds. That amounts to five thousand caps.

“Correct.”

“Hey, can I see your shotguns?”

“And on top of that: six 10mms and two hundred rounds. Now I’ll be truthful with you; I bargained these out of trader from Filly, so I can’t be certain of their quality. I take it that’s not an issue?”

“That’s fine. I’ll take them anyway.”

“Didja get some shotguns from Filly?”

“Well, that’s that. Bring your caravan ‘round the shop tomorrow and I’ll load everything up. Is there anything else I you need?”

“Hm, I heard the local Steel Rangers were kicking up a fuss recently. I wouldn’t mind some explosives to scare them off.”

“Pfft. Shotguns are way scarier.”

“What type of shot-I mean, explosives? I’ve got both frag apples and plasma ‘nades but I don’t usually stock matrix disruptors. I might have a crate of satchel charges out back. They’re not very practical, but the bang’d make ‘em stain their power suits.”

“Are there shotguns out back too?”

“I was hoping for a Balefire egg honestly.”

“You’re better off asking the Steel Rangers themselves. No-pony for miles around stocks those. Besides, I thought you were just trying to scare them off, not start a war.”

“Fair enough. I’ll take the crate of satchel charges then.”

“I’ll take the crate of shotguns.”

“Sure, one crate of shotguns coming ri-… Would you shut your beak and wait for your goddess-damned turn!”

“Hmph! Rude. Is that how you treat all your customers?”

“How ‘bout I treat you to some buckshot. Free of charge!”

“I see you have an appointment with another customer. We can finish this transaction later.”

“Wait! I don’t even know him! We’re still good for the deal right!?” But it was too late; my buyer had trotted off leaving me with this interruptive customer. He was a griffon; a slim one with sandy fur, bronze and brown feathers. I wasn’t any expert when it came to cat-birds but this one looked like a late teenager. “You bugger off.”

The griffon merely harrumphed, sat down on his feline rump, crossed his golden talons across his chest and donned an expression of pure, almost aristocratic indignation. “Not until you sell me a shotgun.”

I starred and stammered at the griffon. “You snotty little brat! I’ll… I’ll…!” Okay, calm down. He’s just a colt… chick… whatever you call teenage griffons. I’ll play him off with some little dismissive comments of my own. “I don’t sell weapons to young’uns.”

“Good, ‘cause I’m no young’un anymore, gramps. It’s my birthday today and I’m gonna start my Talon mercenary training,” said the griffon, sticking his beak up into the air. “And I want to train with a shotgun, so sell me one.”

“Talon mercenary training huh?” I leaked contempt like my fresh sparkle cola seeped condensation. “And to whose squad do you belong to?”

“Indiana’s of course!” he spouted placing his talons on his hips and boldly puffing out his chest. “She only takes the best and that includes me!”

“Never heard of her.” Or have I? Was she that bird making foals’ play of Fillydelphia? Maybe that behemoth of a griffon keeping the Badlands Border safe for traders? Or perhaps she led the Talons sweeping raiders off the streets of Manehatten? I gotta start writing them down, so hard to keep track of all these squads and their politics.

The griffon snorted with what sounded like amusement. “Well maybe I should bring her down here then.”

As much I was starting to violently hate this kid, I had to urge caution on myself. The Talons were either families or tight-knit squads and the last thing I needed – as an independent gun-runner – was for this brat to whine to this Indiana, either his squad mate or an influential family member. A couple of choice words here and there and I’d be out of business or goddesses forbid if she actually did come down here. “Alright… son. Welcome to Nickel’s Gun-porium.” The satirical tone of voice I used flew over his feathered head. “You want some fine shotguns to start your mercenary career with? Have a gander at top row. All from quality makers, including yours truly.”

He dropped the prideful twat act and nearly leapt onto the counter with a flutter of enthusiasm I expected from someone his age. “That one!” He barely scanned the row once before pointing excitedly at the furthest right. “I want that one!”

I couldn’t help but spare a small chuckle. “The super shotgun? Son, that beast’ll rip and tear your bird-arms from their sockets and good luck paying a doc the caps to sew them back on. I ain’t seen a finer made firearm in my gun-running career, so I ain’t dropping the price below a reasonable five digit offer.” This weren’t the first time I’d recited that lecture to an eager customer, and after all these years I was now reluctant to let the gun go. After a few seconds of fond remembrance, I turned back to my counter to see the griffon still with a dumb smile on his beak. “That is to say it’s a little outside of your price range.”

“How about that one?” he said pointing to the stocky riot shotgun next to it.

“Yeah, I don’t think so-”

“That one then.”

“No, listen-”

“The pump-action one! Indiana uses one of those!”

“Just listen t-”

“That one has two barrels! Twice as much dam–”

“How many caps do you have!?” I shouted before he could get another word in. “Shotguns are expensive! Guns are expensive! You tell me how many caps you have and I’ll show you which ones you can afford!” He recoiled, almost looking hurt by my outburst.

“I have…” He pulled out a small pouch of caps and peered into it, muttering to himself before tossing it on the counter. “I have this much.”

I rolled it over in my hooves, weighed it with my magic and then dropped them on a set of scales. “You’ve got about three hundred caps in there, give or take. With that you can afford…” I focused my levitation magic on two shotguns to the far left of the top row and brought them down to the counter. “… either the caravan shotgun; two shots, 20 gauge, three hundred caps or the single shotgun; a reliable weapon, 20 gauge and priced at an affordable one hundred and fifty caps.”

“Oh! Oh! Oh! The Caravan shotgun! Two shots! Twice as powerful!” His talons darted out like a strike of yellow lightning, but my magic was faster and I was just able to yank it out of his reach. With those reflexes he probably could make a formidable Talon.

“Hold on son. That’s three hundred caps for just the gun. No ammunition. No attachments. No maintenance. Nuthin’ else.”

He and I looked at each other for a long time. “So?”

This time I nearly mounted the counter “So? SO?!” Stuff it, you’re in for a little lecture sonny. “So how you gonna train with no shells?! Just point the gun and make some noises?!”

“N-No…” he mumbled, twiddling his talons. “I’d never…”

“Aiming ain’t worth nuthin’ when you don’t know how to handle recoil! What about reloading? Fumble your shells and you’re raider food! No buts! No exceptions!” I flung the caravan shotgun over my head with a quick telekinetic flip. It fastened back into its designated spot on the rack. “The single shotgun is still a decent weapon. It’ll make you appreciate your shots and teach you in the importance of maintenance ‘cause if this jams, you’re screwed sonny.” He tumbled over backwards as I practically threw the single shotgun at him. “And here’s your ammunition; fourteen 20ga shells I scraped out of the last tin. Altogether; that’s one-hundred and sixty-four caps.”

“Oof!” I may have hit him in the head with the box of shells. “Jeez… don’t be so bossy.”

“You’ll thank me later.” I halved his caps and then added in the cost of the shells. There was still some leftover so I figured I might get rid of some more starter stock I had. “So, you’ve got your shotgun and some shells. On top of that you’ll need backup and some armour.”

“Can I have a revolver?”

“Sure you don’t want a nice, reliable knife?” I floated over a serrated combat knife. Designed for ponies but the grip would fit a griffon’s grasp. “It’ll cut through a Ranger’s steel like me to my prices.”

My magic angled it so he could see his reflection in the polished blade. I saw the want in his wide, twinkling tangerine eyes but, to my surprise, I also saw hesitation. Eventually he pulled his gaze away and looked to his own talons which he had been absent-mindedly tapping together. Their gleam showed that he – or somepony/griffon – cared for them. “But I already have these…”

“Good. Now you’re using your noggin.” I stuck the combat knife back into the block and levitated out a small revolver from a display case behind the counter. Its polished tone matched my coat perfectly. “This here’s a Nickel original,” I said, spinning the revolver around slowly with my magic. “While it won’t blow holes through a manticore, this .22 revolver is easily concealable and always reliable. With eighteen rounds that’s fifty-six caps.” He grabbed it and instantly started pulling the trigger; a sort of mad glee erupted over him as the revolver cycled and clicked. “Hey. Hey! Don’t they teach you basic trigger discipline? Ton-I mean talon! Keep your talon off the trigger or you’ll shoot somepony you don’t want to!”

“Pfft! Like that’d happen,” said the idiot while whipping around and quick drawing the .22 revolver at imaginary shadows. I could see a lot of training needing to go into this one. “Oh relax. I know how the handle guns. I’ve watched a ton of movies on them.”

I was brimming with confidence. “Well, if you’re going to act like a foal with a pointy stick, the least I could do is sell you some body armour for when you do hurt yourself.” I floated over a set of dark leather armour from one of the display mannequins. “With what you’ve got left, this is the best I can offer. It’ll soften the bite of a bullet but it don’t say much about the wearer.”

“That’s fine. I can do all the talking,” he said, slipping into the loose armour.

“Whatever.” Altogether it was a small transaction. Just a couple of weapons, some shells, bullets and a set of armour previously owned by moths. Yet, as I watched the griffon strike a series of stupid looking poses, I felt a small pittance of satisfaction… or maybe dread. Goddesses have mercy; I’ve sold body armour and weapons to an idiot.

The bells at the front of my store chimed and in stepped the silhouette of another griffon. Goddesses, this kid wasn’t joking earlier. For a few brief moments I actually tensed up but it all melted way when I recognized the elongated golden crest and a pair of vibrant tangerine eyes. “My, aren’t we looking snazzy!” she said, striding up to the counter.

“Glinnis! My favourite courier!” I greeted, clopping my hooves together. “Is this Gillet? Your boy? It’s been years! I hardly recognize him.”

“He doesn’t get out much. Spends so much time in that stuffy Stable watching those movies. Again and again. All day long.”

“It’s called training, mum!” he countered, dodging to the side and almost tripping with the loose leather armour. “But now I can train by doing!”

“After, you finish all your chores, Gilly.”

Today I saw a griffon scrunch his beak. Truly a rare sight. “Stop calling me that in front of the ponies, mum. They can’t know classified stuff like that.”

In a golden and beige blur, Glinnis darted back to Gillet’s side and ruffled the feathers atop his head. “You’re still my son and I reserve the right to call you what I want, when I want, Gilly.” Her hold was strong and Gillet was near powerless until she relented. Though she wasn’t a Talon, Glinnis could damn well move and fight like one. “Now wait outside. I have to wrap a few things up before we can head home.”

In attempt to regain some respect, Gillet slipped out of his mother’s grip and tried to strike another pose. It lost its impact when he tripped and tumbled into the very mannequin I had taken the armour off. Gillet finally left the store after picking it back up and uttering a small thank you under his breath.

“I trust you were fair with your prices?” Glinnis asked as she casually admired what other stock I had.

“I was. I was,” I replied just as loftily. “Little bugger kept mouthing off about bringing Talon squads down on me. This Indiana griffon too.”

“Talon Squads? Indiana? And you believed him?” Glinnis spared me a mirthful chuckle as she placed a small sack of caps on the bench. “I didn’t think he’d pull it off. Now I owe him my dessert for the rest of the week.”

“Yeah… well… if there’s anything he did thoroughly convinced me of; is that he’s got a long way to go yet.” I leaned back in my chair and sipped from my Sparkle Cola. From underneath the counter I levitated out a box of .45 ACP. “He won’t be able to talk his way out of everything. Better you teach him that ‘fore he tries reasoning with a hellhound or a pack of hungry raiders.”

“I will. There’s no need to worry.” I wasn’t worried… well, not that worried.

Glinnis took the ammunition, idly checking a few rounds before dropping the box into her packs. I levitated the sack and emptied the caps into the register before floating it back to her. The exchange was silent; it was something we had done every month since she and Gillet moved into the abandoned Stable east of here.

Sometimes I wondered if she actually had to use those bullets. Glinnis was still a mystery to me; she was well-travelled enough for the good DJ to mention her by name or simply as Courier – which I assumed was her – once or twice. Surely a simple postage packager wouldn’t attract the attention of powerful ponies and griffon or something even greater?

Then again, talent was undeniably valuable in the wasteland. A decent merc could always find work. Gun-runners like myself always had buyers, but Glinnis? She had a wide assortment of skills; some she learnt travelling and others just plain natural. She could find well-paying work at the drop of a cap as a bodyguard, a guide or even a successful Talon. Yet she lived the life of a simple courier; travelling abroad, tempting raiders, bandits and even the Pegasi Enclave if some of her wilder stories were to be believed.

To what purpose? Simply a mother caring for her son. Dare I say in this day and age, that was almost inspiring. It made me feel guilty for a moment; I’d given wasteland ponies guns to defend themselves, but I’d never give’n it life.

“Again, I really appreciate it, Nickel. I’m certain Gillet does as well. He just gets caught up in the moment and forgets to mention it.”

“Ah, it’s nothing Glinnis.” I said, taking an abrupt but keen interest on the weathered grain of my bench top. “Take care now.”

“You too.”

My brow furrowed just slightly as she turned to leave. “Hold up, Glinnis. It’s the brat-I mean Gillet’s birthday right? I might have something else for him.” I felt around underneath my counter with my magic, searching for a small accessory I tried to toss out the other day. They didn’t sit right on my head and nopony sane short of a drugged up raider would wear something that tacky.

“Oh, you don’t have to. He’s happy enough with the things you sold him.”

“Nah. I can see this stuff means a lot to him. He’s an alright kid. You’re lucky to have him.” Eventually I found them, sitting behind a trash can. “Here. Dunno if they’re genuine or not. Probably a pair of dodgy knockoffs made in some pre-war zebra sweatshop.”

Glinnis eyed the pair of plastic sunglasses, her expression light and amused. “I’m sure he’ll love them. Is there anything I can do to repay you?”

“Oh… how ‘bout you and I get together for a couple of beers some time? My treat.” I put forward as neutrally as possible.

“Beer? How do you feel about wine?” Glinnis leant on the counter, idly running her talons along an indent on the bench top. “I did some excavating at home last month and found a fridge stocked with the stuff. I’m not expert, but it all looks pre-war and well-aged.” She looked up at me lidded brows and an irresistible smirk. “How about you and I test them over a movie? Not one of Gillet’s. There’s a few romantic ones I’ve never gotten a chance to watch before.”

I stood stupidly still for a moment. Was I hearing this correctly? Vintage wine, movies and a night with Glinnis? This was too good to be true. There had to be some sort of catch. “What about Gillet?”

“I’ll take care of Gillet. You won’t have to worry about him.”

At that I smiled. “I’d love to then. This week-”

CRACK!

A gunshot just on my storefront. I tensed, reactively grabbing the grip of my revolver with my magic. Glinnis spun on the spot, talons and claws sinking into the wooden planks, ready to pounce or fly if need be.

“Oh goddesses! He’s got a gun! Nickel sold him a gun!” screamed the owner of the general store next door. “Everypony run!”

“MUM! MEETCHA BACK HOME ‘KAY,” shouted Gillet over the clip-clop of hooves and panicked cries.

For a moment, we were speechless. Glinnis softened upon hearing her sons and voice and turned back to me. We shared a silent stare, conveying identical thoughts before smiling at the situation.

What perfect timing.

Glinnis chuckled softly. If I were in her spot, I would have sworn. A lot. “I’ll catch up with you another time, Nickel. Bye for now.”

“Sure. Seeya.” Glinnis left, chasing after the whims of her son. Truly she was a greater griffon… parent, than I ever would be.

Chapter 6: Date-ed

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Chapter 6: Date-ed

Held in my talons was a framed photograph. Two massive griffons stood side by side, squeezing against each other as if the picture threatened to crumple under their size and weight.

The gargantuan griffon on the left was Gorge, my father and the leader of the Badland Talons of southern Equestria. Proudly he beamed, resting one his thick forearms around a slimmer, but just as tall griffon trying her best smile. The grey-scale photo didn’t show her distinctive maroon highlights well enough but you easily identify her as a close relative. A daughter to be precise. My smile may have looked awkward and a little forced, but I stilled cherished this moment. Now so far from home, this picture and a few others were all I had as reminders of my friends and family back at the compound.

“Gwynne, the locals may look a little spooked but they’re kind folk. They won’t start anything with you,” Glinnis said as she stepped into my bedroom effortlessly balancing a weighty box of medical textbooks across her wings and back. “And if they do, just tell Nickel or I. We’ll sort them out.”

“I’m sure we’ll get along fine,” I replied lifting it off her back with equal ease. “I hope they’ll warm up to me once they learn my presence here is purely academic.”

I set the box down beside my desk and stacked the books along it. For a moment I admired it; this was mine, my own private place of study. No longer was I sharing a room with a rambunctious squad of Junior Talons of whom I was the eldest. Glinnis fished out a pair of cool Sparkle Colas from the fridge in the kitchen (which was also mine) and we shared a small celebration commemorating my independence.

“Now, I’ve stocked your fridge for at least a few days I hope,” Glinnis said, leaving the bottlecap on my desk and moving back into the kitchen. “I hadn’t seen you since you were only… twice my size so I bought you some mole rat meat, some squirrel skewers, a couple Brahmin steaks, carrots, sack of potatoes. For drinks; bottled water, a carton of Sparkle Colas and a couple of Ali-Colas for those late night studies. The general store is just down the road next to Nickel’s gun store. You might need him to smooth over introductions with the owner. She, uh, gets a little skittish around griffons.”

I stared at the open fridge; the contents lovingly sealed, wrapped and organised by day. “Glinnis, this just too much!” I rounded on Glinnis, overwhelmed by her generosity.

“It’s nothing, just happy to help,” she added with warm smile.

“Honestly, you’ve done so much for me and my family. Now and in the past. There must be something, anything I can do repay you.”

“Really Gwynne, it’s nothing! I’m just eager to hel-” Glinnis paused, the sides of her mouth slowly curving into a smile. “Actually… there is one thing you could help me with. When do you start work at the clinic again?”

“Not until next week. Why do you ask?”

Glinnis paused for thought, idly tapping her beak with the tip of her talons. “Could you perhaps… mind the nest for me this weekend?”

That was an odd request. I could have sworn Glinnis’ son was old enough to be independent but if it’s what Glinnis wanted it felt rude to refuse. “Sure I can! You live in the stable underneath that old house overlooking the bay, right?”

At that, Glinnis smiled. “Not my place, dear.”

…

Amongst other griffons, I did not have to worry about my appearance. I quickly realized my presence here was somewhat threatening to the locals. An earlier trip to locate the general store resulted in an awkward situation with the owner brandishing a broom at me while screaming “Not again!” Luckily, Nickel who owned the gun store next door was able to smooth things over and I avoided an embarrassing meeting with the local law enforcement.

When the weekend came, I put some serious time and effort into making myself as presentable as possible. For the first time in weeks I preened my feathers, polished my talons, dusted off my fashionable pre-war handbag and styled my crest into a professional ponytail plumage. Ultimately, my efforts proved fruitless as the townsfolk still fled from presence, worriedly glancing and muttering from safe vantage points. I guess I still towered above them and this handbag was riddled with bullet holes. It was something my father had scavenged from a raider camp.

About an hour later – half an hour after he was supposed to be here – Gillet arrived, touching down across the street from me. His appearance was perhaps odder than mine. Why was he wearing leather-armour to a date? Did he expect to need armour? Was his lateness due to him seeing me and then flying home to pick up some other kind of protection?

Perhaps not. Gillet clearly wasn’t taken back by my size as he strode confidently across the street to me, strutting his stuff in an exaggerated fashion. I slipped my Canterlot Internal Medicine back into my handbag, stood up and moved to greet him.

“Gillet, right? Hi, I’m Gw-”

“You’re studying to be a doctor, right? Wanna study some of my…” He lowered his sunglasses and looked up to me with sly orange eyes. “… anatomy?” the cheeky griffon’s brow started wriggling around like some irradiated beast in its death throes.

I stood still for a moment, stunned by his brashness. “I beg your pardon?” First impression: Gillet was not at all like his mother.

Suddenly, he coughed dramatically. “Oh! I think I’ve caught something… could I perhaps get a private check-up?” He said, repeating the exact same actions. I honestly had to wonder if his intricate control over his brows were a natural talent or if he had worked just as hard as I had with my medicine to hone his skills.

I spared a moment looking foolish to collect myself. With a grin, I returned fire. “Don’t see anything physically wrong with you,” I said, a compliment and a little honesty to deceive him first. “But judging from how you greeted me with innuendo, there's probably a whole textbook of mental problems in there. Let’s start with something basic. What’s your relationship like with your mother? Do find yourself having similar urges around her?"

“Urges?” Gillet asked, cocking his head to the right just slightly. I winked in response. “No! I do not have any urges!” Gillet squawked, recoiling a little. I found the flush of pink underneath his feathers equally amusing and adorable. “Don’t bring mum up like that! It’s the last thing I want to think about on a date!”

“You did ask for a check-up,” I replied with mocking innocence.

“Yeah, no, I just… never mind!” Gillet sighed, pushing his sunglasses back up on his beak and straightening his flustered crest. “Okay, try this one then,” he cleared his throat, dropping his tone of voice down a few octaves. “I’m an organ donor. Interested in seeing what I’m offering?” he said, again wriggling his brows.

“Where do you get all these from?” I asked with an amused trill and admittedly warm cheeks. I was balancing an equal amount of lewd thoughts and immature delight. Gillet’s confident smirk vanished, replaced by some nervous, confused fidgeting. “Can I try one?” I mocked checking my breath. “I’ve got a vial of Med-X here, how about you and I add two more X’s to it?” I tried rapidly raising and lower my brows but I had no hope of matching Gillet’s speed.

“No, no, no,” Gillet repeated, shaking his head. “It’s supposed to be me using these lines on you.”

“The jokes you mean?” I corrected.

“They’re not jokes!”

Glinnis had been insistent on briefing me before tonight. Apart from profusely apologizing in advance for what Gillet might or might not do, she gave me a list of quirks and his interpretation of a pleasant evening together. Up until now he had done everything Glinnis had said word for word. “Gillet, I already agreed to spend my evening with you. You don’t need to woo me with some witty one-liners,” I said gently and slowly. He may be an adult but I felt like I was addressing a nestling with a crush. Gillet went to retort but instead he paused, looking a little confused. “But some of them were very clever. Did you make them up all for me? That’s very sweet of you.”

Gillet hesitated, mulling things for a moment. I waited patiently until he finally looked up, with an apologetic smile. “Thanks, Gwynne,” he said taking a seat on the bench beside me. “And sorry.”

“That’s quite alright.”

Suddenly, Gillet’s head dived forward, his beak now inches from my right forearm. “Woah!” he exclaimed. “Is that a scar? Did it hurt?”

“Oh this?” I raised my arm and examined the small cluster of discoloured scales. “Not as much as you would imagine. It was only a very small bullet and I didn’t notice until after the fire-fight. By then I had a lot more!” I lifted up one of my wings, casting a shadow over Gillet’s side of the bench. Along my flank and side were a line of similar, pockmarked circular scars. “It was quite the learning experience removing them.”

Here I had expected intrigue and fascination from Gillet, based on what Glinnis had said about his interests. Instead he appeared shocked or intimidated, his expression only worsening as his vision slowly crept over each scar. “Y-Yeah… that would be interesting… ” mumbled Gillet, forcing a chuckle afterwards. “Can we go for a walk?”

“How about a tour? I’ve yet to see most of Friendship City.”

…

Gillet and I took a relaxing stroll through the main street and market district of this small wasteland town. He showed me sights and attractions like the general store, which immediately closed shop the moment we passed by and the Statue of Friendship which Gillet incorrectly cited was a titanic pre-war war machine. I had to credit his imagination at least.

Also, with him in tow the townsfolk were less terrified of me. I even found myself fitting in, laughing with the ponies who embarrassed Gillet with numerous quips and playful jabs. That may have sounded a cruel but he was fully capable of responding to each and every one with distinct one-liners. Some were stunned, others speechless but everyone appreciated his humour. Amidst all the attention I found myself re-evaluating my impression of this smart-beaked griffon. He appeared to be phenomenally creative and had an impressive grasp of wordplay, yet Glinnis had said made him out to be incredibly simple. A contradiction; one I would attempt to put to rest before tomorrow.

Eventually Gillet and I made our way out of the streets and down the Friendship City bay. There, we sat down on a bench and watched Manehatten across the strait.

“Gwynne… you’re a doctor, right?” he asked, finally plucking up the courage to speak directly to me again.

“Not yet. For now, I’m just gathering skills until I think I’m qualified enough to take up the title.”

“Well, if you’re just learning to be a doctor, how’d you get all those?” Gillet vaguely gestured to my side. “‘Cause those aren’t really doctor-ish.”

“Hm, they really aren’t.” I paused, preparing to state a fact I had hoped to keep irrelevant to tonight. “Well, I was mercenary before I swapped careers.”

That certainly piqued Gillet’s interest. “Really? Like a combat medic? That’s really cool, Gwynne.”

“Not exactly. Medicine is my passion, but prior duty was squad leader for a wing of junior talons.”

Gillet almost did a double take. “You… are a Talon?”

“Was a Talon.” I sighed as Gillet’s beak hung open, his sunglasses dropped down revealing nestling-like fascination in his eyes. “It’s a family business. My Father, Gorge currently leads the squad out of a compound near the Badland Borders. Our family has been operating down there for nearly a century.” I recounted. My tone may have been droll and dry but I did appreciate my rich family history. “I was next in line to inherit leadership. I instead choose to discharge myself.”

“Discharge? As in, you were forced to go?!” Gillet tightened his grip on the benches’ handle and propped his sunglasses up on his crest. “And you lost your chance to lead them?! That sucks! What’d you do? Let a raider go or something?”

“I willingly choose to be discharged,” I reiterated but Gillet just stared, dumbfounded and a little aghast. “Listen; my father felt he did good by keeping the Badland Borders safe for traders. Now I on other talon feel I can do good as a doctor; healing the sick and wounded wherever needed. Does that make sense to you?”

There was a heavy silence before Gillet nodded just slightly. I was glad to see he was open to reason… even if that reasoning had to be spelled out for him. “Mum said the Wasteland could use more doctors,” he said softly.

“Indeed she did. Your mother led me here to Friendship City after and put in a good word for me down at the clinic. Even offering me a place to stay in your Stable-home. You and I nearly shared a room!”

Gillet shot me a sharp, alarmed glare. I’m guessing Glinnis hadn’t mentioned that to him. “But still… just letting you go like that? It must sting a little.” he then said.

“You will come to understand that the life of a Talon is both dipped in militarism and strict traditionalism. Discharged may come across as a strong word, but it’s the conventional or traditional term to use,” I explained, dipping my talons in the air when necessary. I disliked being a Talon, but the theory still stuck to me. “My father didn’t chase me from the compound under a hail of gunfire and insults. Quite the opposite really; he threw a farewell feast, gave me some gear and sent me on my way. I promised to write to him every month and your mother was generous enough to courier the letters, free of charge.”

Gillet mulled over my life tale. “What about your squad-mates? Don’t you miss them?”

“My fellow Junior Talons gave me the courage to confront my father. My little brother, though sad to see me leave, was actually overjoyed for he was now first in line for leadership. He and father shared more common interests then I did with either of them.”

Gillet shied away abruptly, flinching like he’d just been hit. “I’m sorry you and your dad didn’t get along.”

“Oh, I don’t mean it like that. Father and I got along just fine. It’s just that the only thing we could relate to was our unnecessary strength… Well, unnecessary for me. He was rather fond of his bulk.”

“So that’s why you’re so…”

“… Large framed?” I suggested.

“Really freaking big and muscly,” he said instead. I guess I should praise his honesty. “Is it just a family thing? Could I be that big one day if I trained just as hard? I’m willing to try!” he said excitedly. I silently ran my eyes over Gillet, physically appraising him: slim body, sleek wings, an impressive sheen to his feathers, flat crest, taut hindlegs and… an admittedly cute tush. I suppressed a lecherous urge to grab it. Overall Gillet was slick and streamlined; built much better for flying and not necessarily fighting. Well, not the style of fighting my father and I employed. “Maybe you could include me in one of your letters?” he then asked. It was hard to say no to a face like that.

“You and father would get along rather well.” Gillet’s everything lit up; his wings shot up harder than a raider under sustained minigun fire and I swear I saw sparkles across enraptured irises. “However, recruitment remains closed until father is sure my younger brother is ready to take my position. Maybe I’ll mention it to him in a couple of months, when things settle down.”

“Thanks, Gwynne.”

“Now, enough about my boring life. Why don’t you tell me about yours?”

Gillet perked immediately, leaping off the bench and fluttering his wings before striking a silly pose before me. “I’ve spent my entire life training to be a Talon Mercenary!”

“Your whole life, huh?” While I didn’t want to spoil he dreams, I couldn’t hide the slight tone of worry in my voice. “You’re dead set on this?”

“Yep! I even have my own contract ready.” He produced a fragment of parchment, scribbled messily across it was Gillet.

I eyed it with a hint of hesitation. My father’s company still utilised personal contracts, all of which belonged to him, a trusted leader. However, most modern Talons had abandoned them generations ago. Shrewd ponies had a tendency to abuse literality of contracts and exploit the trust of young, naïve Talons.

“What’s the matter? Is my name spelt wrong?”

“Nothing, Gillet. Don’t mind me.” I’ll mention it to him later. “So you’ve got everything ready for a mercenary career?”

“Yeah! I’ve got it all planned. Wanna hear it?”

An unexpected feeling of unease surged into my mind. I felt as if a gun was levelled to my head and two upside down cups placed before me. “Gillet, I’m sure you have a brilliant pla-”

“I do! It’s so genius it’s guaranteed to propel me to the head of the Talons!” he said, sounding more like a shady merchant peddling rusted guns. “It starts with Fillydelphia! First I’ll fly down there and…”

…

He wasn’t lying. Gillet’s vision of what was to come rivalled the detail of my most expensive textbooks. Its length I’m sure would have outpaced them. Not only did this plan encompass his own lifetime but also centuries later and just as many before. There were names, terms and events completely unheard of to me. I’m sure even my father – a career Talon – would be just as lost.

I sat and watched the sun’s slow descent towards the horizon behind cloud-cover, nodding occasionally as Gillet went on and on. Though I had promised Glinnis to keep Gillet occupied for the night, I wasn’t sure of how much more of this I could endure. My father, mother and even my little brother had all lectured me on the finer points on life as a Talon; much like Gillet was doing right now. I could appreciate their wisdom as it was at least factual and grounded in reality. Gillet currently sounded like a patient dulling his senses with some medicinal herbs.

Maybe with a little peck on the cheek maybe I could remind Gillet that I was his date and that I was still here? After all of this, I did deserve a little something in return.

As I leaned towards him, Gillet abruptly turned to me to ask for my approval of some miniscule detail. There was a soft squelch and a brief pause before Gillet screamed.

…

We sat in silence in a small café near the shore. Gillet had slid down in his chair, his beak almost level with the table while also resting a cold Sparkle Cola against his bandaged eye. Whenever locals walked by, he propped the menu up as makeshift cover.

“You’re lucky I have a curved beak,” I said, attempting to lighten the mood. “The complications might a little more permanent otherwise.”

Gillet’s response was to grumble something and pout like a nestling denied a toy. Now I really did feel like I was babysitting.

“Gillet, I’m sorry but you were rambling on and on about being a Talon. I needed to get your attention somehow.”

“It wasn’t that much…”

“I lost track after you detailed the giant bronze statue of yourself to be erected in the heart of Fillydelphia,” I said sternly. “You are not the only one on this date remember.”

Gillet’s brow creased. For a moment, he tensed up as if he was prepared to get up and storm out. Thankfully he eased, sitting up straighter and addressing me directly. “You’re the first Talon I’ve really had a chance to talk to. I just wanted to learn as much as I could, y’know?” Gillet removed the Sparkle Cola from his eye and offered it to me. “I’m sorry if got a little carried away. Mum usually stops me when I start rambling.”

I took a sip and handed it back to him. “I suppose circumstance isn’t in our favour. It’s good that you want to learn as much as you can but I didn’t envision an evening of being lectured on a subject I was never fond of. I guess I’m sorry as well.”

“We don’t have to talk about what we want to do… or what we’ve been,” he put forward slowly. “What have you always wanted to do? Er… other than being a doctor.”

I rejoiced; finally something plain and simple to talk about. “Many things, now that I am in charge of my own life. First, after my studies here, I want to travel somewhere where it snows. The clouds are heavier and lower there. You can interact and touch them without fear of the Enclave.”

“I’ve played with the clouds before.”

“You’ve been to the alpine north?”

“No, I went up above them around here,” Gillet said simply.

“You’ve been up there? Honestly?” I stared, a little shocked at first. “This isn’t just another part of your script is it?”

“Really, I just... y’know… flew up there.” My surprise and shock turned slowly into a scrutinizing stare. However, Gillet remained calm and emphatic. “Can we go for a little fly-around first? I promise I’ll tell you all about it.”

“Sure, we can do that.”

…

That was Gillet’s most intelligent suggestion thus far. After he adjusted to his temporary loss of depth perception, we took a relaxing fly-around of Friendship City before the sun fully set. From there we perched ourselves on the Statue of Friendship’s snout and Gillet told me about his adventure above the clouds.

“Mum was furious when she found me! Burst up from the clouds and held them at gunpoint ‘cause she thought they were soldiers taking me to be locked up in a zoo and experimented on,” recounted Gillet, imitating his mother with a quick flap of his wings. Usually, I would have a hard time swallowing a story as outlandish as this but Gillet managed to make it somewhat believable with the amount of enthusiasm he poured into his recount.

“I would have done the same thing if my only son had flown up there to join some pre-war flight camp!”

Gillet chuckled before leaning in slyly, “You probably could scare them to death.” His wings flinched as I nearly punted him off the edge with a playful jab.

“Father always told me to avoid the clouds and more importantly, the Enclave. I guess you’re lucky to have come across two civilians on a picnic. Did you ever hear from Shuffler or Adder again?”

“Nah, but I imagine they’ve adopted like six or seven foals now,” he said with a smirk. “Maybe taken over the orphanage by force.”

A peaceful silence drooped over us as we gazed across the strait toward Manehatten. The city seemed almost dead leaving Tenpony Tower to stand out, it’s patch work of lights visible from here. Briefly, I felt an urge to affectionately lean against Gillet but I also didn’t want to risking accidently crushing him and ruining the moment altogether. Thankfully, Gillet spoke up again before anything remotely awkward happened.

“Gwynne, can I ask you one question that’s kinda related to the Talons?” he said quietly and cautiously. “Just one.”

“Hm, I think you’ve earned at least one,” I said sitting back up to show my attentiveness. “Go ahead.”

He hesitated briefly. I could see tell-tale signs of uncertainty and doubt all over his body, especially in his eyes. “If you were still in charge of Gorge’s Junior Talons, would you recruit me?” he asked, fidgeting with his talons.

Now I paused. Not due to a lack of answer, but temporary mesmerisation by his wide, shining eyes. Briefly, I wanted to snuggle up close to him and tell him everything was going to be alright. “It’s a little more complicated than a simple yes or no answer. The Badland Talons have a prestigious reputation to maintain. I would have to trial you first, evaluate you mentally and physically. Reference your history, contact any talons or ponies you’ve worked with in the past and then run everything by the Senior Talons. Then physical and live fire trials begin. The whole process takes months at its shortest.”

That was not the answer Gillet was looking for, but he asked the question and I answered as truthfully as possible. This is a serious decision in any griffon’s life and sugar-coating it would only hurt him in the future. “I just ask because mum was going to ask the Manehatten Talons if I could join them as a junior,” he explained, adverting his gaze to the statue plating as he spoke.

“You let your mother do the talking for you?” I commented. That was perhaps something I should have kept to myself.

Gillet’s fidgeting ceased as his spirit deflated. “I don’t make very good first impressions. I get a little… over-confident and say stupid things,” he said quietly. I tipped my head slightly in agreement. “I just want to know if you think I’d make a good Talon or not. If I’ve got the right…” he shrugged slightly. “… y’know, stuff.”

I hesitated with thought this time. By now I had enough evidence to form a basic, rudimentary analysis of Gillet but I had my doubts on how helpful it would be. “Come on. Let’s fly down to my place.”

I jumped off the statue edge and flared my wings slowing my fall like a log tied to a pair of feathery parachutes. Gillet simply dismounted and took the air effortlessly, cutting through it like a scalpel to flesh. During out little fly-around earlier; I had confirmed my brief physical appraisal of Gillet. Simply put he had a natural aptitude for flying. Gillet could put laps around me – not that that was at all challenging – but I’m certain he could outpace some of the trained Senior Talons with a little effort. I wondered if he was even aware of his own potential.

Our flight was short and soon we touched down in front of my shack, a wave of dust and dirt clouded the street in my wake. I turned to face Gillet, he was eager for my answer. “I apologize, Gillet, but I don’t feel this is something I am qualified to answer. In fact, I would doubt any Talon’s input. Even my family argues about what makes a good Talon: father said it was Loyalty, mother said Duty, brother said Honour and I? I said Worth.”

“What about Passion?”

My beak hung open as I paused for thought. Glinnis had told me to expect my father’s enthusiasm for the Talons from Gillet, minus the wisdom. She also said he was an idiot. Now though, I was seeing a young griffon with big dreams and eagerness to boot needing only a little guidance or a kick in the right direction. “Honestly Gillet; I do not know. A virtue is something only you alone can discover. If you stay true to it and a love of what you do, then I’m sure you can be the best at anything.” Unfortunately, I was not currently in a position to feel responsible for him in any way.

“Thanks, Gwynne,” he said, looking the happiest he had the entire night

“Some real advice though; don’t rely heavily on your plan, er, script,” I added, maybe saving the afternoon of some hens Gillet would attempt to woo in the future. “The Wasteland has a way of subverting what we think will happen, regardless of how meticulous our planning is.”

Gillet nodded, still with a smile. “Sure thing!”

Now with all that out of the way, I had my own question to ask about his virtue. “Say Gillet, can you apply that vigour and zeal to anything you want to?” He cocked his head a little to the right. “You’re passionate about becoming a Talon, but that’s all? Nothing else?”

“Well… no, I guess. I really like my movie collection too, and my mu-” his pupils shrunk to dots and his cheeks puffed out suddenly. “Yeah! I’ll do the crap out of anything I want to! I’m just that kinda griffon!”

“Are you willing to prove that to me?”

“Sure! Whattya want me to do?” He rose up on his hindlegs throwing punches with his forearms while fluttering his wings to keep his balance. His talon-to-talon posture and technique was imposing but would not hold up in a real fight against an opponent with basic, elementary knowledge of close-quarter combat. “Lap around Friendship City? Some flying tricks? Movie trivia?” I was a little confused; I had encountered Gillet under hail of pick-up lines but when I used one on him in a genuine attempt to seduce him, he was completely oblivious. Maybe a more direct approach would be easier.

“Come to bed.”

“Of course I wi-, wait, what?”

I was no saucy temptress but I did know a few tricks here and there, one in particular involving my prehensile tail. I turned from Gillet and stepped into my shack with a slow and sensual gait further accentuated by my natural size. My long, slender tail flicked upwards brushing the poufy tassel against Gillet’s chest, rustling his feathers before tickling the underside of this beak and beckoning him inside.

I skipped through my shack feeling a little giddy; I hadn’t pulled anything that smooth in some time. I entered my bedroom continuing past Gillet to my bedside table where I had left some scented can… I paused with my talons out-stretched to the first drawer. In the photograph of me and my father, I could see the reflection of another griffon. I spun around to find Gillet was already laying across my bed! His leather armour was strewn across the floor, still buckled up, and in-place of the bandage was a black eye-patch – by the Great Egg, where did he get that? Across his nethers was my copy of Feathers and Fur: A Pony’s Guide to Griffon Anatomy and on his beak was a suave smile matched only by the cover of my Barely Eagle: Hen’s Edition magazine.

After performing the Pony Polka with his brows, Gillet opened his beak but I darted forward and pinched it between my own talons. “Don’t ruin this, Gillet.”

…

I swept the floor of Nickel’s Gun-Porium with a warm smile the next day. True to his word; Gillet could pour his passion into whatever he wanted, especially if it meant proving his worth. I put him through some rigorous practicals and tests that night and can happily say the results were… satisfying.

Afterwards we talked and agreed just to remain friends. Though we very much enjoyed each other’s company, it was clear that Gillet and I didn’t mesh all that well. Just minutes after waking up he again told me of his plans – after I said “fifty words or less,” – to go off adventuring, chasing his dreams and passions while I had a rigid future of medicine and studying. We would still keep in touch and enjoy the benefits our friendship provided.

A soft tinkling roused me from my thoughts. I turned to see Nickel, the namesake-coated and platinum-maned gun-runner, skipping up through the store front doors looking just as cheery as I on this quaint morning.

“Morning Gwynne! How was your date with Gillet?” he asked almost in sing-song.

“Good morning Nickel, and not too bad. Little rough at the start but we managed to salvage it before morning,” I answered, sweeping the store floor slowly.

“Good to hear! Good to hear! Always liked the kid!” Nickel practically leapt the counter and landed gracefully in his chair. He levitated over two Sparkle Colas, offering one to me.

“And how was your night with Glinnis?”

He closed his eyes and smirked. A light but telling blush fluttered across his cheeks. “It’s the start o’ something beautiful.”

As happy as Nickel and I were, I still had to wonder. I figured Gillet had to be somewhat possessive of his mother. I could not imagine him taking this news positively at all.

Chapter 7: An Interview with Destiny

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Chapter 7: An Interview with Destiny

Everything led to this. For years – no, decades – I had trained, tested and honed my skills, slaving away in the Stable, studying the archives of and pre-war footage I was privileged to own. My acute understanding every scene, angle, shot and shell guaranteed my ticket to stardom as the best Talon ever. I had calculated it at weeks, maybe months before my name would become wasteland wide. When the mere mention of Talons or mercenaries comes up in any conversation they’ll think of one name… no; first they’ll think of a dozen different titles and then they’ll think of a name. One name. One name only.

“Gillet.”

“Sweetie, are you reciting your tough guy speeches again?”

“No, mum!”

“Well, you better wrap them up. We’re nearly there.”

With a few quick bursts of my wings I caught up with mum. She stared ahead with a small smirk, maintaining altitude with minimal effort. If Gwynne said I had natural talent for flying, mum was on a whole different level. She could go for days with a vague bearing and a weighty package and still make any delivery. I always got lost after more than twenty minutes of straight flying. I wasn’t good with bearings, altitudes and directions… but, I knew that for the last few hours we had been flying south because through the cloud-cover I could tell the sun was setting to my left which is east… I think.

I knew that at the southern of Equestria there was one particular city with boundless opportunities for mercenaries like myself. Yet, mum had instead lead me to a measly cluster of a pre-war houses and shacks? I mean, I saw caravan coiled out the front with ponies resting around a fire, but that’s all. There was nothing here; no gunfights; no Talons and no raiders needing to be shot.

“I thought Fillydelphia was bigger.”

“Gillet, I told you before we left Friendship City! I am not taking you to Fillydelphia! In fact, I remember explicitly forbidding you to go anywhere near Fillydelphia!”

“But mum! That’s where all the Talons are going!” I shouted back, empowered by my conviction and facts; everything I touted was completely true. I had done my research; snooping around bars, eavesdropping on mum talking business and listened in on the local Talon chatter. It had all led me to one conclusion: Fillydelphia was on the rise. Every pony and griffon who could hold a gun or throw a punch were on their way there to make a name for themselves and I was not going to miss out! “It’s an opportunity I can’t afford to miss!”

“Gillet! Fillydelphia’s a – look at me when I am talking to you!” Begrudgingly I rolled my eyes back to her, but not without an annoyed sigh. “Fillydelphia’s a no fly zone! It’s always been a horrible place but now it’s much, much worse.” Mum pointed to her left; on the horizon I could make out a faint yellow hue, silhouettes of ruined skyscrapers and pillars of smoke reaching for the clouds. “That… pit of a city was crawling with raiders and gangers before but now they’re organized. Somepony or griffon is herding those fiends about, raiding settlements and enslaving others. Those heartless bloodletters you call Talons are the ones doing his dirty work.”

“What’s the problem then? If he’s got the Talons on his side and the raiders under control then the safest place to be would be with them!”

Mum just stared at me, looking… appalled? “No son of mine will ever be a slaver! Great Egg, Gillet, I thought you wanted to be loved, not feared!” she exclaimed. I fluttered backwards, flinching a little as I took the full brunt of my thoughtless comment. “Just think of all the love and adoration you’ll get from those slaves as you whip the flesh from their bones! As you work them to their deaths! Is that what you want? Is it!?”

“N-No…”

“Well, if herding ponies to a slow, agonizing demise makes you uncomfortable then I guess they’ll find another use for you. Perhaps the senior Talons could use some more diversions or flying targets for the Steel Rangers.”

“Steel Rangers? Oh they’re tough but I know their weakness!” Out came my shotgun and a single shell. “I’ll just aim for the head, where the eyes slots are. Just like Indiana did when she took out all those cyber-zebras. They might be tough but they’ve got a weak spot I know about. I’ll just exploit it.”

The praise I expected for my frankly brilliant idea did not come. Instead a long silence punctuated only by mine and mum’s wing flapping filled the air. “Do you know why I’m taking you down here? A place far away from Manehatten? Do you know why I am forbidding you to go anywhere near Fillydelphia? To join a band of cutthroats throwing raiders and Talons at Steel-Rangers?” Mum was ranting so on queue I just shook my head or nodded. This time I shook. “Remember that Talon Squad hired by Tenpony to keep the raiders away? The one I was going to ask to take you on as a junior?”

“Well… yeah. ‘Course I do! Why’d we fly all the way out here then?”

“They’re gone. Steel Rangers wiped them out. Every single one of them,” Mum said coldly and quietly, her brow easing from a frown into a sad grimace. “The Talons first, then they marched into their compound and slaughtered everyone. The trainees, the Junior Talons and the non-combatants. Why? They just happened to be in the road and had some munitions. Not even pony weapons and armour; all griffon make and still they were gunned down for it. DJ said maybe one survived and that he or she left Manehatten far, far behind.”

Mum and I understood each other… usually. Though she didn’t belong to any squad and had rebuked many offers, I could still see how much their loss got to her.

“Now do you understand? Do you see why I don’t want you working anywhere near them?” Mum asked softly. I blinked finally, wiping a small tear away with my talons discreetly. “I know you think you can take them on. That you think you can take anything on. I have seen some Talons use that trick before. It is valid-”

“I knew it!”

“-IF, Gillet! IF you had something stronger than a farmer’s scatter-gun. Those pellets won’t punch through an armoured visor. I can tell you that as a fact.”

“… Dangit.”

“And even then it’s still not worth the risk. That’s why I brought you to a small, remote town they wouldn’t bother with.” Mum smiled and I returned a small one. “Do you understand?”

“Yes mum. I’m sorry.”

“I just want you to be safe. That’s all.” We resumed flight, approaching the town border before starting our descent. Now that I was a little closer, the town didn’t look entirely deserted. I guess there could be something down there to shoot, some tin cans at the very least.

We touched down underneath a lit lamp near the outskirts of town. It was eerily quiet, except for the songs and chatter from a nearby tavern.

“You saw the coil of caravans near the city entrance?” mum asked, after drawing my attention with a snap of her talons.

“The trade convoy?” I answered.

“And how do you know they’re traders?”

I thought back briefly, to one of Indiana’s documentaries where she played a desperado raiding zebra caravans for priceless treasures stolen from Equestria. “Cause the caravans were in a circle, which gives them some cover at night?”

“Very good, sweetie,” Mum said with a bright smile. “This is Camp City. It’s a trading town I’ve heard fair amount of talk over my recent deliveries. It’s small and out of the way, perfect place to find some modest opportunities to get you started. Who knows, you might even find a nice courier job!”

I rolled my eyes, like I’d done every other time mum pushed the courier thing onto me.

“Now, you haven’t forgotten anything have you?”

“No mum, I haven’t.”

“Shotgun, shells…”

“… revolver, bullets, leather armour, bobby pins, Contract...” I slipped my talons into the front pocket of my leather vest but found it empty! I specifically made sure to pack it before I left! It must have slipped out along the way! “Mum!”

“Just remember, I won’t be here next time you lose it.” She smiled; held in-between her talons was a shred of parchment. Written on one side was my signature.

I took back my Contract feeling as if the lamppost above glowed with triple intensity. “Thanks mum,” I mumbled quietly to the ground.

“That’s okay sweetie. Now remember; look for jobs you can sign on to with others. Traders and merchants are your best bets for employment but listen to them carefully when ironing out payment. Always try and take half now and half when you finish the job. Ask if they’ll provide ammunition and supplies and only hand your Contract over to the pony running the job.” Then mum grabbed me by the shoulders. I went completely limp in response. “I know you love telling tall tales and exaggerating the truth just slightly, but this is not the place to do it.”

“Mum, I won’t.”

“You’ll be talking to a lot of veteran wastelanders, sweetie. You won’t win them over with a drink and some acting,” mum said, letting go of me. “And you’re not Gwynne. Do not try to intimidate them.”

“Jeez mum! I won’t, Okay! And I don’t need Gwynne to be all… all big an’ scary an’ stuff! I can do that on my own!” I puffed my feathers, opened my wings slightly and tried best to scowl as hard as I could.

Mum just laughed. “My! How imposing! I’m sure all those hardened wastelanders will be quaking in their seats! You just remember what I said when they start beating you to a pulp,” she said, chuckling a little after. As I attempted to increase the intensity of my glare, mum swept me in a great griffon hug; wrapping her wings and forearms around me in a cocoon of feathers and warmth. “I won’t expect you home any time soon. Just remember to try your best, make some friends and stay safe. Alright?”

“I will, mum.” I said, briefly wrapping my forearms and wings around her before realizing what his could do to my reputation. Talon Mercenaries are known for fighting, not hugging! “And what about you!” I said, now holding her at arm’s length. “Are you going to be alright without me around?”

She blinked twice before exploding in laughter.

“Mum! Stop it! Someone’s gonna hear you!” I pleaded, glancing sideways down the street. “This isn’t helping me!”

Regardless, mum refused to relent for what felt like my longest movie. I just sat down on the sidewalk and waited for her to calm down from something that was not as funny as she was making it out to be.

“Sweetie, I’ll be fine! I’ve got Gwynne and Nickel for company,” she said, wiping a few stray tears from her eyes. “You needn’t worry about me. Just yourself.”

To be honest; I didn’t like what she said. Spending time with Gwynne was an excuse make jokes and talk about me. I also had my suspicions about all the time she spent with Nickel. “Well, okay… I guess… but if you need me-”

“Then I will come and get you,” mum said with a sense of finality. “Now, I think you’ve stalled enough.”

“I ain’t stalling!”

“Of course not, sweetie. Of course not.” Mum placed her talons on my shoulder and we shared a short silent exchange. This simple motion conveyed more feelings and an expression of equality between her and I than any compliment, hug or words ever had. I appreciated it deeply and found my eyes itching slightly when she let go. “I’ll see you, when I see you.”

Mum took flight, quickly vanishing into the cloudy night sky. I stayed still for a moment, leaning back against the lamppost as I spared a few minutes mulling some lingering thoughts over.

No, I didn’t cry.

…

Taverns! Taverns are where all the action goes down!

The watering-hole where old war buddies exchange tales of strife and conflict fighting long-forgotten battles against friends and foes. They captivate audiences with vivid memories and gripping, dramatic recounts.

A seedy pub crawling with all the wrong types. Mysterious ponies in trench-coats selling illicit material, harmful substances and pilfered weapons to equally malicious mercenaries, while on the side assassins and freelancers wait patiently for the next anonymous contractor.

Or a lively saloon! Where the music’s’ loud, the hens are cheap and the chance of a good fight among patrons is relative to the amount of drinks served.

This bar had a little of each. Imposing bouncers and guards watched the patrons closely while also partaking in drinks and other fun wasteland activities like pool, darts and drinking to the point where you vomit. The patrons themselves on the other talon were a colourful cast but none resembled merchants so I turned my attentions to a jobs board only to find rusted nails and maybe enough scraps of paper to create a jigsaw wanted poster.

Feeling a little dismayed, I pondered my next course of action. Should I wait for a bar fight so I could demonstrate my skills or should I start a bar fight and demonstrate my skills? It was a very tough call.

“Looking for work?” a voice said to my right.

Rustled from my long and complicated train of thought, I turned to the pony. “I might be. Got anything interesting for me?” The first thing I recognized when I turned to this pony was his hat. The peaked cap he wore bore a Sun, Moon and a wreath; the rank of a Major in the pre-war Equestrian military. “… Sir.” I added hastily.

The pony smirked, his eyes hidden under the band of his cap. “Sir, huh? Take a seat, Talon. I may just have a job that’s needs a little extra griffon power,” he offered directing hoof to an empty table. Moments ago I swore there was a crusty looking ghoul sitting here complaining that the drinks hurt his gums. “

I was a little giddy having just been addressed a real Talon, but something he said resonated with what mum had told me earlier. ‘Extra griffon power’ as in there were already Talons on the job? What a score! A mission and the opportunity to network! Just as we sat down, I opened with some eager questions. “What’s the job? Is it shooting? I’m good at shooting!”

“I’ll get to that later. How about drink first? On me.” He whistled and waved his hoof at the bartender. Seconds later a frothy mug of beer was levitated to our table and dropped before me.

“Nice service!” Being a Major sure had its perks! He must have worked hard and sacrificed so much to get where he was today. “Do you run this place?”

“Let’s say I do,” he answered, readjusting his Major’s cap. “What brings a prospective Talon like you to my establishment? Surely you can’t be out of work?”

“Out of work? I’m always looking for more work!” I dropped my mug back to the table without actually drinking. That could wait. Impressing the Major was more important. “I’m looking to make myself known! To carve my name in the wasteland and I’m going to do it by being the best Talon there is!”

“Some lofty goals you’ve got there. Let’s drink to that.”

I glanced down at the mug tentatively. Should I? I certainly hadn’t before since I was strictly forbidden to. Though, mum wasn’t here… and he was offering. It would be impolite to turn away the beverage. Slowly, I gripped the mug and raised it up to my beak. I’ll admit; I did not care for the aroma.

THUD.

I leapt from my set, quick-drawing my .22 revolver from underneath my wing. I snapped to the disturbance eager to demonstrate my abilities but found the opportunity sorely disappointing. It was just a lowly drunk; a light brown pony had fallen off his stool and hit the ground like a sack of potatoes and tin cans. The bartender abandoned his post and dragged him out to the back with the help of another guard. At least they were kind enough not to dump him out in the cold for the night.

“Some ponies just can’t handle their drinks,” commented the Major with a light chuckle. “I heard griffons were remarkably resistant to alcohol.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that…” I said slyly, regaling in the compliment. “We are pretty awesome at, well, everything but drinking? That’s… a… uhm…” I lowered my drink again and just stared as another guard dragged a limp, wrinkly zebra across the floor and out the back. I may have gone on about seedy pubs and sinister ponies earlier but this place was starting to feel a little… suspicious. “Is that common around here?”

“So! I see you’ve already got some quality equipment already,” said the Major abruptly, eyeing my nickel coated revolver. “But do you have skill to back it up?”

“Is this about the job?” I asked. The major nodded after a pause. “Oh yeah! I’m tons good at shooting! Whattya need holes in?”

“Calm down, buddy. I might not need holes in anything. It’s just good to know you can defend yourself if the situation were to escalate,” said the Major.

“Could the situation escalate?” I asked slowly. “Could the situation escalate into saving Camp City from some slaver warlord?”

“I… what? Boy, I think you’re getting ahead of yourself,” the Major said, his annoyed tone dampening my enthusiasm “This isn’t some grand save the Princesses, slay the Zebra fools tale in the making. It’s just a simple job that could be done overnight. Anything making it more difficult will be your fault.”

“Would I get paid extra for that?”

Silence set in. The Major stared at me from under the brim of his peaked cap, the left side rising with his brow. Just before it got awkward he whistled and waved his hoof in the air. A second frothy mug was levitated across the bar and dropped in-front of the Major; he drained it within seconds slamming the flagon back down on the table sending chunks of froth flying across it.

“Woah! That was a wicked!” I said while applauding the Major and his beverage draining skills.

“Just celebrating. It’s not every day I come across Talons with their imagination as undying as their loyalty,” said the Major, leaning back in his chair. “I take it I can count you in on the job?”

“Heck yeah you can!” My chair tumbled backwards as I nearly leapt onto the table. “So what’s the job huh? Rescuing traders from some raiders? Hunting down some bandits? Cleaning out ghoul infested Stables? Whatever it is you name it! Once I’m on the job it’s as good as done!” I poured all my Charisma into a grin to convey my eagerness and assure him that satisfaction was guaranteed.

“Slow down there, boy,” said the Major, motioning to pick my chair back up. “I just said it’s nothing exciting; just recover something a couple of raiders stole from me.”

“Recover… with extreme prejudice?” I queried.

“Yeah, sure, whatever. You can do that if you don’t like talking,” the Major said with a small shrug. I punched the air and mentally screamed YES! “What’s important is what they stole from me. Not if they live past tomorrow.”

Finally! No longer would I be shooting cardboard targets… or pretending to shoot cardboard targets! I had a good feeling about this but a small sense of dread started to spread through me. The word raider flashed through my mind repeatedly and with it the warnings mum had given to me just under an hour ago. “Are these raiders who stole this thing from you north of here? I can’t go to Fillydelphia.”

“A Talon that won’t touch Fillydelphia?” said the Major slowly as he leaned back in his chair. “Now that’s very peculiar. Last I heard the Talons were flocking to the city like migrating birds of old. Yet here I am with two prospective professionals in my lowly tavern in one night.” I briefly glanced back to the bar but the golden griffon had left. A single golden feather sitting atop his stool.

“I have my reasons,” I answered with forced confidence. I dared not tread on mum’s claws and talons. “Very important and… secret reasons! It would be too dangerous for you to know.”

Silence set in… dead silence. Even the radio died. No banter nor the sounds of anyone talking but the Major and I could be heard. Actually; we were the only ones left in the entire bar except for the bouncers, guards and the bartender who all seemed to hovering around our table.

“Hey, where’d everyone go? Did the job start?” I asked worriedly. The others could already be ahead of me, beating me to stardom!

“Welcome aboard!” the Major announced abruptly. “You’ll start tomorrow morning. I’ll brief you with the rest.”

“YES!” I slapped my Contract down on the table. “You won’t regret hiring me! I guarantee it!”

“A Contract? I thought most Talons now-a-days did away with these. Always assumed it was a pre-war thing.” The Major grabbed it between his hooves and brought it up for a closer look. “Gillet. Well, Gillet, do you have any personal rules I should know of?”

“None other than satisfaction guaranteed!” It’s happening! It’s finally happening! My first step on a trip to stardom. “Can I get paid now? In advance? What am I getting paid? Caps? Guns? Hens? I’ll settle for two out of three!”

The Major remained silent, smirking instead. Slowly, he got up from the table and uttered “Your life.”

“My what?”

And then I realized why I was surrounded; it was a trap! The Major’s meaty cronies and henchmen encircled the table armed with an assortment of weapons and ill-intentions.

“Hah!” I scoffed lazily leaning back in my chair just as the Major had. “You might have me surrounded but I –as a griffon and a Talon Mercenary – have imagined myself easily escaping much, much tenser situations. You can still try. By all means; go straight ahead, but by the time this over, you’ll all be face down on the ground sniffing dirt… wood and I’ll be gone.”

“I’ll take my chances.” He then turned to his cronies. “Collar him and put him with the rest. I’ll sort them out in the morning.” The major ordered before bidding me farewell. Stepping out of approaching bar fight. His loss; his absence only further tipped the scales in my favour.

I guess now was a better time than ever so I took mug of frothy beer and downed about half of it. “Eugh! This stuff is foul! I don’t know how you pones survive on this.” There was no response from my crowd. “Well, doesn’t matter. First I’m gonna take you out.”

“How about you start with Hoof?” said a thick voice behind me.

Hoof, huh? Sounds like the biggest, meanest most bad-assed pony here. It’ll shatter their confidence if I take him down first. “Alright then. Who’s Hoof?”

“My hoof.”

I hit the ground with what felt like a horse-shoe shaped indent on the back of my head. “Damn, that’s a good one…” were my last words for the night.

Epilogue: Muny Company

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Epilogue: Muny Company

This was not part of my plan at all! No-where did I mention being a slave and I most certainly had absolutely no intention of working for free! If I was I was going to shoot something I was at least going to receive and equal amount of caps or fame and recognition! And I certainly did not plan on wearing stupid exploding collar! It keeps chaffing against my feathers! I’ll never look cool with it on.

“Chicken, stop fiddling with the darn thing Celestia-darnit!” droned the brown pony with an explosive mine for a butt-mark. “You’ll set the darn thing of and we’ll be cleaning feathers, fur and brain from our coats.”

“It’s uncomfortable!” I shot back, continuing to fidget with the collar. “You don’t have feathers! You don’t know what it’s like!”

“Maybe not brains then. That other griffon hasn’t kicked up a fuss about it. Make like him, chump.”

Reluctantly, I stifled my attempts to shift my collar and my legitimate complaints about its uncomfortableness. The other griffon – the golden one from the bar – was not complaining about how it ruffled his feathers. In fact he found amusement in my exchange with the brown pony, chuckling quietly to himself. This was also not how I planned to network. Feeling resigned, tired and hungry – since we had skipped breakfast – I breathed a quiet sigh and marched ahead with the seven others swindled into the Major’s errand.

What were we even doing? Acquiring some sort of… thing for him? I forget what; wasn’t really listening. No doubt whatever it was only served to tighten his diabolical hoof-grip on the region. Some sort of weapon, ancient zebra artefact or a stockpile of alcohol for use in fiendishly enslaving others.

He needed a new name to reflect on exactly how scummy he was.

Major Scum? Nah, he dressed to fancy for that.

Major Jerk? He wasn’t really that rude.

Major… Evil? Yeah, that’s more like. After all he was… the…

“Chicken, why’d you stop?” the brown pony bumped into me but I ignored him, too focused on my sudden epiphany. “Hello? Anypo, err, griffon there?”

I don’t know how I missed it so easily! I should have picked it up the moment I stepped into the bar last night. When I turned to start talking to him. Heck, even when mum and I flew into town!

He was the villain here! And I? I was the…

“Hero.”

“What?”

Where I had expected delight and appreciation of my sudden enlightenment, I instead received the rustling of the wind and a single response from the golden griffon. The ponies had left us and were now a fair distance down the road.

“I’m the hero! Me!” I said, rounding on the griffon. “The Major! That dork with the funny hat and exploding collars! He’s my nemesis! The villain and my ticket to fame and fortune! It all makes sense now!” I spun to his side, grabbing his shoulders and panning my talons across the cloudy sky, then down to Camp City while monologing my epiphany to him. “Gwynne telling me to abandon my script. ‘Modest opportunities’ mum had said! She knew what was going on here and she’s gonna let me handle it!”

“Your… mother?”

“You! You can have some of my fame too! I could use a sidekick.”

He just stared at me, one brow slowly rising above the other. “Maybe that collar is too tight.”

Fallout Equestria: Action Hero

by Popcorn Chicken

Prologue: Action Hero

Chapter 1: Set the Scene

Chapter 2: How to Hero

Chapter 3: Grounded Part I

Chapter 4: Grounded Part II

Chapter 5: Props and Propositions

Chapter 6: Date-ed

Chapter 7: An Interview with Destiny

Epilogue: Muny Company