With Red Eye dead and the Enclave scattered to the winds, warring factions and gangs fight to become the next terror of the wasteland.
Route 117. The Red Vein. The largest supply route for Red Eye and all slavers. Any and all who walked it had a chance to capture or be captured. But when Littlepip, The Lighbringer, brought down three armies and returned the skies to the surface that all changed.
But not for the better...
When one flag lowered, hundreds more were raised. Gangs and clans were created, towns were left lawless, and warlords were forged from the new conflict. All are fighting to control the supply line and claim the slave king's throne. And as the turf wars grow larger and the gangs grow desperate, all who live along this route wonder if the ones left standing will save The Red Vein.
“Blessed we are that you have protected us for so long, Great Shaper. All this servant asks O mover of the earth, Is that you watch over us as we make this last march across land and towards civilization. Come morning, we shall look after ourselves.”
The so called servant of the Shaper was kneeling in front a shallow hole filled with some of her former possessions, rough gemstones and broken weapons that had seen many battles. The mare reached into her poncho to pull out a small spade and began shoveling the dirt to bury her belongings.
“From the land life is given, to the land life is returned.” She repeated the mantra spoken so many times in her other rituals as she finished her tribute.
“Shaman.” The mare, having finished her ritual, turned around to see a little orange filly shivering in the cold night. “We’re getting ready to move again.”
“Just finishing up an offering to the Shaper.” The tribal mare responded.
The shaman sat up and shook the dust off her mane and poncho. As clean as she’ll get, she walked with the filly back to the camp they made near an abandoned gas station. “Will we reach our new home in time, Halite?” Asked the filly.
Halite reached into her pockets for a pouch filled with unpolished gems. Giving a shake, she spilled the jewels and gazed down at the first three that left the pouch.
Three emeralds. Peace and tranquility.
The shaman let out a sigh. “We shall. I am eager to see the world where our new language grew from.” She looked past the circle of cloth huts and at the gathered group of warriors huddled around a wall of the station’s store, they were a mixed bag of earth ponies, zebras, and buffalos all dressed in scraps of leather and rags. Curious still, they seemed to be taping red tubes with long fuses to the side of the station.
“For now, help the hunters prepare the dire might for the reclaiming.” She gave the filly a small hug before nudging her to join the other demolishers.
An hour later the preparations were set. The tribe had migrated further down the road and left behind their swiftest to light the fuses tied together. The earth stallion twisted the cap of the flare left behind by their shaman, casting a bright red against the darkness. The second he lit the fuse, he bolted down the road faster than a coyote on Dash.
Seconds later there was a roar of thunder.
Everyone jolted in place as the explosion was much larger than anyone anticipated. More explosions sounded off as the old automatic carriages parked in the lot caught fire and set off the engines. The night erupted into a fanfare of fire and steel as shrapnel rained down.
When the flames settled and the smoke was carried off into the night sky did the gathered masses finally calmed down. They were all in utter shock of the destructive power from such small sticks, the weapons of the old world were truly fascinating.
Staring at the dying inferno, the warriors let out a cheer.
They believe to have done the will of the Shaper. Months, maybe years, down the line they will return to the site, they shall tear down whatever is left using the strength of the buffaloes, they would heal and tend to the scorched earth, and they shall set the way for the land to reclaim the ground once denied with concrete.
And they would repeat this cycle of destruction and restoration across the land.
Because their Great Shaper demands it of them.
--------------------
“EGAD! Jeremy, did you hear that loud explosion?”
“Indeed Doc Rays, It came from the abandoned library!”
The sound of hooves hammering against a wooden floor filled the silence till a voice was heard again.
“Yes. It was here, this massive hole in the wall wasn’t here last time. Look, plasma residue! The intruders are well equipped, they didn’t use ordinary explosives.”
A brief sound clip of fast shuffling played.
“Didja hear that Doc?”
“Not now Jeremy! I’m trying to find out why they destroyed this particular wall.”
The skittering hooves played again.
“Doc, I don’t think we’re alone.”
“Jeremy I-”
Long drone out groans from multiple ponies were heard.
“IT’S AN AMBUSH! SLEEPWALKERS!!!”
The sounds of magical energy weapons being fired could be heard. Yet as more fires were shot, the groans grew numerous and louder.
In the midst of it all a young teenager’s voice called out. “There’s too many! This might be end, Doc!”
A cry of pain similar sounding to an eagle screech crackled through the speakers.
“Jeremy!” an older voice cried out. “Don’t die on me!”
Click, click, click. The sound of a spent laser pistol.
“Oh sweet Celestia. Not here, not now!”
A scream of terror crackled, drowned out by the zombie like groans of the sleepwalkers.
Then silence.
Followed by a cheery pre-recorded message from the older voice.
“Be sure to tune in next week to find out the thrilling conclusion!”
--------------------
“OH COME ON!” The entire saloon booed and jeered at the abrupt cliffhanger of the radio tale. From the Member’s Only broom closet a young pink mare in an apron came running out to defuse the situation.
“SO SORRY EVERYPONY!” She announced, patting down her frazzled mane which was various shades of light blue. “I’ll change the station to Jazzside Tunes, they’re finally back on the air!” She grabbed the radio in her orange magic and began twisting knobs until slow, easy going saxophone solos serenaded the ears of every patron in the bar. She let out a sigh of relief as everyone calmed down and returned to their drinking.
From the closet emerged the other occupant, a guard stallion in leather armor returning to his post. The bright pink mare gave him a knowing wink before returning to work at the counter-top.
“Howdy! Welcome to the Bandit Trove, what’s your poison?” She asked the customer.
“Just a sarsparilla please.” Answered the flour white griffon. “I have a lot of work to be done.” He dropped a clawful of caps onto the counter while the barmaid reached under the counter with her telekinesis and producing the soft drink.
The griffon reached in to grab the bottle but recoiled as soon as he touched it. “By the Egg, that’s freezing!”
She giggles at him flinching every time he reaches for the drink. “I do try my best.” The barmaid answered. She grasped the soda in her orange aura again.“All unicorns who work here have to learn the frigid touch spell in order to cool all the drinks we serve.” She closed her eyes and concentrated. The sarsparilla began to grow a layer of frost over itself.
The catbird raised an eyebrow. “That’s a neat parlor trick.”
The pink mare didn’t answer. All her focus was on the freezing bottles.
“Um, ma’am?”
She heard him this time and released her grasp on the soda.
As soon as she broke concentration the spell dissipated, the frost rapidly melting into condensation. “Sorry about that, spell casting takes a lot out of me.” She explained, wiping sweat from her face.
The pale griffon didn’t pry further and returned to his drink with a shrug. That is, until she propped her forehooves onto the counter and leaned in. “So tell me, what brings you to this little stop along the Great 117?” She asked.
He tried to brush it off. “Why do you care?”
“Is there a problem with getting friendly with a new face in town?” Without looking the young unicorn slid a shot glass full of scotch down the counter-top to a waiting patron. “There’s your answer, how about returning the favor?” She fluttered her eyelashes at him.
He wanted to shoo her off. He wanted keep his journey a secret. But the ones waiting for him were expecting a path to follow, and he no longer knew these roads. He needed the help.
“My name is Clayton. I’m what you might call a tour guide.” He confessed. “A group of tourists are coming and they asked me to help them navigate the civilized lands.”
Civilized. A keyword that helped her clue her in. “You’re helping tribals.” She guessed.
He nodded. “I used to belong to a team that assisted the savages by bringing technology and culture to them.” He downed half the sarsparilla in one long gulp. “But everything has changed since I was here years ago. I didn’t want to admit that to them. They turn to me for guidance.”
“How far back are we talking?”
“For starters, this town wasn’t here.”
“Oh my.” The barmaid held a hoof to her chest. “That’s decades back.” The blue-maned mare offered a gentle smile. “Well you’re in luck, my next shift is delayed for another hour or so. Which means I’d be more than happy to help bring up to speed on the history of 117.”
Part of Clayton was relieved, while the other half was still cautious.
“And pray tell, what would you be getting out of this?”
“You’re a paranoid little birdie ain’t ya?”
“I have to be.” He downed the last of his drink. “I’ve been on the run for weeks. Hell, I don’t even know your name”
“Well then just consider this getting to know my new neighbors better.” The pink unicorn cleared her throat and started explaining. “This here’s Broken Bit; the cheapest four walls and a bed you can afford to live in along the Red Vein. This little gutter town was created for those who were too poor to live in Jazzside but too sane to live in Hubris City.”
Her orange aura reached out for two more Sunset Sarsparillas. “We exist ‘cause of the brewery up the hill making drinks for the Bandit Trove. A partnership between Cider Brim and Teeny Tipsy; yours truly.” She held out her forehooves out in a ta-da gesture.
Tipsy popped the caps of the sodas and levitated the spare to Clayton before continuing. “I guess you can say we’re also the reason the town hasn’t amounted to much. Everyone’s too busy drinking or ogling Cider’s girls. Hell, since Red Eye’s death he even started allowing them to sell themselves.”
Clayton began choking on his sarsparilla. Pounding his chest until he finally calmed down and looked at the barmaid in shock. “Red Eye’s dead?!” he roared.
All customers turned their eyes to the feathery lion’s outburst.
“Ignore him!” Teeny held a bottle of scotch in her forehoof. “Free shots on me as an apology!” The crowd let out a cheer and started ordering more booze from the waiters.
With everyone distracted again, Teeny Tipsy leaned in to hiss at Clayton. “Keep it down!”
“Sorry but this is news to me! How? When?”
“The when?” The barmaid lifted a hoof to her chin. “I think it was about...four, five weeks ago.” She nodded, certain she guessed right. “As for the how, The Lightbringer.”
“The what?”
“Not what, who.” Tipsy corrected. “She was a random stable dweller that emerged from stable a few months back. In all that time, miss holier-than-thou amassed a following and squashed three armies under her hoof.” Her voice held awe as she recalled the Lightbringer’s feats.
“If what you say is true, and Red Eye’s dead, why would you start selling your girls now?”
“First of all, they’re Cider’s girls not mine.” She took another swig of sarsaparilla. “And secondly, he wanted in on the slave trade now that the biggest competition is gone.”
“And you’re just going to work with a slaver?”
“Oh come now, Clayton. It’s not like we’re putting collars on them or keeping them in cages. We offered all of them the choice to make more and they said yes.” She began chilling more drinks in her magic.
“But we’re getting sidetracked.” Tipsy Continued. “With the death of Red Eye the route began eat itself alive. Towns were liberated from his followers, only for new gangs to form to take the new territory. supply lines were free from the taxes to operate in Red Eye’s land, only to be attacked by raiders. the list goes on.” She levitated enough drinks for a table of four to a waiter’s platter.
“I picked a bad time for a homecoming didn’t I?”
“Let’s just say by year’s end we won’t be calling it ‘The Red Vein’ because of ol’ windbag anymore.” Her smile was playful but her eyes held fear of what might happen next.
“Fuck.” The griffon rubbed his eyes. “And here I was hoping that I might finally enjoy some peace and quiet.” He chugged down the ice cold sarsaparilla in one go.
“Hoping to drown your sorrows in soda?” Teeny teased.
“You’d be thirsty too after covering all your food in salt.” He retorted.
Tipsy raised an eyebrow. “Why would you do that?”
“Bitter Crystal tradition.” Clayton explained. “Salt’s a mineral and they believe eating rocks will toughen their skin or something so they put it on almost everything they eat.”
“Bitter Crystals being the tribals you’re trying to help out?” Tipsy deduced. “You must’ve made some weird friends out there.”
“Those weird friends are the only reason I’m alive.” He dropped another clawful of caps onto the counter. “Another, and continue about the changes along 117.”
Just then a dull roar of an explosion rolled through the bar.
Everyone stood up in panic, trying to find the source of the blast.
Teeny Tipsy found the nearest window to look out of. “What in Celestia’s name was that?!”
Clayton calmly looked out at the billowing smoke in the distance. “It must be them, they must’ve gotten out of hoof with the reclaiming ritual.”
Teeny turned to look up at the white griffon. “Reclaiming?”
“They believe the buildings of old slow down the progress of their deity.” He nodded towards the black clouds. “So, they tear them down using dire might.”
“Dire what?”
He blinks. “Sorry, I meant dynamite.”
She stares, baffled. “Where did savages get dynamite?!”
“I gave it to them.” He let out a sigh. “Looks like we’re going to have to save the lesson for tomorrow.”
He grabbed a wide-brim hat from the coat rack and made his way to the door. “Come on, your gate works on a two pony pulley system if I remember correctly.”
“Why would we let them in!”
“It’s like you said, you should get to know your new neighbors better.” With that, Clayton left for the entrance to the town.
The mare was hesitant. If they were this destructive she would be the one responsible for the death of Broken Bit. But maybe, if she could befriend these ‘Bitter Crystals’ they could benefit the town in a way the Bandit Trove never could.
Tipsy gulped down her fears and made her way to the gate.
In the distance, an army marched down the road to civilized lands.
The mutated rat ceased its search for food and began sniffing the air. It had heard movement and was trying to pinpoint it. It wasn’t fast enough enough.
*THWACK*
The last sensation it felt was a bat to the neck.
“Vermin.” The rodent’s assaulter spat with disgust. In her grip was a polished baseball bat sporting new bloodstains she was already attempting to wipe clean. “Barely any meat on your bones, you were such a waste of time.” The hunter spat on the rat’s corpse before turning away and resuming her patrol.
The sewers beneath her home town grew to become a haven to many irradiated creatures, from rats to ghouls it was the job of this one lone earth pony to exterminate them all. One swing at a time.
From behind her, a feral shriek cried out. She turned to see a small brown critter being supported on arms as thick as tree trunks. Its beady black eyes gazing in opposite directions and its mouth foamed as the buck teeth gnashed at the air to be imposing. It set its mismatched sights on the scavenger and charged with intent to gouge out the eyes it mistook for acorns.
Calmly, the young mare reached into the duffle bag placed on her back and produced a ball peen hammer. Dropping her prized homerun hitter, she waited until the radiated tree climber lunged before sidestepping out of the way and bringing down the hammer on the back of the squirrel’s skull. The creature dropped dead where it landed.
‘This has been a disappointing search, I’m calling it a day.’ the young scavenger thought to herself. She grabbed her baseball bat before departing to the nearest ladder to the surface.
------------------
“Come on, come on! Where is this bitch?!”
Roaming the foggy streets of Haybale Avenue was a down on his luck drug junkie covered in cloth that reeked of bile and beer. Paranoia fueled his movement as he paced around a steel lid in the middle of the cracked, paved road. His head darting back and forward expecting an ambush from lunatics eager to kill him for what little he was worth. Or simply for pure amusement.
“Twelve o’ clock. They said twelve o’ clock and it's freaking high noon! Come on already you bitch where are you?!” As impatient as he was he couldn’t leave. If he left the job unfinished they would kill him, but if he stayed in this forgotten ghost town any longer he would be dinner for the local wildlife. it was a lose-lose situation.
“Well lookie what we have here!”
“Fuck.” The addict cursed under his breath. Before he could blink he was set upon by three male griffons, all dressed in blue coveralls and yellow construction helmets adorning their heads.
“Got a little dash head that stumbled into our turf.” The largest of three, a bulky black griffon with a sledgehammer on his back and multiple hazard stickers pasted on his helmet, stepped forward. “You wander off in the middle of a trip ya little druggie? Our checkpoint’s back that a way.” he pointed a claw to the west.
“U-u-uh.” The defenseless unicorn druggie stammered. his eyes darted left to right, looking for any way to escape the half eagles. Just when he was about to sprint off into a random direction, the sewer lid began to rattle and move. All eyes turned to it in anticipation of what might emerge.
Crawling up the ladder was a rust brown mare with a lighter brown mane and tail. She had freckles that dotted around her indigo eyes. She wore an unbuttoned varsity jacket with a teal vest and off-white sleeves with a matching baseball cap covering her short, rat’s nest of a manecut. Strapped to her back was a duffle bag with handles for various handles for sports equipment sticking out of its zipper.
The newcomer saw the gathered wastelanders watching her climb out of the sewers. All was quiet as the five stared at each other.
Then the dark griffon spoke. “Two trespassers, and this one looks like she’s got some good stuff on her. Alright lady, hand over your stuff and we’ll call it even on trespassing on Claw Hazard territory.”
The brown mare didn’t even bat an eye. “I should be saying the same thing, I’ve been living here long before you punks decide to move in on my street.” She reached into a jacket pocket to pull out a piece of bubblegum. “Now why don’t you birdies fly away and build a house or something.” She snapped, popping the pink wad into her mouth and started chewing.
She gasped as she felt something puncture her foreleg.
“They’re both wasting our time.” The smallest of the Hazard goons was brandishing a nail gun aimed at the legs of the jacket pony. “Let’s just kill ‘em already boss.” He was answered with a smack across the face by the sledgehammer griffon.
“We don’t waste nails killing random nobodies!” He roared. “I could have easily bashed their skulls in without using the nail-”
*THWACK*
The two griffons jumped back as their boss’ eyes rolled back and collapsed onto the pavement, revealing that his skull was split wide open.
“Ain’t nobody a better skull basher than me.” The jacket mare bellowed a wordless warcry as she charged forward with her bat at the nail gun wielder.
The gunner panicked and fired wildly at his assaulter, landing two more shots to his credit, but it wasn’t enough.
They crashed onto the road, but before she could begin swinging away at his head she heard the familiar sound of a revolver’s hammer clicking into place. She turned to see the last hazard walking forward with the addict as a meat shield.
“You bitch! QUIT SQUIRMING!” He roared at his equine defense, bashing the unicorn with the butt of the gun in an attempt to still him. It was enough of a distraction for the mare to aim and toss her pocket ball peen square into his face, with enough force to crack the beak.
The griffon dropped his firearm and clutched his face in pain, giving the unicorn ample amount of time to grab the forgotten six-shooter in his magic and unload all six rounds in the cat-bird’s feathered chest.
The jacket mare paid no attention. All her anger was directed back to the one that put holes in her favorite piece of scavenging gear. She raised her bat high over her head before bringing it down on her assaulter’s face. She raised her bat high and brought it down again.
And again.
And again.
And again.
She did not stop until nothing resembling a face remained.
--------------------
The unicorn stood stiffer than a board. He stared at the horrendous sight before him, his ‘savior’ was taking deep breaths over the headless hazard, her entire front bathed in sprays of blood and gore.
He debated long and hard in his mind about whether or not to kill the mare that came to his rescue. On the one hoof she would easily run through him without a second thought, on the other he could get lucky and knock her out and enjoy the rewards. His eyes traveled up and down her body, oh yes he would definitely enjoy the rewards.
“Why are you still here?” Too late.
He cowered in place as the mare slowly crept to him, swinging idly about without paying attention. He took aim with his newly found revolver.
*CLICK*
*CLICK*
*CLICK*
It seemed to only irritate her more.
Infuriated, she grabbed the mahogany club with both hooves and swung full force at the drug addict’s foreleg. He collapsed howled in pain as he heard his bones crack and his leg bend at an impossible angle.
“SHUT. UP.” He felt pressure on his cheek as the bat pressed against his face. “You see this? This little slugger has cracked a hundred noggins, and unless you want to be one-oh-one you’ll SHUT! UP!”
The unicorn was in tears at this point but managed to calm his wails of pain down to a pathetic whimpering.
“Good.” The sports obsessed mare slung the bat across her shoulder. “Now, what are you doing on my street?”
“I-I-I was paid to!” He explained while nursing his shattered fetlock. “T-t-t-hey told me; go to the abandoned street and w-w-w-wait for a mare called ‘Steady Stance’ to show up and deliver a-a message! I didn’t know this turf belonged to a gang, I swear!”
“It doesn’t.” She retorted. “Now, I believe you have a message for me?”
“W-w-what? You-you’re her?”
Steady Stance dropped the bat and grabbed the stallion’s head by the horn. Pressing her snout against his, she continued. “Give. Me. My. Message.”
“A-alright!” He inhaled before rapidly shouting it all out. “The bitch who hired me said; mother’s waiting for your homecoming! Be sure to bring home the gold!”
Her eyes widened as she dropped his head, as well as her jaw.
“No…” Steady gazed into the distance and adopted a thousand yard stare. “No. No. It’s too early. It’s too damn early! the bastard Red Eye ain’t even rotting in his grave yet!” She began shouting.
“W-What the fuck?”
She began to pace back and forth, ignoring the injured drug addict. “We just took the route back! We took it back damn it! Why?! Why can’t I get a break?! Why are you so eager to destroy everything, Coyote?!” Steady shouted her protests to the winds.
“T-the fuck are you saying?” The injured unicorn interrupted.
She directed her hatred back to the chem addict. Once again, her prized baseball bat found its way pressed against the unicorn’s skull. His eyes widened in panic.
“You’re gonna deliver a message back.” Sharp growled. “You tell them that all their new plans are gonna do is destroy everything else that those slaving bastards didn’t! You tell them to give the newcomers a chance! You go tell Mother Coyote to wait! Now go, before I snap your other legs like carrots!”
The stallion carried himself away as fast as three legs could take him.
Steady Stance merely stood and watched as he limped away and disappear into the fog. Once out of sight, she marched her way to home. To heal, to train, to rest.
To plan.
-------------------
Fifty-seven.
Fifty-eight.
Fifty-nine.
*THUD*
Steady collapsed. She clutched her sweat soaked stomach through the bandages. She was now regretting that she allowed herself to take such unnecessary wounds against the Claw Hazards.
Sloppy. She was sloppy and there was no excuse for it. If it everything went her way she could’ve knocked them out before the first nail was fired. But no, she used that time to gloat instead and it nearly cost her. She couldn’t make that mistake again.
“Towel Boy!” she cried out. “Healing potion, stat!”
“Coming ma’am!” From the corner of her eye she saw a several slender spider like arms, all hovering in the air with the help of a rocket powered chassis painted steel gray.
“Here you are, ma’am!” In one of the machine’s pincers it held a small glass vial swirling with a liquid inside it. “I should warn you ma’am, this is the last one before we resort to using the emergency supplies.” A new pincer pointed a hypodermic needle at Steady’s shoulder. “Now, how about doing that tetanus shot?”
She nodded, attempting to distract herself by counting ceiling tiles while downing the magical medicine. It wasn’t enough, she still she shivered as the metal prick pushed itself past the skin. Once in place the mister handy began injecting the vaccine.
Her ordeal finished, she turned to face the mister handy's tracking sensors. “Don’t worry about the potions, I’ll make another supply run after my shadow boxing.” She shakily got back on all fours and made her way past all the rusted gym equipment to a barren corner of brick.
“Miss Steady, it is my recommendation that you take the rest of the night off. Maybe you could go stargazing, the pegasi have finally lifted the clouds after that dreadful storm that lasted two-hundred years. They must’ve finally gotten those lettered complaints.”
“Wasn’t the pegasi that did that.” Stance muttered under her breath. Facing the brick wall, she stood upon her hind legs and curled her bandaged front legs in. She kept her eyes trained on a piece of graffiti; her cutie mark, a boxing bell being struck and creating stars from the impact.
She started her routine. Jab. Jab.
“Perhaps you could meet those griffon construction workers that are resuming work on the unfinished hotel?” Towel Boy suggested.
“They’re doing something, but it ain’t construction.” She responded. “Sides, I already made a poor first impression.” Jab. Jab. Cross.
“Then how about those sailors that passed by a week ago? They seemed like a friendly bunch of mares, and proud to serve in Celestia’s glorious naval forces!”
“The Skirts?” Steady let out a scoff. “They were acting friendly because they thought I would look nice selling my body in their outfits.” Jab. Cross. Uppercut.
“There must be someone out there you’d love to spend some time with.” Towel Boy questioned. “We’ve certainly gotten a flood of new neighbors. And you can’t pick and choose your neighbors.”
“That’s what you think.” Steady was growing increasingly irritated at the interrupting robot.
Jab. Jab. Jab. Cross.
“Well you can’t stay cooped up here, practicing for your title bout! All work and no play makes Applejack a dull farmer.”
“I’ve spent my early years playing around.” Jab. Cross. Uppercut. “Now I’ve gotta do nothing but work to make up for it.” Cross. Hook.
“If you must work surely you can find somepony to help with-”
*CRACK*
“ENOUGH, TOWEL!” Steady Stance withdrew her hoof from the new gaping hole in the wall. “The only thing that matters is bringing home the gold! If I don’t, Mother Coyote is going to see to it that the Red Vein burns. So I don’t have time to mess around, got it?!” Fury burned in her eyes as she glared at the the only other occupant in the gym.
*THWOOOOOOOOOOOOM*
Her anger faded as quickly as it came. “By Luna’s stars, what was that?!” Her eyes darted around the ceiling as if explosives were strapped on it.
“I do believe it came from outside, Miss Steady!” The mechanical helper made a bolt for the gym’s entrance with the brown mare following close behind.
-----------------------
The pair had exited the Stone Skin Gym and found themselves in the middle of Haybale Avenue in a matter of minutes. Both scanned the starry skies for signs of where the deafening blast came from.
Steady had found it. Off in the distance was a mountain range that traced the horizon. And one of the mountains had started billowing smoke from one of its mountain tops.
“Towel Boy, binoculars.” Steady ordered.
A storage port located on his left side hissed open to reveal a pair of dusty, black binoculars. The worried mare quickly snatched it and held it to her face. She began to focus the lenses at the mysterious mountaintop. What she saw she couldn’t fathom how or why it got there.
“What is it ma’am?” The hovering assistant questioned.
“It’s...a museum.” She replied in disbelief. She stared as the fires flared and erupted with new fuel. In the mass of burning orange, she saw what appeared to be rotor blades.
“A museum? And it’s on fire?” Towel sounded aghast. “It must be those filthy stripes! They must burning down any proof of the past so they can re-write it in their own image! We have to report this!” Towel started to leave, only for the Steady Stance to stop him.
“No.” Steady commanded. “No, there’s nopony around that can help.” Mental cogs spun in her mind as she began to question the arrival of the burning building. “But…” she turned back to her metal companion. “Maybe there’s something there can help us.” She pointed at the dying inferno in the distance.
“Something in the wreck of the museum that could help us?”
“Yes.” She turned back to the smoke plume. “I might’ve imagined it, but I think I saw a vertibuck in the fires. That means Enclave, which means there must be something there worth protecting.”
“And you plan to walk all the way there based on a hunch?”
“It’s all I got!” She snapped. “The Enclave were big names until the Lightbringer chased them out of the skies. Which means they’re stuck down here with us and are probably hostile.” She closed her eyes. “And soon, when they realize they can’t stay in the skies, they’ll blame it on us surface dwellers. And they’re going to retaliate.
She opened her eyes and focused them back on the mountain. “So I need to see what I’m up against, what the entire Red Vein is up against, if I’m going to live long enough to bring home the gold.”
“And you are certain this is the right course of action?” Towel questioned.
“It’s the only course I can think of.” She glared back to the ruined brick building she’s called home for almost her entire life. “I’m not going to wait around for Coyote to come and collect her ‘stray’. I need something to help throw a wrench in her plans.”
“Then I will wish you the best of luck, I shall remain here and watch the homestead in your absence, Miss Steady.” He gave a salute with his flamethrower arm.
“Thank you, Towel.” The rust colored mare embraced her assistant in a tight hug before returning home in preparation for her journey. She had a lot of packing to be done before she stepped a single hoof out of Haybale for the first time in years.
Come sunrise, she would join the miles long struggle for the Red Vein.